AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
4:07 
1869 .] 
honey to furnish material for making it, that, as a gener¬ 
al tiling, it does not pay. 
Mow to Feed. —Bees may be.fecl in box-hives as fol¬ 
lows : Bore two or three holes in the top, set on shallow 
dishes containing the feed mixed with shavings or cut 
straw, to keep the bees from drowning, and cover the 
whole with a close-fitting box, so that no bees can get in 
except through the hive. In case of movable frames, 
the combs may be taken out and held at an angle of 
forty-five degrees, and the honey or syrup poured through 
a flat-bottomed tin dish with some twenty small holes 
punched in the bottom, into the cells. "When one side 
is filled, the combs can be turned, and the process re¬ 
peated Tvith the other side. 
Impurities of Cross bred Drones. —An article 
with the above heading, written by Bidwell Bros., St. Paul, 
Minn., appears in the Agriculturist for February, 1SG7. In 
this article it is shown by reasons tl’Ait seem conclusive to 
them, that the drones from a pure Italian queen, impreg¬ 
nated by a native drone, are inferior in color, and hence, 
by inference, in purity. Since that time, this statement 
has been copied by various papers, and, because undis¬ 
puted, taken for truth. I cannot now say that it is posi¬ 
tively false, but my experience is against it. I have no 
theory to offer, but the fact that in the raising of Italian 
queens I have observed tiiat the drones from sucli queens 
are usually lighter colored, ought to be admitted to 
weigh something. The question has been raised, Why 
Hottest it? This would be no easy matter for anyone 
person under ordinary circumstances. There arc few 
apiaries situated so far from all native bees as to make 
the mixing of blood impossible. The queen will go 
three miles or more to meet the drone. Mere opinion is 
the poorest kind of proof, yet we can have nothing bet¬ 
ter than this, as it seems, until something more conclu¬ 
sive appears. So far_my experience and conclusions are 
directly opposed to those of Bidwell Bros. Will other 
bee-keepers give theirs? 
Bee Bobbers. —John Wttrfilein, Montgomery Co., 
Pa., wishes to know if there is any redress at law if his 
neighbors’ bees rob his hives. Also if there is any way 
of killing the robbers without hurting his own bees.— 
There is no law that will help him.—I would not suggest 
any way of killing them, but would recommend keeping 
them strong enough to prevent robbing, which involves 
considerable knowledge with a convenient hive. 
Alsike Clover.—J. Hildreth, Mansfield, 0., writes: 
“ I have seen it stated that Alsike clover is good for bees, 
hay, and pasture. Will you describe it, and state its relative 
value for these purposes as compared with the common 
Bed Clover.”—The Alsike clover seems to be a species be¬ 
tween the White and Red. Its leaf is of medium size, 
and the blossom larger than that of the white, and tinged 
with red ; the stem is erect or nearly so ; it grows eight¬ 
een or twenty inches high, sending out the flower shoots 
at the axils of the leaves. I have tried it on sandy soil, 
and had it do well the second year, making good hay. 
But it has proved a biennial here, and I should not sow 
it in preference to the white clover for the bees. A neigh¬ 
bor tried it on clay loam with similar results. 
Progeny of Italians. —A cm-respondent writes : 
‘’What I wish to know is how the progeny of a Pure 
(Italian) Queen may lie distinguished from that of an im¬ 
pure, or rather the difference between the progeny of a 
pure queen by a pure drone, and that of a pure queen by a 
black drone.”—I know of no test of the purity of Italian 
queens better than the color of their bees, and this varies 
even with the best. Still, I count as hybrids all swarms 
that contain any bees entirely black. My experience 
teaches that of the progeny—that is, the working bees— 
of a pure queen by a black drone, not more than one- 
half will show the yellow band, the rest being colored 
like the natives. The drones from such a queen, how¬ 
ever, would be pure Italian and so marked. 
