936 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Dec. 15. 



subject, it is too much to expect that a fellow- 

 mortal, indulging in the daily habit of weigh- 

 ing out wire nails, selling wire fences, egg-beat- 

 ers, carpetistretchers, sausage-stuffers, and oth- 

 er destructive implements, could talk euphoni- 

 ously of queen-bee parthenogenesis, or even of 

 Dovetailed hives and bee-spaces. Mr. Butcher 

 did not know of a bee-keeper in the county— not 

 even the German grave-digging apiarist — and 

 did not believe there was one; if there was, he 



OUR FIRST COYOTE. 



surely hid his candle of bee-lore under a bushel. 

 Honey was shipped in from San Francisco in 

 small packages, but he preferred to sell Mr. 

 Mendleson's honey because he was satisfied it 

 was pure. After thus scoring a good point for 

 Mr. M. and Ventura Co. honey, my Butcher 

 was called away to weigh out some more nails, 

 and another gentleman took up the conversa- 

 tion. I soon discovered that this man had been 

 there with a bee-veil on, and had produced his 

 tons of honey. The tons, though, were pro- 

 duced away back east, in Missouri and in Ohio, 

 where he originally came from. Referring to 

 Ohio I asked him if he was acquainted with 

 G1.EANINGS. 



"Oh! yes," said he. "I always read it with 

 profit; but since I came out here, about a year 

 ago, I have not taken it. And, by the way, I 

 wonder where that Rambler fellow is now who 

 used to write for it." 



I smiled a little in my sleeve. It was a difl'er- 

 ent smile from my Wilder deer-sign smile — not 

 sarcastic, but a sort of mellow fraternal smile. 

 I handed him my card, whereon were my cre- 

 dentials. He seemed very happy to meet the 

 Rambler, and we just fraternized with alacrity, 

 and with a sort of Salvation Army cordiality, 

 for the space of half an hour or more. The 

 gentleman lived a few miles down from town, 

 and his name was Brown — J. M. Mr. Brown 

 gave me the information that there was a large 

 number of honey-producing flowers, but this 

 year there seemed to be no honey in them, and 



bees would barely make a living. He clinched 

 his information by remarking that he believed 

 it not much of a honey country any way. 



Like all true bee-keepers, Mr. Brown had a 

 few bees, and was determined to find out the 

 capabilities of the country. He advocated the 

 Hofl^man frame and all modern appliances, and 

 believed, after visiting diiferent portions of the 

 State, that Saint Louis the Bishop's County 

 was the best portion of it, if not for bees, for 

 other general agricultural 

 purposes. I was glad to see 

 Mr. B. so enthusiastic over 

 the country of his choice. By 

 so doing he showed forth the 

 true California spirit. 



Mr. Brown's son-in-law 

 here put in an appearance 

 s on a big wagon. He also had 

 been interested in bees — a 

 sort of reflection, perhaps, 

 from Mr. B.; at any rate, in- 

 troductions and another time 

 that kind o' loosened up our 

 heart-strings, was indulged 

 in. The Rambler was urged 

 to share the hospitalities of 

 the Brown mansion; but as 

 it was several miles away 

 from our route I cast my re- 

 grets at them, and we parted with mutual 

 wishes for prosperity and long life. 



Your readers probably remember the episode 

 of Billy and his teacher. Teacher says, " Now, 

 Billy, it is south in front of you; what is it be- 

 hind you?" "My coat-tail, sir," says Billy, 

 promptly, giving a side cant to his head to get 

 a view of that appendage. Well, early the next 

 morning San Luis Obispo, like Billy's coat-tail, 

 was behind us, and we were again enjoying the 

 enchanting views attendant upon climbing up 



COWGIRLS. 



through the winding course of a canyon, which 

 we surmounted when we crossed the Cuesta 

 Pass, and struck into the tail end of another 

 canyon. We were now in a country admirably 



