1901 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



143 



RAMBLE NO. 181. 



Dame Fortune ; Keeping Bees on Shares ; the 

 Barber Method of Producing Comb Honey. 



BV RAMBI.ER. 



[It is with a great deal of pleasure that I announce 

 that Rambler is to begin his series of illustrated arti- 

 cles which were discontinued some three years ago 

 owing to the pressure of other duties and some 

 changes in his plans. He is now in position to resume 

 the series, and the first one begins where the others 

 left off, and is given herewith. — Ed.] 



" Why, Mr. Rambler ! how do you do? Glad 

 to see you. Sit down here on this hive in the 

 shade of the fig-tree, and let's have a talk. 

 Le'me see — it's been two or three years since 

 I put my optics on you. But, Rambler, you 

 look awful bad — sick, are you.'' No? Pushed 

 that wheel a little too lively — sandy roads? 

 No? Got into a scrimmage with a teamster? 

 Hat-brim tore? No? Ran off that pesky 

 river bridge, got lost, and came near starving 

 on those alkali plains ? ' ' 



"O Mr. McCubbin ! it is worse than all 

 that. Heigh-ho ! hum — worse, worse." 



"Worse? why, land alive ! you didn't get 

 run over by a railroad train ? coat-sleeves rip- 

 ped, pants tore — too bad — no? What ! struck 

 by lightning in yesterday's unusual thunder- 

 storm ? " 



"Worse, Mr. McCubbin— worse, worse." 



" Land o'Goshen ! Rambler, what have you 

 been through — a thrashing machine, a rock- 

 pulverizer, a — " 



" O my friend McCubbin! it's worse than 

 all that — worse, worse, my dear McCubbin ; 

 I've been jilted." 



" Ha ! ha ! Rambler. I might have known 

 it. How sad, dejected, and how disconsolate 

 you look ! seed}^ as a haystack, and forlorn ; 

 too bad, too bad. But, hey now ; was it a 

 grass widder that got away with that heart 

 o'3'ours? " 



" Well, now, McCubbin, that's too bad ; in- 

 deed, it is a bad way to let your mind wander 

 into such trivial channels. Why, I could 

 stani such jilts as you speak of twice a week, 

 and still smile. But, McCubbin, I have been 

 jilted by Dame Fortune. You see, I worked 

 happily and hopefully in building up a nice 

 apiary, every thing new and up-to date. It 

 was located in a quiet cosy nook in the Ca- 

 huenga Hills. I could cast my eyes down the 

 canyon, and in the distance see the restless 

 waters of the P. c'fic Ocean, while all around 

 me were the everlasting hills. The bluejiys 

 were my companions and regular boarders. 

 The mockingbird mocked, and in the deep si- 

 lence of the night a distant coyote would send 

 his multitudinous carol down the canyon ; but, 

 heigh-ho ! those pleasant pictures are blasted. 



" You see, my friend, I had just gotten my 

 new apiary into shape to make at least $1000 

 a year out of it when there fell to our lot in 

 Southern California two dry seasons, and now 

 we are facing another. See, see, Bro. McCub- 

 bin, these emaciated features, these bepatched 

 pants, these protruding elbows ; and, alas ! I 

 am but a type of many bee-men in that por- 

 tion of the State. But, Bro. M., I will not 



complain, for I have a good share of my bees 

 left, while many have lost all they had. These 

 are sad ) ears for the beemea of Southern Cal- 

 ifornia. The circumstance is beyond our ken, 

 and we lay it to the fickleness of Dame For- 

 tune." 



" Beg your pardon. I might have known 

 that women would have paid no attention to 

 such a forlorn chap ; but if you had got that 

 $1000 a year you'd had to do the jilting — hey, 

 Rambler? " 



RAMBI^ER TURNS UP AT M'CUBBIN'S APIARY. 



" Bro. McCubbin, let's talk about something 

 more agreeable. I wish to tell you that I have 

 again decided to try to woo Dame Fortune, 

 and I have traveled all of these weary 250 

 miles, and here I am in this alfalfa country ; 

 and now what can you do for me? " 



" Why, Rambler, you are just the man I 

 have wanted to see. I am just so full of busi- 

 ness that I can not attend to my bees, and you 

 are just the man to do it. You see, I own a 

 160-acre timber-ranch a few miles north, and 

 two fruit-ranches. In fact, I am a rancher, 

 bee-keeper, housekeeper, painter, paper-hang- 

 er, stock-dealer, real-estate agent, insurance 

 agent, book-keeper, honey-dealer, etc. Then 

 you know I lost my wife two years ago, and I 

 have these two little children to care for, and 

 I sometimes call this my orphanage. You can 