Tile ESec Malady. —-Writers continue to describe 
the bee malady in Indiana and Kentucky, and would like to 
have the matter discussed. They say, “ No one can give 
a satisfactory solution.” It was suggested last winter 
that the cause of this would be found in some poisonous 
substance collected by the bees. Instances of a similar 
kind arc not unknown among other animals, and I am 
still of the opinion that this is the true solution. 
Is it Prudent to Buy Bees “Would it be 
prudent for a poor man to buy Italian bees at heavy cost, 
aud run the risk of some disease killing them all ?” 
nad he inquired if it was prudent for a poor man to 
buy a cow, horse - , or farm, build a house, plant a fruit 
tree, potatoes, or corn, and “run the risk” of all that 
might thwart his plans and bring him to grief, I could 
answer as well. The man who knows what the dairy, 
the farm, or the orchard needs, what foes to meet, and 
how to meet them, and feels confident of his ability to 
do it, would bo likely to succeed with - either. 
So with bees. If he knows their nature and what they 
need, their instincts, and can avail himself of them— 
knows the conditions of their most vigorous activity and 
health, I have no doubt of His success in keeping boos, 
lie should understand their natural history, learning it 
by observation for himself, or collecting it from authors 
on the subject. We first learn the alphabet, then spell, 
and then read. Let him get some reliable work on the 
subject, and calculate for himself the chances of success. 
-«a<2>o——-- 
Tim Bunker on Cape Cod and Cranberries. 
Mu. Editor: —You see, the way it happened 
was this. For years after we got hack from 
down South, Mrs. Bunker was the contentedest 
woman in all my acquaintance. Siie declared 
that Ilookertown was the center- of Connecti¬ 
cut, and the best place in all the world to live in. 
I should have thought more of that if she had 
seen a little more of the world. You could not 
get her out of the house for anything except to 
go to meeting, and down to Shadtown, to see 
Sally and the grandchildren, although they in¬ 
sist upon writing the name of the youngest 
Sallie, which riles her every time she sees it in 
a letter. There was not a word said agin my 
boldin’ of justice courts in the house, or agin 
folks coming to see my stock and improvements. 
She kept on knitting, and baking, and sew¬ 
ing,—so busy that I begun to think she never 
would go anywhere agin. But things come to 
slack water last fall, and she actually staid down 
to Shadtown over night, and made a few visits. 
I had hopes after this. One evening in Febru¬ 
ary, after reading the recipes in the Agriculturist 
until she nodded, she suddenly lifted her gold- 
bowed spectacles as if a new thought had 
struck her. Says she, “Timothy, I guess I’m 
about ready for another journey. Things don’t 
go right in-doors any longer. I spoiled the last 
batch of bread I undertook to make, the pies 
are wretched, the soap did n’t come good, and I 
narrowed the heel of your stocking too soon. 
It is about time I stepped out.” 
“Well, where upon earth will you go to this 
time of year?” I asked,—“Cape Cod, or the 
Jerseys ?” supposing that either place was enough 
out of the world to discourage common people. 
“ Cape Cod, if it will suit you just as well. 
You see, Cousin Dorcas Rogers lives down 
there, and I have n’t seen her since she was up 
here, ten years ago.” 
Cape Cod and Dorcas Rogers 1 This was a 
stumper. I should as soon have thought of 
going to the White Mountains or to any other 
summer resort in midwinter. But I knew it 
was no use talking when Mrs. Bunker’s mind 
was made up. So I got the trunks packed, 
thinking all the while, “I guess she’ll have a 
gay time before she gets back.” Think of going 
down to Rockaway beach in February! 
An old-fashioned stage-coach set us down at 
the door of Gilbert and Dorcas Rogers, about 
two miles from the railroad. It was close by 
the jumping-off place, and a little further out 
of the world than I had ever been before. They 
tell about land so poor that the more a man 
has of it, the worse off ho is. It is no joke. 
I’ve seen thousands of acres of just such land. 
