Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 August 1876 — A Curious Bee Story. [ARTICLE]

A Curious Bee Story.

It is quite easy for any Chapel-street merchant to verify the truth of the following interesting statement concerning a strange annual visitation of honey bees to the store in Street’s building, which for the last thirty years has been occupied by Dr. C. B. Whittlesey, the well-known wholesale and retail druggist. Every year since the store has been occupied by Its present tenant, at about this season, it has been regularly visited each pleasant day by hundreds of busy bees, which fly in and out, apparently on some errand or quest not to be accounted for by any circumstance or condition of the premises. They never sting any of the clerks or customers, but buzz among the boxes and packages, and fumble and hum against the showcases and great bottles on the shelves, going from one end of the establishment to the other with an apparent earnestness borrowed from their sense of toil amid happy clover haunts, or where flowers of fragrance and sweetness blossom for the especial benefit of bees. These not altogether unwelcome visitors from some unknown and probably distant hive are not enticed to this place by sweets, because there are no drippings of “translucent sirups tinct with cinnamon,” or other delectable commodity upon which they can feed, or which they can carry aw.ay. Some of the bees make their call without ever returning to their home. They wander on uncertain wings up and down the store, in and out of the open door, as though their mission were to “see Rome and die,” for they grow weary after a day or two, and appear to fail in strength until they perish. Every week the young men gather as many dead bees from the counters and shelves as could not be contained within the bulk of a generous double-handful. There has always been more or less speculation as to where the bees have their home, and what occult motive brings them every year; like faithful pilgrims, to this particular repository of potashes, chloride of lime and other infragrant chemicals, dyewoods and things of the kind. But one solution of the mystery has as yet been offered. It appears that before Dr. Whittlesey became the occupant of the place of business, it had for proprietor Dr. Richard Seagrave, who, as part of his retail business, dispensed the refreshing and palatable soda-water to the belles and beaus of the city. It is assumed that in those days—more than a quarter of a century Ago —some pioneer family of bees discovered the sweets clinging to the necks of Dr. Seagrave’s sirup bottles, and rejoiced themselves therein; and that from those days and that circumstance spring these annual visits. May we not reasonably believe, then, not only that bees have memory, but that they cherish historical recollections with fervent bee gratitude for delights in which their forefathers were permitted to indulge, and for favorite feed, upon which no bee succeding them shaM feed in future. — New Haven (Conn.) Journal.

—A remarkable and sad romance has been developed in New York. It will be remembered that a servant girl in that city recently accused herself of having poisoned her employer’s little son. A post-mortem examination since held shows that the self-accusation is false. No traces of poison were discovered, but evidence of organic disease sufficient to cause death was obtained. The servant girl is supposed to be insane, but the mother of the child naturally believes, and probably always will believe, that the story is true.

—A writer in the Philadelphia Printers' Circular advocates the abolition of capital letters, except at the beginning of paragraphs, sentences and poetical fines. Many of the arguments used are strong, and all readers will agree with the author that we should endeavor to bring the operations of tongue and pen into something more like harmony than exists at present.

At least 100,000 tenement New Yorkers sleep on the roof every hot night.