eggs by stealth in the Bumblebees' nests. The young, when hatched, are cared for by their foster-parents, and when full-grown are treated with as much consideration as though they were guests of honor. Why the Bumblebees should permit their uninvited visitors to remain with them is a mystery; for although some species closely resemble their hosts in size and color, others are quite different. It can hardly be supposed, therefore, that they are mistaken for rightful members of the colony. On this account many naturalists have thought that they perform some important service in return for their hospitable reception; but of what this duty, if any, consists has never been discovered. If you will look carefully along the under side of the ledge on any old board fence, you will probably be rewarded by finding one or more round holes, about half an inch in diameter, and as true and smooth as though bored with an auger. By placing your ear close to the wood you may often hear a low, buzzing sound issuing from within. If you are patient, and will watch the hole for a short time or strike the wood in its vicinity a sharp blow, a large black-and-yellow insect will come tumbling forth, and fly buzzing away. "A Bumblebee!" you exclaim. "What was he doing in there?" But, nevertheless, you are mistaken; for although in general appearance she certainly does resemble our Bumblebee friends, yet should you compare the two, you would find them quite different. In our new acquaintance the stripes are pale ocher-yellow instead of the rich golden color of the Bumblebee; and the yellow pollen-baskets on the hind legs of the latter. are replaced by a brush of coarse, stiff hairs.

This insect is the "large Carpenter-bee," and well named she is too, for no human carpenter could bore

neater holes, or chisel out the wood to form a dry and cozy home better than does this little creature with no tools save those Nature furnished in the form of sharp, horny mandibles or jaws. After boring the hole to a depth of about an inch, the Carpenter

bee turns at right angles to the entrance, and patiently cuts a long tunnel, a foot or more in length, parallel to the surface of the wood. The completion of this long, dry chamber necessitates hard, unceasing labor for several weeks, and then the little carpenter combines business with pleasure by taking frequent excursions to sunny fields and gardens, to gather honey and pollen from the flowers' store. From the nectar thus obtained she forms a paste which is packed closely in the end of her newly built house, and on it lays a single egg. Next, small chips, made in boring the hole, are brought, and mixing them with a secretion from her mouth, she fastens them on the sides of the tunnel, working round and round in a spiral, each turn of which reaches nearer the center; until, finally, a thin wooden partition is formed, walling off the egg and its little store of honey-paste. Against this wall more honey is packed, another egg laid, a partition built, and the operation repeated until the chamber is completely filled. The first egg laid is the first to hatch, and the tiny white grub comes forth and at once commences to feast upon the food so providentially placed within his little chamber. Finally he goes to sleep, and while he slumbers his skin grows hard and brown, while ridges and protuberances appear upon its surface. At last the little pupa bursts open, and a perfect bee comes forth, with his shining black head close to the dainty wall his mother built. This, all unmindful of her toil, he immediately tears down, only to find his way to freedom checked by his next younger brother or

LEAF-CUTTING BEE AT WORK ON A SPRAY OF ROSE-LEAVES.

bee is hatched, and, breaking down the barrier which hides the world of flowers and freedom from his view, the whole brood swarms forth to try their restless, gauzy wings in the bright

sunshine.

Perhaps some of my readers may have noticed on their rose-bushes a number of leaves in which neat round or oblong holes were cut. This is the work of the Leaf-cutting Bee, a pretty little insect looking much like the common Honey-bee, but with stout orange-red legs and metallic-green reflections about the head. Although the mutilated leaves are all too common, the nest for which they are sacrificed is seldom seen; for this little bee is a carpenter as well as a leaf-cutter, and hides her home away deep in the heart of some old post or board. The hole is

much like that of her busy relative, the Carpenter-bee, but smaller, and instead of forming a tunnel at right angles to the entrance, penetrates directly into the wood. When the hole is drilled to her satisfaction, our little friend stops carpenter-work, and flying to the nearest rose-bush, selects a tender, perfect leaf. From this she cuts oblong pieces, which are carried to the nest and formed into a thimble-shaped tube at its bottom. This tube is next filled with pollen and honey, on which a tiny egg is placed. Another trip is taken to the rose-bush, and this time perfectly circular pieces a trifle larger than the diameter of the tube are cut. These the little worker forces into the upper end of the tube, forming a tightly fitting stopper. These operations are repeated until the hole is filled with tubes, one above another. The lowest eggs hatch first, and each young bee

SECTION OF NEST OF A LEAF-CUTTING BEE.

