494 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



July 1. 



the water again on the stove-hearth and floor. 

 " Mother of St. Patrick! but, Mlsther Ghering, 

 ye's will have to ballast that kettle of yours at 

 the bottom instead of at the top. It's a moity 

 tipsy thing, so it bees. But, Misther Ghering, 

 about me beautiful banes, know, I know, will I 

 have to throw them away, sure?" 



"No," said boss Ghering, "there are only a 

 few burned on the bottom; get them out and 

 try again." 



Matt followed directions, and soon returned 

 with the beans, with a good supply of water 

 upon them. " Now, Misther Ghering," said he, 

 "ballast that kettle of yours while I navigate 

 me beautiful pot o' banes." 



After some minor tribulations supper was 

 placed upon the table, mostly mush and milk, 

 bread, and cold meat, for the boiling viands 

 were in preparation for the next day. When 

 all hands gathered around the table. Matt said, 

 "Now, Misther Anderson, if we only had some 

 of your beautiful honey, in the absence of 

 boother, it would swaten our mouths for the 

 bread and mush to follow. Never, since I kiss- 

 ed me Biddy Malooney good-by in the ould 

 country, have I experienced any swateness. 

 Couldn't ye's now, Misther Anderson, have pity 

 upon me forlorn condition, and change the bit- 

 terness of me loife into swateness wid yer 

 honey? "^ 



L Fred's only answer was an apparent fit of 

 coughing; and, stepping outside the circle of 

 light, he hastened to the box where he had 

 concealed the honey, secured it, and soon placed 

 it upon the center of the table before the aston- 

 ished men, exclaiming, "There, Matt Hogan, 

 if your Biddy Malooney is the sweetest girl in 

 old Ireland, this will remind you of her, for it is 

 the sweetest of California honey." 



"By the two eyes of St. Patrick!" said Matt; 

 "Misther Ghering, does ye's think me bees 

 awake or adraming? If me bees awake, then, 

 Misther Fred Anderson, ye are a jaynyus. I 

 will give you thanks fur yer compliments to me 

 swateheart, and I'll niver chaflP ye's further 

 about yer bees or yer honey; so help me, swate 

 Biddy Malooney." 



The conversation for the next hour in the 

 little cabin was all about the bees in the chalk 

 cave, and Fred gave a general lecture upon 

 how to manage bees. These men had never 

 heard that bees could be removed from trees 

 and rocks, and put into hives, and then man- 

 aged for profit. It was a new revelation to 

 them, and they were deeply interested — the 

 more so, perhaps, because they had the sub- 

 stantial evidence before them in the delicious 

 honey of which they all had eagerly partaken. 



Instead of a crack-brained fellow looking for 

 the little honey-bee, the men now looked upon 

 Fred as a "jaynyus," as Matt Hogan expressed 

 it, and there was no more joking upon bees and 

 honey, at his expense. 



"And now, Mr. Ghering, and gentlemen," 

 said Fred, "I will tell you my plans in relation 

 to these bees. I have learned there is an old 

 deserted bee-ranch down the river. If I could 

 purchase that cabin and the empty hives I 

 would have a neat apiary on the bluff in a 

 short time. Do any of you gentlemen know if 

 there is an owner of those things, or where I 

 could find out any thing about them ? " 



"All I know apout the place," said Ghering, 

 " is that a Scotchman, Donald McBurger, ownet 

 the bees. Apout a year later after he had solt 

 his honeys I learned that he was drowned. 

 There was some talk of foul play, and old Jim 

 Dawson, on the opposite site of the rifer, came 

 unter some share of suspicion; but as our rifer 

 population is all the time shifting, and no one 

 knew much of McBurger or where he came 

 from, little nodice was taken of his disappear- 

 ance, and he would have peen forgotten by this 

 time but for the r.emains of his bee-boxes. I 

 would advise you to see Dawson; he could 

 probably tell you if there was any owner to the 

 properdy." 



L^" Owner to the propherty!" said Matt; 

 "mind ye's now. Ould Dawson will be making 

 a claim on it if ye's go to him. Be gorry, I'd 

 go right down and take the baa-traps, and ask 

 lave of nobody. When ye's get the baas in the 

 boxes, Misther Fred, ould Dawson or the divil 

 himself wouldn't be af ther taking them away 

 from ye's." 



"But suppose an owner turned up," said 

 Fred; "then you see I'd be in a dilemma. I 

 should feel a great deal better in possessing a 

 clear title; then I should not be afraid of sher- 

 iffs coming down upon me for another man's 

 property. Don't you see, Matt? " 



"Oh! yes, Misther Fred. I see it's only a 

 matter of faaling, and I don't faal for consta- 

 bles or baas as much as I do for the honey or 

 me swate Biddy Malooney. Arrah, bys, it's tin 

 o'clock. Let's adjourn the baa-meeting and 

 turn Into our bunks. I'll have baas buzzing in 

 me head all night." 



Mr. Ghering owned a sort of catamaran, or 

 flatboat; and the next forenoon, Fred, after 

 some delay in repairing it, floated down the 

 river upon his new enterprise. Desiring to 

 obtain all information possible about the prop- 

 erty in question he ran his boat up to Buell's 

 landing. Securing his craft he hastened up the 

 winding path to the house. Upon his approach 

 he heard the well-known voice of Alfaretta 

 singing her favorite song. Stepping through 

 the shrubbery he found her sitting besidie a 

 rose-bush and weaving the great flowers into a 

 wreath. Fred thought she formed the loveliest 

 picture that eyes ever gazed upon. She was a 

 fitting companion to the delicately tinted roses 

 around her. His heart yearned again for the 

 return of reason into that shapely head. At- 

 tracted by the crush of twigs and parting 



