134 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Feb. 15. 



don't believe it yet, and I will tell you why. 

 You notice the answer concludes, "then the 

 wax is melted and separated as usual." Now, 

 doctor, there is where the acid does its work — 

 on the liquid wax; for when would it drive the 

 dirt to the bottom, out of old comb? This 

 process will cleanse the wax if it is boiled in 

 the same water in which it is soaked, because 

 the acid is in it. But it is bad engineering. It 

 will boil over very easily. 



Now, Ky, sit down at the feet of experience, 

 and learn wisdom. Here are three things you 

 should not do: 1. Never go near a kitchen stove 

 to melt wax. It is dangerous. 2. Don't melt it in 

 any place where any thing can catch fire, even 

 if the whole country°^burns down. 3. Never 

 put; any acid in until your wax is completely 

 melted— every bit of it, out of your old comb. 

 When it is done boiling, pour your acid in slowly 

 — very slowly — stirring your wax all the time 

 until it is milky — quite milky. When you have 

 thoroughly stirred and mixed it, let it settle. 

 The acid drives all the dirt to the bottom, and 

 in a little while you can dip it out carefully — 

 not going to the bottom of the wax— and run it 

 into merchantable cakes. 



I had a scrimmage one time with wax, that 

 will show what sulphuric acid can do. I had 

 a large boiler of wax on^ the fire (out of doors, 

 of course); and just after putting fresh fuel on 

 I was called to the house. Some lady visitors 

 had arrived, and I, being a great favori te of all 

 my lady acquaintances, forgot all about the 

 wax. After awhile I heard the cry of "fire! 

 fire! fire!" I dashed a bucket of water into the 

 boiling wax and on the fire, and several on 

 the surrounding country. It had run in all 

 directions, but had not the strength of mind to 

 get to the top of a mountain that rises behind 

 the apiary. The next morning I gathered up 

 this wax that was burnt as black as night, 

 mixed with sticks, stones, dirt, ashes, shavings, 

 sawdust, and other tinware, and put it in a 

 sack, and treated it just as I have described. 

 The acid sent every bit of dirt and rubb ish to 

 the bottom, even the stones. n The wax was a 

 clear beautiful yellow, as good an article as a 

 man would wish to see.; 



A PIECE OF CRUEL SURGERY. 



The editor of this paper has cut me in; two- 

 yes, he has — without pity and without remorse, 

 without even sending me an invitation to at- 

 tend the ceremony. If the most famous bee- 

 keeper in the world can be sawn asunder with- 

 out notice, in this ruthless manner, what will 

 become of you fellows in the East who don't 

 know any thing at all? I would ask, also, 

 what rights will a bee-keeper have- if he is cut 

 in two every time he is not looking right at the 

 editor? 



That beautiful picture of Skylark— such a 

 perfect likeness— a picture over which our fam- 

 ily rejoiced and laughed for joy, is no more — at 



least, half of it is no more, for ever. Now, if 

 editors are permitted to go on in this barbarous 

 manner, what shall we come to at last? But 

 I'll settle with you, Mr. Editor; wait until I 

 catch you alone. 



I read the description of the "dry- weather 

 vine " with keen interest. If this vine turns 

 out as friend Wallenmeyer says, "the hotter 

 and dryer the weather, the more abundant the 

 bloom and yield of nectar," what a boon it will 

 be to bee-keepers in a dry season ! But there is 

 one setback to it— it doesn't like land soaked in 

 water for a long time, as was the case in that 

 wet season, with Mr. Wallenmeyer. Now, that 

 will just suit this coast, because we don't care 

 how much it fails in a wet year, for then the 

 honey will flow down the mountains, from our 

 native flowers. As a honey-producing country, 

 this coast needs but one thing more— only one 

 honey-plant more — a plant that will yield a 

 crop of honey in a dry year. With such a plant 

 added to our flora we could beat the world pro- 

 ducing honey. We can do it anyhow. 



CALIFOENIA ECHOES. 



By Rambler. 



"He is poor whose expenses exceed his in- 

 come." 



(iCost of extracted honey, 4K cts. ; selling price, 

 3 cts. So the above proverb fits our case. Bee- 

 keepers in California feel very poor. 



I make my zwieback of moldy bread, and 

 zwie it out back of the house to the cats. Come 

 over and eat some of my flapjacks, and you will 

 zwieback nevermore. 



The hearts of all California bee-men are 

 made to beat happily by the copious rains dur- 

 ing the last half of January. Their contin- 

 uance until May means another good honey 

 yield. 



An enterprising bee-keeper of Latona, Wash., 

 has adopted the sensible plan of leaving that 

 wet country during the rainy season and so- 

 journing in the salubrious climate of Southern 

 California. We predict that Mr. Cole and his 

 partner Lomes will eventually have apiaries in 

 this more southern country. 



A Straw accuses me of neglect toward Mme. 

 Modjeska, the once famous actress. Modjeska 

 lives in Orange Co., and that is Dr. Gallup's 

 plantation. Dr. G. is fully able to take care of 

 the madam's bee-keeping interests. If I should 

 go over into Orange Co., my experience with 

 Eugenias would lead me to avoid the " famous 

 actress." 



I don't like that word " bar," which some one 

 wishes to use instead of perforated metal. It 

 smacks too much of " Will you take suthin?" 

 You know it is always taken over a bar. Then 

 it is suggestive of the bars of a cow-pasture. 

 Then there are bars at the mouth of rivers. A 



