AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
203 
through a knot-hole. I’d rather have one of my 
plows, than all of them things you can sheer up. 
When it gets broke, a black-smith can mend it. 
It turns up nothing but the black dirt, and it don’t 
take more than half as much team, as them new 
fangled konsarns. I don’t want any of your book 
farming areound me, I don’t.” 
This practical farmer with his two hundred 
acres, keeps about even with the world, and al¬ 
lowing nothing for his own time, gets about two 
per cent, per* annum on the capital invested in 
stock and land. He is an interesting specimen of 
antiquity whose natural history is worth studying. 
--o———.*»«--*-*■-- 
Bees and. Tin Pans. 
To the Editor of the American Agriculturist: 
At the time of the little skirmish carried on in 
your columns, between Messrs. Quinby and Men¬ 
denhall, respecting the habits of the honey-bee, 
I felt very much tempted to come to the rescue 
of the latter gentleman, armed with some stub¬ 
born, inexorable facts. I refrained, however, 
from offering my humble intervention, in the hope 
that the truth would be elicited just as well with¬ 
out it; and I would have remained quiet in my 
retirement to this moment, had I not been warmed 
up again on the subject, by a little circumstance 
which occurred a few hours ago. 
Among my “rural surroundings” there are a 
few bee-hives, to which for my instruction and 
amusement rio less than for my comfort, I am in 
the habit of paying some little attention. About 
II o'clock this morning, I was suddenly called 
home from the field, by the alarmingly protracted 
sounds of the dinner-horn and sundry minor up¬ 
roarious contrivances, and found my little family 
most violently exerted in preventing a young 
swarm from taking “ French leave.” At the first 
glimpse I caught of the state of affairs, I had but 
little hope of reclaiming the fugitives, who were 
already ^widely scattered high up in the air, not 
less than 30 or 40 yards distant from the parent 
hive, say at an angle of 45 or 50 degrees, and 
seemed obstinately bent upon carrying their de¬ 
claration of independence into effect. The van¬ 
guard of the swarm, which appeared to contain 
about two-thirds of the whole, and among which 
that peculiar hum, said to be the voice of the 
queen, was distinctly audible, made several at¬ 
tempts to escape in a certain direction down the 
valley, but were seemingly induced to retrace 
their flight, so soon as we followed close up and 
under them with the loudest instruments of our 
orchestra. The remainder of the swarm, under 
which the children kept up a respectable tin-pan 
and cow-bell charivari, appeared more hesitating 
in their projects, and made but two feeble efforts 
to follow the van, who, finally conquered by the 
noise and confusion, came to terms by settling 
near the top of a young shade tree, directly in the 
rear of the bee-stand. The balance soon follow¬ 
ed suit by clustering on a smaller limb immedi¬ 
ately above that which sustained the main body 
of the colony. Half an hour afterwards the sub¬ 
mission of the rebels was complete, and they 
were quietly transferred to the new quarters kept 
in readiness for them. 
While taking a little shady rest from the fa¬ 
tigues of this operation under 80° F., I picked up 
the last number of the Agriculturist and turning 
to the “ Apiary for May,” my eyes fell upon that 
autocratic sentence, “ No noise is necessary to 
make them cluster ,” and this right in the teeth of 
my hardly concluded experiment, and with the 
proof to the contrary still standing in big drops 
on my brow 1 
Nor is this my first experience to the same 
effect. Since I procured my first hive, eight years 
ago, I have lost three swarms from no other visi¬ 
ble cause than the neglect of the precautions of 
a family orchestra. A neighbor of mine who has 
kept bees for more than twenty years, and with 
considerable success, says he has never failed to 
save any swarm whenever he resorted to these 
measures. Many other old residents, familiar 
with bee-keeping, have told me the same thing; 
in fact I never heard anything else on the subject 
since I was a bov ; the universal notion being that 
the noise, in drowning the voice of the queen, 
prevents the swarm from noticing her signals. 
Now I would ask Mr. Editor, is all this a delusion 
of the senses 1 and if so, what guarantee have we 
that our fallible eyes are not deluding us when 
we read the monthly articles of Mr. Quinby 1 
And at any rate, how are we to make our bees 
believe what that gentleman writes about them, 
and make them behave accordingly 1 
By doing your best towards solving this per¬ 
plexing question, you will, no doubt, oblige hun¬ 
dreds of your faithful readers and especially your 
friend and Ob’t. Servt. “ Doddridge.” 
Doddridge Co ., Va. 
Remarks — We confess to have been somewhat, 
loth to adopt as an article.of faith the dictum, of 
later apiarians, that the tin-pan-and-dinner-horn 
orchestra has no effect in arresting the flight of 
swarms of bees. Though having little recent ex¬ 
perience with them, we have spent our earlier 
years on the farm with 50 to 100 swarms, and 
then a full band of extempore music was consider¬ 
ed a sure remedy—if the said band were muster¬ 
ed in season. We well remember that amid the 
sober hard-working realities of boyhood farm- 
life, thS attempted flight of an issuing swarm was 
a much desired event, as it gave a fine opportuni¬ 
ty for indulging in what nearly every boy delights 
in, a regular charivari. It is hard to give up a 
faith, born and bred in young bones, yet we have 
almost been induced to do so at the fiat of those 
who ought to know. We will give one item from 
experience and then leave the apiarians to defend 
themselves. 
