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THE AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL. 



Sept. 24, 1903. 





Miscellaneous Items 



] 



Mr. a. p. Raught, of Lake Co., 111., called on us Sept. 16, and 

 reported the best season he has ever known. He started with 4 colo- 

 nies last spriDfc, increased to 10, besides losing one prime swarm, and 

 had taken off 640 pounds of the finest white clover comb honey, which 

 likely would be increased to 700 pounds by the end of the season. He 

 was mostly smiles when we saw him. 



Tyler Bros, (three of them) recently shipped to Paris, France, 

 two car-loads of fine alfalfa honey in 60-pound cans, from their 

 Nevada apiaries. The price received for the honey was 5}. i cents a 

 pound, f. o. b. starting point. This is $110 a ton, or *3640 for the twO' 

 cars. America can easily help to sweeten the people across the seas. 

 And when they once get a taste of that delicious alfalfa honey, they 

 will want more of it. At least that is the way it works with this 

 pencil-shover. 



The Apiart op F. L. Touncman appears on the first page this 

 week. It is located in an orchard, and consists of 120 colonies, all in 

 the Hilton chaff hives, which, he thinks, is an ideal hive for a cold 

 country. In fact, Mr. Youngman thinks they are better for the bees 

 in the summer, as the chaff walls keep the hot sun from the brood- 

 nest, thereby letting the bees work during the hot part of the day, 

 instead of hanging on the outside, as they do on a single-walled hive. 



Mr. Youngman used, for the first this year, the plain section and 

 fence, and found them the finest thing in the shape of honey sections 

 he had ever used. He says they are more easily cleaned, give the 

 bees better access through the super, and make, when filled, a clean 

 and neat looking piece of honey. 



The honey-flow, in his locality, was better this season than it had 

 been for years. The raspberries, white clover, basswood, buckwheat, 

 and fall flowers gave a long honey-flow, and made the bee-keeping 

 business one of profit as well as pleasure for him. 



The Grand Canton of the Colorado River, in Arizona, 6.5 miles 

 north of Williams, we had been told, is a wonderful sight. In last 

 week's issue we had just arrived at Williams, and were about to start 

 on the side-trip to see the biggest hole in the ground, we suppose, 

 there is anywhere in the world. 



At Williams, Mr. S. W. Barnes, the genial Traveling Freight and 

 Passenger Agent of the Santa Fe railroad, got aboard. It was his duty 

 to answer questions and make everybody feel happy. He seemed to 

 enjoy his work. At least he didn't act as if it disagreed with him. Of 

 course, he knew everybody and everything all around the Grand Can- 

 yon. So he was a handy man to have on board. He talked as it he 

 thought the Santa Fe was the greatest railroad going through the 

 greatest part of the country in all the world. And Grand Canyon — 

 well, that would have to be seen in order to be appreciated ! 



It was nearly 7 p.m. when we arrived at the Grand Canyon, early 

 enough to get a good view of it before dark. We all walked up to its 

 edge, or rim, and— looked. Well, there is no doubt about its being a 

 big hole. It is wonderful. There is no use in any one trying to 

 describe the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. One might as well 

 attempt to tell all about the Rocky Mountains, or all about the United 

 States, or all about bee-keeping, or any other impossible thing. 



We were told that the Canyon, at that particular point, is 1.3,14 

 miles wide, and about one mile deep. But it didn't seem so. Some 

 of us just knew it couldn't be posiible. But it wouldn't do to get too 

 contradictive, or one might get pushed off the edge of that almost 

 bottomless pit, and then it would be good-bye forever. 



It was Saturday night. And no barber-shop within 65 miles. 

 What were the rough-bearded ones to do i No shave since the Wednes- 

 day before, when leaving Chicago. We were about to give up the 

 idea of shaving, and thus be more in accord with the wild and dreary 

 place in which we were stopping, when we were informed that the 

 two city young men who had started out with the bee-keepers' car 

 were barbers, and had their tools with them. One end of the tourist 

 car was soon transformed into a barber-shop, and the car seats used 

 as barbers' chairs. While one young man lathered the stubby faces, 

 the other did the " scraping," and soou all were smoothly shaven — 

 at 25 cents each ! 



The young barbers made so much that they decided to leave the 

 next forenoon instead of waiting until Monday. So that was the last 

 we saw of our " jolly barber boys." 