ON THE GRAND

MANY a fishing-schooner that sails out of Gloucester with her ensign fluttering gaily from the "main truck" comes in by Cape Ann, on her return from the " Banks," with her colors at half-mast. A dory or two lost in the fog

or run down in thick weather by an ocean greyhound that no more felt the collision than if it crushed an egg-shell-at all events, a couple of men or more for Davy Jones's locker - such is only too often the tale brought back

from the fishing-grounds to Gloucester, our chief fishing-port. Tears at parting, weeks of anxious suspense, and, when the ship comes home tears again for a lost husband, son, or brother-that story is common enough on Massachusetts Bay. And even if neighbors

say,

"Don't cry, dearie! Perhaps some ship has picked him up, and he 'll come back to you," the hope is short-lived. "Lost at sea" is a familiar line in the death-columns of the Gloucester papers.

The Grand Banks of Newfoundland are the great fishing-ground on this side of the Atlantic. Other fishing-grounds near these are Western Bank and Quiro; but all the year round you will see vessels on the Grand Banks. If you have ever crossed the ocean on a swift liner, you will have noticed that when about two days out you ran into a chilly fog. You were off Cape Race, Newfoundland, crossing the Banks. It is usually cold and foggy there, and in winter frequent gales and snow-storms add to the dreariness and danger.

Western Bank is near Sable Island, a long sand-bar off the coast of Nova Scotia, and an ocean graveyard, literally strewn with wrecks.

The English Government placed a flock of sheep there because there had been instances of sailors wrecked on the island starving to death; but the sheep died. The island was too barren even for them. A herd of ponies was tried, and these hardy creatures flourished, but became in time so wild as to be unapproachable; and a shipwrecked sailor hardly has the strength to scamper after a wild pony. Now, however, there are several lighthouses and life-saving stations on the island, and in the spring innumerable gulls nest in the sand and lay their eggs. In May it is not unusual for dories belonging to the Western Bank fleet to get lost- at least for a while; for the gulls' eggs are good eating during that month. I once asked an old fisherman if he had ever been on Sable Island. He told me he had landed there once when he 'd been lost in a dory.

"How did you get lost?" I asked.
"On purpose, I guess," he answered.
Needless to say it had been in May.

The American fishing-vessels are schooners. You can tell them by the dories which, when not in use, are "nested "- set one inside the

course, so that the trawls, while all converging toward the vessel, do not interfere with one another. Then, too, the fishermen can in foggy weather get back to the vessel by simply underrunning their trawls. Our fishermen set theirs where they think they will hook the most fish, and the vessel, instead of coming to anchor, cruises about where she put the dories over. The great "Yankee" fishermen are mostly Nova Scotians, but the captains of our fishingvessels are, as a rule, Americans-hardy, self-reliant, quick to think and to act, and ready for any emergency. While the dories are out, the captain, with the aid of the cook, handles the ship and keeps his weather eye on the horizon. If he sees danger in sky or sea, he sets a signal usually a basket hoisted in the forestaysail halyards to recall the dories. Only too often, though, the gale comes up with such suddenness that the dories to leeward cannot get back. A dory with the bodies of two fishermen in it, or, more frequently, empty or tossed bot

tom-up by the waves, tells the story. Yet in spite of the danger of starvation, a jug of water usually constitutes all the provision aboard a dory, and a compass is a rare bird.

The trawlers are generally found on the Grand Banks, the hand-liners on the Western Bank and Quiro. These hand-liners are smaller vessels with fewer dories, and the men fish with hand-lines, one man and two lines to a dory. The hand-liner sits in the middle of his dory. with a compartment in its stern and another in its bow for his catch. When you see the bow sticking far up in the air, you know the fisherman has his stern-load. Then, as fish after fish flashes into the other compartment, the bow settles, and when the dory is on an even keel the hand-liner pulls back to the vessel.

The trawlers bait with fresh herring, mackerel, and squid; the hand-liners with salt clams. The catch of both is split and salted, and the vessel has a full "fare," or catch, when she has "wet her salt "—that is, used up all her salt —