68 



THE AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL. 



Feb. 3. 



disadvantage is, the combs are a trifle harder to get out of 

 the supers. Still, if we leave the flat bottom-bar in the super 

 long enough for the bees to ripen and mature the honey, as it 

 ought to be, we often find them as bad as the others. Now 

 you have my reasons for modeling a Langstroth hive to suit 

 my fancy. 



Mr. Langstroth had the misfortune to have many agents 

 that did not fairly represent him, and one in particular that 

 cheated him out of a large percentage of his just dues. I had 

 the supreme satisfaction of balking him in at least two of his 

 schemes. 



Along about this time In my bee-keeping, I obtained my 

 first Italian queen, and along with her directions for rearing 

 queens in small nuclei boxes, 4 by 6 Inches, and of course 

 went into rearing worthless queens with all the enthusiasm 

 Imaginable. After two seasons I found all was wrong from 

 beginning to ending, so I studied up a far better plan. 



Apout 1864 I sold out and moved to Iowa, and settled In 

 Mitchell county. In an excellent locality for bee-keeping. The 

 next question was, where to get a stock of bees to start with. 

 The country was new and only partially settled, and no bees 

 kept that I could hear of anywhere near. I finally obtained 

 an old worthless colony 45 miles east, moved them home in 

 midwinter, and put them in the cellar. In March I found a 

 colony In a hollow ttee, cut and moved them home, and sent 

 off to Wisconsin for a queen, but did not receive her until 

 July. In the meantime I had coaxt the old queen until she 

 had a fair-sized nucleus. The found colony was a fair-sized 

 one. I had transferred both in the spring. 



After the first of July I built up to 7 good Italian colo- 

 nies to put Into winter quarters. Now I must tell of a 

 mishap that came very near ending Gallup's career In this 

 world: 



I set the hives on a platform up over a pile of potatoes. 

 One Sunday, along In the winter, while at dinner, I heard a 

 crash down cellar, and on going down with a light found one 

 end of the platform broken down, and five of the hives 

 had slipt oft and rolled down the pile of potatoes. The combs 

 had nearly all rolled out, and were mlxt promiscuously to- 

 gether on the potatoes and cellar-bottom. Well, I righted 

 them up and placed the right number of combs In each hive, 

 and then allowed the bees to crawl In as best they could. But 

 I was stung fearfully. I would work as long as I could, then 

 rush up and out Into the cold air, brush off the bees, and back 

 again. I bloated all up, turned a dark purple, and If I had 

 not known what to do, I should surely have " past in my 

 checks." 



The remedy in such cases is a cold, wet-sheet pack. I 

 have cured other cases in the same manner. One in particu- 

 lar, where the patient had become helpless and speechless. 

 For a horse that gets badly stung, put on blankets wet In 

 cold water, and pour on cold water. I cure rattlesnake bites, 

 both In man and beast, by the cold-water process. 



Well, I borrowed a great sight of trouble the balance of 

 the winter for fear I did not get a queen In each hive, but good 

 luck came In, and they were all right. So much for luck. 



Orange Co., Calif. 



Something About Queens— Stopping Robbing. 



BT C. B. ELLIOTT. 



While I am somewhat a novice In apiculture in Colorado, 

 I have been noting with much Interest the articles of Dr. E. 

 Gallup and others on establishing a standard for queens — see 

 page (360 (1897). Ail I shall speak about is my own experi- 

 ence. I give it for what it's worth, and there may be some 

 points in it worthy of consideration. 



The last week in September, 1896, I by chance found 

 queen-cells In one hive that for some reason had lost their 

 queen. For fear the young queen might be lost In mating, I 

 took out one cell and gave it to handful of bees in an American 

 hive, which was full of honey. I did this simply to be on the 

 safe side in mating. The colony rearing the queens was 

 rather weak. 



On Oct. 3 to 5 I found both queens had hatcht about the 

 1.5th, both to my surprise laying. Now, what to do with both 

 queens was the problem. As the handful had plenty of 

 honey, I decided to let them chance it. I do not think there 

 was one pint of bees. 