I did n’t see even a mullein stalk. Pitch Pine 
comes up there, undertakes to grow, and gives 
it up as a bad job. I felt bad for the Rogers 
family, and all their cousins. Says I, “Cousin 
Gilbert, how do you people live down here on 
the Cape ? I have n’t seen anything but stunted 
trees and herbage down here; all your corn 
stubble looks blasted.” 
“'Wal,” says Cousin Gilbert, “ that is the way 
it strikes strangers generally. But we are 
about as well off as the rest of mankind. Some 
go to sea, and the balance raise cranberries.” 
“ You don’t mean to say that cranberries 
pays anything decent ?” I asked. 
“ Folks ’round here think it’s about the best 
business going,” he replied. 
“And what is good swamp land worth where 
you can raise them ?” 
“Anywhere from one to three dollars a rod.” 
“ Don’t you mean an acre ?” I asked, thinking 
he had made a mistake. 
“ No, I mean a rod. It sells from two to five 
hundred dollars an acre if everything is right 
about it; and when well stocked with vines in 
bearing condition, it is worth from a thousand 
to seventeen hundred dollars an acre.” 
I opened my eyes at this, but as Cousin Gil¬ 
bert was Deacon in the church, I did not tell 
him ho was talking loose. I thought so, though. 
I had noticed a good many cranberry patches 
as I camo down to the railroad, some of them 
partly covered with water, and some all dry. 
But I supposed they were wild vinos, and did 
not pay much attention to them. 
“ Seventeen hundred dollars an acre!” I ex¬ 
claimed. “ That sounds like speculation in city 
lots. If you can make your swamps worth a 
hundred dollars an acre, I should like to learn 
how. Ilookertown has thousands of acres of 
just such land, that can be bought for a song.” 
“Perhaps not just like it,” said Gilbert, de¬ 
liberately. “ All swamp land will not raiso 
cranberries at a profit. You must have three 
things to make a first-class hog— much, sand, 
and the chance to flow suddenly. Now, there 
are a great many hogs that have muck, but no 
sand or gravel near, and a still greater number 
that have these, but are so situated that they 
cannot be flowed in a few hours. Cranberries 
will grow on almost any muck or peat swamp, 
but they will run mostly to vines, and yield 
very little fruit. The sand checks the growth 
of the vines, and keeps down the weeds and 
grass. The water guards them against the 
worms and the frost.” 
“What is your method of preparing a hog?” 
“Wal,” said Cousin Gilbert, tipping back in 
his chair, “it is a good deal more of a job than 
you would think for. In the first place, you 
have to skin the surface ten or twelve inches 
deep, taking off the roots and sods, and making 
it as nearly level as possible, so that the water 
will readily cover it and run off. Then you 
want to ditch the swamp in lands about four 
rods wide, so that you can drain the land in 
summer when the fruit is growing. This is 
about as necessary as flowing in winter.” 
“How deep do you make your drains ?” 
“Two feet is none too much. They ’ll he all 
the while filling up, and it is better to make 
thorough work while you are about it.” 
“Andwhat next?” 
“ Wal, after you get the muck nicely graded, 
you spread ou about four inches of sand or 
gravel. The thing has been done down here, 
and it don’t make much difference which you 
use. The gravel should he free from all surface 
soil, or dirt, as they call it, so that nothing will 
grow in it. This can be done at any time of 
year, but generally best in winter, by spreading 
the covering upon the ice. When tha .ice melts, 
the sand settles very evenly upon the bottom. 
Some spread the sand directly upon the hog 
without surfing it. But this does not generally 
work so well. The surface soil of a swamp is 
generally full of roots and seeds, which spring 
up and choke the vines. The soil, also, is too 
rich, and makes the cranberries run too much 
to vines. We have learned by experience that 
there is nothing 1 ike poor land for cranberries.” 
“ Cape Cod must he a grand place to learn 
that lesson,” I said. 
“That’s so. Wo own up on the poor land, 