In 1836, while out at the wood-pile, we heard in 
a south-westerly direction the well known sound 
of a swarm of bees on the wing. Nothing doubting 
the efficiency of the tin-pans, and a six-feet din¬ 
ner tin-horn, we instantly called out the “ band ” 
and had the players all ready by the time the bees 
were over head—at a hight of some twenty-five 
feet. The noise appeared to confound the swarm, 
and they presently alighted in the orchard, were 
hived, and remained peacefully with us, and in¬ 
creased to half-a-dozen swarms.— Ed.] 
-— .wo— -»-=’- 
Bottling 1 up “SunStrokes.” 
To the Editor of the American Agriculturist : 
A few years past, I’ve heard people talk a great 
deal about getting “sun-struck,” and the City 
newspapers every Summer have many accounts 
of such cases in the streets. I used to think when 
I first heard about it, that it was something that 
came down from the sky like a stroke of light¬ 
ning, only there was no noise with it, and that if 
we kept in the shade there was no danger. But 
one day I was on the hay-mow stowing away hay 
under the rafters—if you have ever been there 
you know' it’s a powerful hot place — and my John 
was pitching it in pretty strong, when all of a 
sudden, I began to feel very queer. My limbs 
trembled and it began to look misty and dark 
like, so I sung out to John to hold on. After 
coming down and sitting in the air a little while 
I felt better, but I didn’t go up there again that 
day. I was telling my symptoms to the doctor, 
next day, and he said, “you came near being sun- 
struck.” That struck me with a new idea, and I 
learned that the danger is not from a bolt of sun¬ 
shine, but from getting over-heated, and that there 
is greater danger generally in the sunshine, only 
because it’s hotter there. 
Since then, when I’ve had any very trying work 
to do in hot weather, I’ve turned out to work too 
or three hours earlier in the morning, and then 
taken an extra nap in the heat of the day, letting 
the teams rest at the same time, and as I am 
not afraid of being moon-struck, I sometimes keep 
to work in the evening, especially when there’s 
a good harvest moon. 
But there’s another thing I’ve learned which 
some do not know, perhaps, that sun-strokes can 
be bottled up. Franklin bottled up lightning, but 
I can tell some folks how to keep sun-strokes in 
a bottle or jug where they wont hurt them. Let 
them just tie the cork of their whiskey jug down 
tight, and as long as the string holds they will 
not be in much danger. If you put a man be¬ 
tween two fires it's a wonder if lie does not get 
burnt; so when the fiery sun is on the outside 
and the fiery water on the inside, he is in great 
danger. Jonathan. 
---sj*-i---- 
For the Amtrican Agriculturist. 
My Neighbor and his Pigs. 
Mr. Editor : 
When about buying the farm where I now re¬ 
side, I very naturally of course asked the former 
occupant about the neighbor I would have on the 
other side of the road. He replied that he was a 
“clever man enough, though he had his faults,” 
and as I did not expect perfection in this world, I 
made no further question. But there is “a thorn 
in the flesh”—my neighbor keeps his hogs upon 
the road. No one knows the amount of annoy¬ 
ance I have submitted to these many years, not¬ 
withstanding the mildest suggestions and requests 
with regard to the unhappy liberty of those hogs. 
So this year when I heard the preparatory 
squeals, and announced the ominous fact in the 
family, wife was seized with a sort of despair, 
and advised to sell out and go away. Little 
Tommy declared war in the stoning line, and I 
bethought me of writing for aid to the Agricul¬ 
turist. 
What can I do? I do not feel as though I 
could ‘sell out and go away’ from all the comforts 
and luxuries that by hard labor I have got around 
me ; all the trees I have planted for fruit and or¬ 
nament ; all the conveniences and niceties I have 
added to the house ; and all the improvements I 
have made in the fields, that begin to look so much 
like living. Besides, I have grown attached to the 
hills and the vales, and the belt of forest that 
forms so pleasant a feature in the view. 
Wife asks whether it is best to plant the flow¬ 
ers this year as usual in the front yard, since if 
the gate should be inadvertently left open for a 
moment, our neighbor’s hogs would have then- 
noses again under the dahlia-roots, and a good 
time generally, among the flowers. The sad ex¬ 
perience of other years would give a negative 
answer, since not being a Crcesus, and therefore 
not rich enough to keep a dog, we are obliged 
to content ourselves with a “ shoo ” and a “ste- 
boy,” which seems to be very mild means, with 
the devastators. 
We have all received standing orders again not 
to enter by the front way, when coming from 
the street, for fear of tracking the “droppings’ 
through the hall and over the carpet, the peculiar 
odor of which has caused so much washing and 
scrubbing heretofore, and required extra shoes 
to make us presentable in the house. 