To my surprise, about Jan. 1 the handful of bees was 

 about double in size, and the queen was still laying. There 

 was brood in three frames. Monthly, from then on till spring, 

 I watcht them. She was laying continuously, gaining ground 

 all the time, and by June they were one of the strongest colo- 

 nies I had, out of 190, spring count. This colony produced 

 . as much, if not more, honey than any other I had. By an 



oversight I failed to keep track of the number of supers filled 

 by them, but as nearly as I can tell it was eight or nine. They 

 did not swarm during the season. I kept three to four supers 

 on all the time. They still would hang out of the hive, as all 

 could not get inside. 



The sister queen I lost track of, as I buncht my hives to- 

 gether for wintering, and would have known nothing about 

 this one had she not been In an odd hive with a handful of 

 bees, and keeping track of them through curiosity. 



lam now experimenting with 10 October queens, started 

 laying about the 15th ; now they have a nice lot of brood. 

 The 10 colonies are all weak. I started into the winter with 

 354 colonies, all with plenty of honey, and ail strong, with 

 the exception of the 10 mentioned. 



HOW TO STOP BOBBING. 



I noticed an article on stopping robbing. My plan Is this, 

 and It is effectual : Close the hive ail but a half inch, or such 

 a matter, then every few minutes sprinkle or spray the front 

 of the hive, bees and all, with a strong solution of salt water. 

 The water should be quite briny. Don't fear, it won't hurt 

 them, but on the contrary it will do them good, and will stop 

 robbing In a short time. 



By the way, I spray my bees fall and spring, with salt 

 water quite strong, about a half teacupful to the hive. I raise 

 the cover and spray down, and I don't believe you can find a 

 livelier lot of bees anywhere than we have. Also during the 

 summer, if I find a colony not doing as they should, I treat 

 them to a dose of salt water, 

 a Arapahoe Co., Colo., Nov. 2. 



JOSHUA TERRY— A UTAH PIO:«EER. 



[The following biographical sketch was kindly sent us by 

 Mr. Terry's friend— and our friend, too— Mr. E. S. Lovesy, 

 President of the Utah State Bee-Keepers' Association :— Ed.I 



Joshua Terry came to Utah 50 years ago. He Is one of 

 the few now living, of that noble and honored band of the 

 long ago. He is one of those who received the homage of a 

 grateful people In our jubilee year of 1897. Mr. Terry says 

 our grand jubilee, in bringing together old faces, old friends 

 and acquaintances, made him feel for the time being almost 

 as if he were again living over again those eventful times of 

 50 years ago, when they traveled over one thousand miles ef 

 a trackless wilderness and settled here on what was then 

 known as the Great American Desert. But they formed the 

 nucleus that has now grown into a great State. 



Joshua Terry was the son of Parchall and Hannah Terry, 

 and was born In Home District, Canada, Aug. 11, 1825. 

 When he was 13 years of age he moved with his parents to 

 Sheridan Co., Mo., and from there he moved to Illinois, where 

 he followed farming for five years. He then went to Iowa, 

 and from there to Utah in 1847, and settled with his parents 

 at Draper, on a very fertile plat of land near the base of the 

 Wasatch mountains about 20 miles south of Salt Lake City. 

 But having formed an acquaintance with some mountaineers 

 in crossing those wild plains where the States of Nebraska 

 and Wyoming are now located, and being then a young man 

 about 22 years of age, with a strong, robust constitution, and 

 a romantic turn of mind, of a roving disposition, he determined 

 to push out into the wilds of what is now a part of the State 

 of Wyoming, in the vicinity of the headwaters of the Green 

 river, a section of country then virtually unknown to white 

 men. 



For ten years he lived as a hunter and trapper, trader and 

 mountaineer, in those mountain wilds with an old, trusty 

 Delaware Indian as a friend, and sometimes accompanied by 

 other white men. The thrilling incidents told by Father 

 Terry of his many exciting adventures and narrow escapes 

 causes the blood to tingle in one's veins, and almost makes 

 one feel that the same scenes were being enacted over again. 

 It is almost certain that only for this tried and true friend. 



