178 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Mar. 1. 



in the sections almost ceased ; and that was 

 not all. The cjneens were released in from lo 

 to lo days ; a large number of them were su- 

 perseded in a short time ; others I replaced in 

 the fall. Three of those not replaced disap- 

 peared during the winter. At that time, ]S<st), 

 I had 80 colonies ; at present, 83. My loss in 

 wintering during these eight years has been )4 

 of one per cent. 



My way of preventing increase is to remove 

 the queens when they swarm out. I usually 

 put my foot on the queen unless she is an ex- 

 tra good one ; then I set her away on a comb 

 of brood for future use. At the proper time I 

 remove all cells but one, and in about twenty 

 days I have a young laying queen that is 

 worth two old ones. 



You say in your footnote, " Queenless colo- 

 nies lack the vim and energy of queened 

 stocks." They do not in my apiary. They 

 will average more honey for me to the colony, 

 handled as above, than those having their 

 queens in the hive during the entire honey- 

 flow. The pa.st season I hived the swarms 

 from what I supposed to be six of- my best col- 

 onies on empty frames, and gave them the 

 sections from the old hive. The result was, I 

 had six colonies with queens removed that 

 averaged twice as many finished sections as 

 the hived swarms did, and the hived swarms 

 failed to reach the average of the seventy col- 

 onies with queens removed. The advantage 

 of having all 3'oung queens, I consider of very 

 much importance. 



I notice that Dr. Miller says, in one of his 

 Straws, that his sections averaged yi oz. heav- 

 ier in 1891) than in 181)7. That is nothing. 

 Mine were lo 'z, oz heavier in LSit7 than in ''JO, 

 and there were KiOO more of them, all sold, 

 and they did not go to the city either. 



Randolph, Ind. 



[Although I know that such good men as 

 Elwood, Doolittle, and scores of others, make 

 the caged queen plan a success, it has not 

 worked very satisfactorily in our hands. In 

 the first place, it entailed a great deal of work 

 in hunting out the queens, caging them, and 

 subsequently destroying the cells; and then I 

 never could get such colonies to work like 

 those that had queens. They would sulk, and 

 do little or nothing in the supers, while the 

 other stocks were doing a land-office business. 

 —Ed.] 



A CALIFORNIA BEE-KEEPER'S THANKSGIVING. 



BY RAMBLER. 



After passing several months on a lone bee- 

 ranch in one of those wild canyons for which 

 California is noted, 1 began to long for the 

 social features of the home. As Thanksgiving 

 approached I hoped that some kind friend 

 would remember my bachelor condition and 

 give me a social privilege on that time-honored 

 feast day. While entertaining these thoughts 

 it is unnecessary to say that I was delighted 

 to receive an invitation to partake of a Thanks- 

 giving chicken with my beekeeping friend 

 Geo. K., who lives in the suburbs of that 

 beautiful summerland city, Riverside, Cal. 



Mrs. K., dear woman, is an invalid, and 

 many weary days is she confined to her bed. 

 When able to leave the bed Mrs. K. has full 

 charge of the culinary affairs, and, not being 

 able to get away from the immediate vicinity 

 of the house, she takes especial pride in caring 

 for the poultry. 



A few spare moments each day are spent in 

 feeding and petting her beautiful Plymouth 

 Rocks. The whole forty-seven had appropri- 

 ate names, and when their rations were placed 

 before them they expected to eat a portion 

 from the hand of their mislress. But now on 

 this Thanksgiving day Mrs. K. is confined to 

 the bed in the front parlor bedroom; and Mr. 

 K., kind and considerate man, desiring to 

 consult his wife about which chicken should 

 serve for the Thanksgiving honors, proceeded 

 to the hennery, caught a fine fowl and tramped 

 with it across the veranda, through the kitch- 

 en, through the dining-room, and into the 

 bed-room. W^ith the merest side glance Mrs. 

 K. recognized her pet chicken bearing the 

 name of Mollie. It had a special endearment 

 from being rescued from a pail of slops after 

 life had become nearly extinct. 



"No, dear George," said Mrs. K., with a 

 sigh; 'I can not have Molhe killed — poor 

 dear Mollie!" 



IVIr. K. marched right out and caught an- 

 other fowl, and again it was across the veranda, 

 through the kitchen, dining-room, pailor, to 

 the bed room. 



" Well, how is this for the oven, Mrs. K.? " 



" Why, George, that is my best sitting hen. 

 I really believe she would sit for ever if I 

 allowed her to. I have named her Patience, 

 and Patience must not be killed." 



Mr. K. not only had Patience in his hands 

 but patience in his heart, and he promptly 

 marched out again bearing a contented smile. 



Before he caught another fowl Mr. K. hap- 

 pih' thought it would be a good plan to place 

 the hens that had been caught, and put 

 through the salvation process, into a separate 

 pen, muttering to himself meanwhile that he 

 didn't see any difference in the tarnal hens. 



Mr. K. then caught the most contemptible- 

 looking hen in the flock. Again he marched 

 across the veranda, etc., and again appeared 

 before the bed; but his coming was heralded 

 this time, for this was a musical hen. Her 

 protesting squalls resounded to every portion 

 of the house; and before he had reached the 

 bedside Mrs. K. shouted, "George! George! 

 that is nn' dear Gabrielle. She is not pietty, 

 I know, but she keeps the hawks away; she is 

 an immense squaller, and no hawk dares to 

 drop down here for a chicken." 



"Well, I .should say she did squall," said 

 Mr. K.; "she is rightly named Gabrielle, for 

 she can beat Gabriel's trump out of .sight." 



S-q-u-a-1-1, s-q-u-a-1-1 through the dining- 

 room, veranda; and as Mr. K. was traversing 

 the space between the house and the chicken- 

 inclosure, neighbor W. shouted to him from 

 the road. 



' ' Hello, K. ! Can I borrow your wheelbarrow 

 to-morrow ? ' ' 



Mr. K. put his hand to his ear and shouted, 

 " What d'y say? " 



