than war.
War I know to be a terrible thing. Seldom, very seldom would I go to
war--never, unless for some great principle, such as that for which
our forefathers contended. No, I do not wish to have you get your
heads and hearts full of the war spirit. But I do want you to be
patriots. I want you to love your country; to be willing to make
sacrifices for it; to look upon it as the brightest and dearest spot
on earth. Our liberty cost a great deal--a great deal of money, of
hardship, of suffering, and, what is more valuable than all, a great
deal of blood. It cost too much to be lightly valued--too much to be
trifled with. Take care that you never get into the habit which some,
who are much older than you, have fallen into, of looking upon the
union of these states as a matter, after all has been said and done,
of not much consequence. I tell you the bonds which bind us together
is a sacred one; and, next to the tie which binds us together in
families, ought to be, to you and to me, the dearest tie on earth.

CHAP. VIII.

THE BUMBLE-BEES' NEST.

All the boys and girls who live in the country, and probably a large
share of those who live in the city, know the bumble-bee. We had a
little different name for him in our neighborhood. _Bumble-bee_ was,
however, the only name the family was known by, in Willow Lane, and I
think it quite possible that such a corruption, (if it is a
corruption, and the wise ones tell us it is, though I should like to
see them beat the notion into the head of any one of the hundred
children who went to our school,) is very common in New England.

The nests of these insects, you may not be aware, are made in the
ground. These nests are frequently found in meadows, about the time
the grass is mowed; and it not unfrequently happens that the mower
disturbs one of these nests with his scythe, in which case, the first
information the poor man obtains of the existence of the nest is from
a score or two of the bumble-bees themselves--(we'll call them
_bumble-bees_, for the sake of peace, though I must confess I feel a
great partiality for the name by which I knew the rogues when I used
to be familiar with their nests)--the bumble-bees themselves, who fly
into his face, before he has time to retreat, and sting him until they
get tired of the sport.

In these nests, there is usually more or less honey. Sometimes there
is half a pint, or more. This honey is very palatable; and it is not
an u