498 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Apr. 1 



plant has a pungency something like mus- 

 tard, and doubtless is liked by the fowls on 

 that account; the leaves are thick and suc- 

 culent, something like cabbage, and a single 

 thirfty plant makes quite an armful. Hot 

 weather and lack of rain (like the present 

 season) have no effect on it, for it is watered 

 by the briny spray of the great ocean. 



My "Florida nying-machines " are now 

 roosting in the tall cedar-trees just in front 

 of our door — not all of them, however, for 

 only a few have leai'ned to liy so high. Ev- 

 ery night at sundown there is a "contest" 

 that I seem to enjoy as much as any of them. 

 The most skillful and musci lar flyers look 

 down from their lofty perch and watch the 

 repeated trials of the others. The flapping 

 (or, rather, flipping) of their newly "created" 

 wings is music in my ears, and the planning 

 and calculating they resort to to get up 

 among their fellows is amusing. 



Last night a lot of them, that had appar- 

 ently given up, hopped from the workbench 

 to the top of the woodshed door, which had 

 been left open temporarily, and from there 

 to the roof, and then by the aid of their wings 

 they reached the ridge-pole of the house, 

 from which it was "clear sailing" to their 

 comrades in the cedars. This makes it just 

 about nine weeks from the egg to the tree- 

 t ips. When in the tree-tops, although in one 

 sense "m the woods," they are, so far as care 

 of the owner is concerned, ' ' out of the woods. ' ' 

 A little grain where they can have access to 

 it, and they care for themselves until ready for 

 market, or to go to laying — no houses to clean 

 out and fuss with — at least in this climate. 

 In lesson No. 1 I spoke of learning from the 

 chickens an example of being happy with the 

 environment God has given us; in No. 2 of 

 the necessity of providing for these bodies of 

 ours proper nourishing food in the way of a 

 balanced ration; lesson No. 3 in regard to 

 our spiritual needs in order that we may be 

 as happy, satisfied, and contented as the row 

 of chickens resting on the log. We will in- 

 troduce by quoting Matt. 10: 29, 30, 31. 



Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one 

 of them shall not fall on the ground without your Fa- 

 tier. But the very hairs of your head are all num- 

 ■bered. Fear ye not, therefore; ye are of more value 

 than many sparrows. 



Well, I have been very happy this after- 

 noon, dear friends, in singing an old hymn 

 that I learned fi'om brother Shumard. I 

 give just the words, but you can probably 

 fand the music in some of your books. As 

 you sing it, or even read it over, study care- 

 fully until you get the full meaning of every 

 line and every sentence. 



I am dwelling on the mountain. 



Where the golden sunlight gleams 

 O'er a land whose wondrous beauty 



Far exceeds my fondest dreams; 

 Where the air is pure ethereal, 



Laden with the breath of flowers. 

 They are blooming by the fountain, 



'Neath the amaranthine bowers, 

 I can see far down the mountain. 



Where I wandered weary years, 

 Often hindered in my journey 



By the ghosts of doubts and fears; 

 Broken vows and disappointments 



Thickly sprinkled all the way. 

 But the Spirit led unerring 



To the land I hold to-day. 



I am drinking at the fountain. 



Where I ever would abide; 

 For I've tasted life's sweet river, 



And my soul is satisfied; 

 There's no thirsting for life's pleasures 



Nor adorning rich and gay. 

 For I've found a richer treasure, 



One that f adeth not away. 

 Chorus: —Is this not the land of Beulah, 



Blessed, blessed land of light. 

 Where the flowers bloom for ever, 



And the sun is always bright? 



Dear reader, do skepticism and infidelity 

 offer any thing to be compared with the sen- 

 timent in the above lines? Just think of it, 

 "Fori have found a richer treasure, one 

 that f adeth not away." 



It has been our pleasure to entertain to-day 

 one of the veteran bee-keepers and his wife, 

 Mr. L. Brewer,* of Philo, Ills., and we all 

 sang together the above hymn, and I think 

 all agreed with the sentiment of the beau- 

 tiful words, "Heaven and eai'th shall pass 

 away, but my words shall not pass away." 



I came not to send peace on earth, hut a sword.— 

 Matt. 10:34. 



"FIGHTING MOTHERS." 



I find I have something more to say on this 

 subject. My first pullet that wanted to sit 

 was given 18 eggs. I knew one of Mr. Shu- 

 mard's hens that stole her nest brought home 

 18 chickens, and why should notrtiy hen, at the 

 same time of year, in this locality, also have 

 at least 18 eggs? Well, the other hens laid 

 two eggs more in the nest; one was found 

 unfertile, and my pullet brought out yester- 

 day 18 strong chickens. I hope there are in- 

 cubators that do as well, but I am afraid not. 

 Well, this pullet, as you maj^ remember, is 

 one-fourth Brazilian game. For the first 24 

 hours I put her in a small enclosure of inch- 

 mesh poultry-netting; but she got so excited 

 when other older chicks came near (stepping 

 on /je?* chicks, etc.), that this morning I turned 

 her loose. In a little while some of the old- 

 er chickens came near. The day before, I 

 kept a little switch handy to drive them away 

 when I was giving the "new arrivals" their 

 "baby chick-food." Well, as soon as one of 

 the half-grown ones came this morning with- 

 in about a rod of her chicks she made a dive 

 for him and had him by the nape of the neck, 

 shaking him aloft in the air until I came to 

 his rescue. The day before, while she was 

 penned, I had tried in vain to make him stay 

 away. After the shaking she gave him, how- 

 ever, he ' ' made for the timber, ' ' and I haven't 

 had a glimpse of him since. Friends, this is 

 a "chicken story," but there is a moral to it. 

 Yesterday's daily told of a miscreant who 

 went into a town making picture sketches. 

 He picked out good-looking girls of 12 or 14, 

 and on pretense of wanting to sketch them 

 he got them into his "studio." When a raid 

 was made on the place, three girls — children 

 — were found imconscions from the effects of 

 drugged whisky. Well, I should like to see 

 the mothers of these girls take that fellow as 

 the game hen took that chicken, and either 



* On pages 11 25 and 1126 of Gleanings for Sept. 1, 

 last year, you will find pictures of Mr. Brewer, with a 

 sketch. 