It was arranged amongst us to hold a religious service in the hotel 

 parlor on Sunday morning, at 6:15 o'clock, where there were a good 

 supply of comfortable chairs and a first-class piano. We had taken 

 with us a couple song books, as well as some other special music. Mr. 

 and Mrs. Tallady had also brought a Sunday-school singing book. 

 Familiar songs were selected, so that tew books were needed. Mrs. 

 York played the piano, and her smaller half managed the program. 



After singing one or two inspiring songs, Dr. Miller was called on 

 to read the scriptures and offer prayer. Then another song, after 

 which A. I. Root acted as preacher and talked to those present on , 

 " In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths." 

 He didn't talk long, so no one went to sleep. It was really a 

 helpful discourse, and made all feel better to start the day in that 

 delightful way. After a duet by the pianist and program manager, 

 and also a hymn by the " congregation,'' N. E. France closed the ser- 

 vice with prayer. 



Then all went to breakfast. 



But after breakfast, what was to be done? Dr. Miller and the 

 women-folks evidently decided to take things easy, and rest. But Mr. 

 Root was as uneasy as a cat in a strange garret. He wanted to go 

 down the trail into the Canyon. And yet he couldn't quite think it 

 in exact accord with the command, " Remember the Sabbath day to 

 keep it holy." But the more he thought about it the more he felt he 

 ought to walk down into that Canyon, even if it was Sunday. Others 

 were going, some on horseback, or muleback, and some a-foot. It was 

 too much. He simply must get down into that Canyon, and also be 

 first to " get there." It seemed too bad, after coming so far, and 

 spending so much good money! to reach only the rim of it, wouldn't 

 do at all. 



So off he started — down the trail — the liveliest boy of all. In 

 fact, he led the party that walked. Among them were the writer, 

 Tallady, Schneider, Moe, and Woods. And Mr. Hyde rode a horse, at 

 S4.00 for the round trip. 



We wish we could tell our readers all about that trail or single-file 

 path that zigzags down the Canyon. Just imagine walking down the 

 edge of an almost straight-up-and-down hill for about four or five 

 miles, in a dusty, much-traveled path, and you can have a little idea 

 of what it meant. It took about two hours to reach the table-land be- 

 low, which was still 1500 feet above the waters of the Colorado River. 

 We all went only to the rocky bank of the river, which was 1000 feet 

 almost directly above the water, which looked about a rod wide below, 

 when, in reality, it was 500 feet! The water is muddy, and rushes 

 along at a rapid rate. 



About a '30-minute walk back from the place where we saw the 

 river running through the deep gorge, are nine white tents, where 

 people can remain all night if they wish. From the top of the Canyon 

 all of these tents together look about the size of two ordinary hand- 

 kerchiefs. One can also get a meal here if he so desires. Several of 

 us did so, after taking a short nap. And then came the walk and 

 climb back to the hotel at the top of the Canyon. It still makes us 

 tired to think of it. It was a sultry Sunday afternoon. And down 

 in that old hole — oh, how hot it was! Not a breath of air! And to 

 climb several miles on a criss-cross, dusty, narrow mule-path — do you 

 wonder that the effort was almost too much for some of us — especially 

 for those who had been used to sitting at an office-desk' Several 

 times we thought we would have to stop, and send for a horse or mule 

 to take us up and out. Mr. Root, as well as several of the others of 

 the party, were also winded pretty badly. But Mr. Woods and the 

 writer pushed on, resting often, and finally got so far ahead of the 

 others that we feared possibly Mr. Root had given out, or else some 

 one else. We feared so much for Mr. Root that when we did finally 

 reach the hotel we ordered a guide and horse to go and meet him at 

 once. They did so, and soon came up with him and the rest of the 

 party. (But Mr. Root said afterward that he could have made the 

 trip all right without the aid of the horse. ) 



It would be utterly impossible for us to describe adequately the 

 Grand Canyon. In fact, so far as we know no one has been equal to 

 that task. But in a book called " The Titan of Chasms,'' the author 

 has this to say : 



" Stolid, indeed, is he who can front the awful scene and view its 

 unearthly splendor of color and form without quaking knee or tremu- 

 lous breath. An inferno, swathed in soft celestial fires; a whole 

 chaotic under-world just emptied of primeval Hoods and waiting for a 

 new creative word; eluding all sense of perspective or dimension, out- 

 stretching the faculty of measurement, overlapping the confines of 



