1900 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



451 



plowed under all of that clover, seed and all. 

 I suppose the clover and buckwheat came up 

 together ; then as soon as the buckwheat comes 

 off the ground, crimson clover has full swing ; 

 and my impression is, crimson clover and buck- 

 wheat go well together any way, and it gives 

 the bee-keeper two honey crops in one season, 

 and both crops are valuable besides the honey. 

 The clover is so much slower in starting than 

 the buckwheat that it does not do it very much 

 harm. We sowed the two together last sea- 

 son, but we were so late about it the buck- 

 wheat was killed by frost. The crimson clo- 

 ver stood our recent severe winter beautifully. 

 We usually plow it under for potatoes when it 

 is fairly in full bloom, and always get a crop. 

 As far north as we are, however, the sooner 

 you can get the clover in after August 1, the 

 bigger will be your stand of clover. 



BIRDS AND FLOWERS. 



1 am not succeeding with that little green- 

 house during this hot dry weather as well as I 

 should like to. Even with plenty of water 

 and shade, many of the plants fail to thrive. 

 The pelargoniums are si ill "a thing of beauty 

 and a joy for ever," and I sometimes feel like 

 saying, doubtless God might have made a 

 more beautiful plant than the pelargonium, 

 but doubtless he never did. These beautiful 

 flowers bud and blossom right along under all 

 kinds of circumstances. Even if they get 

 pot-bound, and when they are neglected, they 

 seldom wilt. The Bride is still my favorite, 

 although we have now larger plants and with 

 larger blossoms. My thirty different kinds 

 of Tom Thumb nasturtiums are now just 

 masses of bloom. Some of them are not very 

 much Tom Thumb, though, after all. They 

 are running up strings clear to the top of the 

 greenhouse. The ivy geraniums grow like 

 the pelargoniums, and give beautiful masses 

 of bloom with very little time or labor. 



We have hardly had a summer shower this 

 season. When we do have rain it turns off 

 cold ; and as a consequence our plants out- 

 doors are not doing very well. The red spider 

 is getting into the greenhouse, and has very 

 much injured our roses and salvias. I am 

 waiting for a rain so I can put the plants out- 

 doors. Of course, we have plenty of water 

 from the hydrants ; but it is so strongly im- 

 pregnated with soda it makes the plants have 

 a sort of alkaline look that we see in the west- 

 ern plains. Rain water is the best water in 

 the world, and the best way in the world to 

 apply it is as it comes sprinkling from the 

 clouds. The dust mulch mentioned in another 

 column is all right after we once get the plants 

 started and get the roots down into the damp 

 ground. 



But now I wish to tell you something else I 

 enjoy about as much as I do the flowers. I 

 am generally out in the greenhouse between 

 five and six in the morning. The rest of the 

 people in our neighborhood are not up at this 

 time, and so I have every thing to myself, or 

 pretty much so. Well, some little time ago a 

 beautiful little hummingbird got around about 

 the same time I did. At first he was very shy. 



and kept off in the further part of the green- 

 house ; but when he found I seemed friendly 

 he kept coming closer and closer ; and now 

 he will occasionally alight to rest within a few 

 feet of my face. I have told you about the 

 thrills that I get from a beautiful flower. 

 Well, this little stranger, with his bright eyes 

 and his green and gold costume — a costume 

 fashioned and painted by the finger of the 

 great God above — this gorgeous little fellow 

 gives me again and again these same thrills. 

 While drinking in the nectar he rests poised 

 in the air as steady and still as if supported 

 by an iron pedestal; and, what is more won- 

 derful, one morning when there was quite a 

 breeze I was astonished to find that he rested 

 in mid air just as still and rigid as when the 

 air was perfectly quiet. Now, what a marvel- 

 ous thing is this! We admire the skill of 

 man in bringing out wonderful machines; but 

 this tiny bird not only maintains a stationary 

 position in the soft yielding air while he 

 drinks the nectar, but he maintains it just the 

 same, even during a breeze that shakes the 

 flowers and foliage all about him, and he does 

 it involuntarily. He does not seem to know 

 that he is performing one of the most difficult 

 feats in aeronautics. The scientific world is 

 now devoting considerable time and money in 

 developing flying-machines — or rather, per- 

 haps, we should call them gliding-machines. 

 When we get a gliding-machine so a man can 

 sail from the hilltops into the valleys, as a 

 hawk sails on stationary wing, the principal 

 difficulty with flying-machines will have been 

 gotten over. So far the result has been that 

 one inventor after another has lost his life by 

 a capsize of the machine. But this tiny hum- 

 mingbird masters the whole thing as simply 

 and easily and unconsciously as you would 

 stand on your feet. I wonder if these great in- 

 ventors have studied the hummingbird. Does 

 anybody in this whole wide world understand 

 how this bird ties up his little bark anywhere 

 at any time and at any moment, with not a 

 thing to rest on, and even in spite of a brisk 

 wind ? 



During our recent warm moonlight nights 

 Mrs. Root has been kept awake between twelve 

 and one o'clock by some song bird. We have 

 not decided whether it is a mocking-bird or a 

 redbird. Our night watchman has spoken of 

 it. I have kept awake once or twice long 

 enough to get a thrill of joy from his won- 

 drous melody. One morning, about the time 

 of this musical treat, I saw a bird standing on 

 the stand by the cistern pump. He evidently 

 was looking for a drop or two of water. This 

 bird was more gorgeously attired than the 

 hummingbird, if possible. It was one of the 

 species of redbirds that might be gladdening 

 our homes with songs and with their beautiful 

 plumage, were it not for the wholesale slaugh- 

 ter to get them to plume the ladies' bonnets 

 or to keep them caged up. And this opens 

 the way for me to introduce to you a friend of 

 mine whom God has called, not only to plead 

 sor, but to enforce the law in behalf of, our 

 feathered songsters. 



The letter illustrates two things: First, how 

 unlike is humanity! One man feels called in 



