884 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



November, 1917 



into tlie batteries. If the wind slackens 

 again so that the charge in the battery 

 might run out backward, this connection, or 

 switch, as it is called, cuts off the current 

 automatically. If in a gale the mill should 

 go too fast the current is interrupted in a 

 like manner, and the momentum of the 

 windmill swings it out of the wind. Let 

 us put it this way for illustration : When 

 the mill gets up to the proper speed the 

 current passes thru the batteries, or by the 

 batteries, and does the work. When the 

 speed or power gets to be more than is 

 needed for the Avork it is doing, the surplus 

 piles up, as it were, in the storage battery. 

 In a like manner, when the wind goes down 

 so there is not speed enough to do the 

 work, the battery turns in and assists the 

 windmill. 



I think I forgot to mention that, not veiy 

 long ago, Mr. Forrest supplemented his 

 first 12-foot mill by buying an up-to-date 

 IG-foot mill to put on the highest elevation 

 on his farm of about a hundred acres. This 

 mill is quite a little distance from his house, 

 barns, etc. But that does not matter, be- 

 cause a wire brings the power. In fact, a 

 great part of his m.achines are equipped 

 with a little motor so he can have the power 

 to use in any place he pleases. Indeed, he 

 can move his machines about, wherever they 

 happen to be needed; and just by running 

 to it a little slender wire he gets currents 

 of one or more horse power. 



Friend Forrest is, I think, a little over 

 fifty years of age ; but he is just as full of 

 enthusiasm in keeping pace with electiical 

 science as he ever was; and not only keep- 

 ing pace, but, if I am correct, he is one of 

 the forei'unners in electrical science, espe- 

 cially in the matter of harnessing the winds. 

 He and his good wife are both of Scotch 

 ancesti';\^; and as some of you may not 

 readil}'. '•' catch on " to the Scottish expres- 

 sion, we have taken the liberty to add a 

 little by way of a sort of preface to the 

 poem, as follows: 



BOOK OF POEMS BY ELIZABETH FORREST AXON, A 

 SISTER OF J. F. FORREST. 



The following is copied from a little souvenir 

 book of poems which the good wife gave her husband 

 as a Christmas present. In this book containing the 

 poem, on each page is a beautiful picture painted 

 in water - colors by Mrs. Axon, illustrating the 

 windmill, home, and various things referred to in the 

 poem. I wanted to have it copied in half-tone; but 

 Huber says that, unfortunately, we cannot copy 

 colors except at great expense. The name "Keek- 

 afar " probably refers to the beautiful views for 

 miles in every direction from their home on the 

 great hills. I think friend Forrest said tliat on a 

 clear day they could get glimpses of a town some 

 twenty miles away. Verse 1 has reference to a 

 sheep-shearing machine that is operated by the stor- 

 age batteries. Verse 5 refers to a gale that once 

 blew half the roof off his barn; and this catastrophe 

 may have suggested " harnessing " this wonderful 

 force so as tn make it do his bidding. Verse 9 

 refers to the lamps in his barnyard, poultryhouse, 

 and all over the premises, which can be turned on 



or off by means of a switch! oard on the porch ; 

 verse 10 to the electric lights that cannot be blown 

 out by the wind; verse 11 to the electric vacuum 

 sweeper; verse 12 to the electric fans or blowers 

 in the dining-room and elsewhere; verse 13 to the 

 mill for grinding grain, that makes his " Macaroni 

 breakfast food;" verse 14 to the electric automo- 

 bile piopellcd by wind power ; verse 15 once more 

 to the sheep-shearing machine. Verse 16 refers t:) 

 the periods, few and far between, when there is not 

 wind enough blowing over the hills to move the 

 windmill. 



To 



.James Francis Forrest, 



owner of the 



" Electric Farm," 



and heir to " Keek-afar," 



this poem is 



lovingly inscribed. 



Christmas, 1916. 



THE TEMPERED WIND. 



Ye'll hae h'ard o' the Laird o' Keek-afar. 



The T^aird to the manor born, 

 Wha's tempered th' win's o' Heaven 



An' the helpless lamb has shorn. 



A'weel, he dwells aboon us a'. 



An' farther sees than raaist o' men ; 



But not wi' sight o' or'ner kind — 

 His vision lies beyond the ken. 



Roun' Keek-afar the win's cauld blast 



Had lang been felt fu'. sore; 

 For up the valley's wide clear sweep 



In freedom wild it tore. 



It warstl'd wi' the clinging vines, 



It rocked the very boose ; 

 It dad'it here an' dunt'it there 



Till e'en the swine were crouse. 



Ac summer day, he'll mind it weel, 



The wind on rampage gaed, 

 An' jps to gie our Laird a hunch 



It lifts the roof abonn his bead. 



The shog — it gars bis hair rise up — 



It surely is adept ; 

 AVha daurs deny that very thing 



Let in the great concept ? 



The aged tree flings out its arms 



To whup the gale its lane ; 

 But, och ! the lad that lo'es yer sliade 



Will sued it w' a vane. 



Tlie wildest blast at mirkest hour 



But fans the ingine spark ; _ 

 An' noo our Laird diverts the win's 



An' gars them dae his work. 



An' noo, jist gang to Keek-afar 



An' see that selfsame Laird 

 Gang pushin' buttons here an' there, 



His muscles a' impaired. 



An' lichts flash out like will-o-wisps. 



Their truth ye canna doot ; 

 The win's can bbiw like ouy wraith — 



It canna blaw them oot. 



The fashous gale that raised the stour, 



I' faith : twad gar ye greet ; 

 Is fleecli'd an' sairly wantin' noo — 



It licks the dust frae 'neath his fest. 



The selfsame breeze that cooled him syne, 



Is bottled erst while noo ; 

 An' when himself sits doon to eat 



He gars Boreas fan his broo. 



An' syne it filled his mou' wi' dirt, 



But noo he scarcely minds; 

 But smacks his lips on sruid auld bro^e 



Tliat's made o' meal Zephyrus grinds. 



He does na use Shank's naiges noo. 



The road he seldom tak's. 

 But rides abroad in horseless chaise. 



Propelled by juice Aurora mak's. 



An' noo the bleat o' pnir wee lambs 



Is borne upon tlie breeze; 

 Their mithers, feckless, in the bield — 



The temper'd M'in' has ta'en her fleece. 



