BEE-spoke-data/bees-v0 huggingface dataset:
Whilst this first block is thus being deposited in a straight line across the roof of the hive, and hollowed out into cells as fast as it is deposited, the work also continues downwards towards the floor of the hive, other blocks, or combs, are commenced parallel with it, divided only from it and from each other by the streets just mentioned, which are about half an inch broad. And so the work will proceed until the hive is filled with comb. Looking down upon the lines of combs in a completed hive, they would present the shape shown in Fig. 7, presuming the irregularity in the centre did not exist. And why does that irregularity exist? The answer to this question forms one of the many proofs of the weakness of the theory which attempts to divide by strictly defined impassable barriers the faculties of bees, under the name of instinct, from the reason which guides ourselves. Between bee-reason and man's reason a space " wide as the poles asunder " may exist; but taking Dr. Bevan's definition, that reason is the power of making deductions from previous experience or observation, and thereby adapting means to ends, whilst instinct is the power to perform certain actions in a uniform manner, without reference to either observation or experience, then it is certain that in every department of bee-economy we find numerous examples of the former. The irregularity shown above is a case in point. A stick was in the way of the fourth comb from the left, so the bees deviated to the right into the place of the sixth comb, then resumed their straightforward course. Next, working from the opposite end of the fourth or interrupted comb, they advanced to the interruption and stopped, and so the space there was duly filled up. Then they filled up the unused part of the space that belonged to the fifth comb, which had been so irrelevant, gularly intruded upon, by a similar short line, and the general arrangement of the hive was scarcely less perfect than ordinary. The reader will observe how carefully the bees have contrived to preserve the proper distance between the combs, in order to permit the free passage of the worker or nurse-bees to their labour in various parts of the hive; sufficient space is always left to enable two bees to pass each other as they are pursuing their avocations in the hive. Here again (Fig. 8) is another case of interruption.
The bees apparently found themselves compelled to give such a winding course to the first comb, that they could not do better than exactly imitate its shape for all the others ; and how beautiful is the result! Ingenious persons, no doubt, undertake to explain these and a thousand other anomalies in accordance with the theory of instinct ; but it is strange that they do not perceive that the effect of their reasoning is to show that instinct can do all that reason does, and therefore one or the other, as a distinct quality, must be unnecessary. The above cases refer to the first erection of the bees' home. Let us give an illustration of their power of dealing with accidents in the hive. Dr. Bevan tells us, "**A** very striking illustration of the reasoning power of bees occurred to my friend Mr. Walond. Inspecting his beeboxes at the end of October, 1817, he perceived that a centre comb, burdened with honey, had separated from its attachments, and was leaning against another comb, so as to prevent the passage of the bees between them. This accident excited great activity in the colony, but its nature could not be ascertained at the time." At the end of a week, the weather being cold and the bees clustered to
Figure 8:
gether, Mr. W. observed through the window of the box that they had constructed two horizontal pillars behwxt the combs alluded to, and had removed so much of the honey and wax from the top of each as to allow the passage of a bee : in about ten days more there was an uninterrupted thoroughflare--the detached comb at its upper part had been secured by a strong barrier, and fastened to the window with the spare wax. This being accomplished, the bees removed the horizontal pillars first constructed, as being of no further use.
The power of adapting the construction of their habitation to suit accidental circumstances is not confined to bees alone. A most excellent observer, Mr. Smee, exhibits in his "Instinet and Reason," a very singular instance of this power in a species of wasp. In that work is figured the nest of a wasp, which had been fixed to the branch of a tree. The inhabitants had already completed six tiers of cells (the combs of wasps, it must be remembered, are horizontal instead of vertical), when, from some reason, the branch gave way, and threw the entire nest out of the horizontal line In this predicament the wasps abandoned the lines on which the first six tiers were built, and commenced a fresh series of combs, the openings of which opened towards the ground as the former set had done before the accident. The consequence is that the nest being composed of nine tiers of cells, the last three are built at right angles with the first six, forming as curious and instructive an example of the adapting powers of insect instinct as can be imagined.
But the bees wait not for the completion of their grand palace to use it; as soon as a few cells are ready, in cone the honey bearers. Each makes his way to a finished chamber, goes as deep into it as he can, opens a hole with his feet in the cream-like crust which the bees have formed for the defence of the honey, and so discharges the honey into the cell through his open mouth. His burden gone, off he flies; others take his place; drop by drop the cell is filled, and then closed so perfectly that the honey will remain good in them for many years. But all the honey thus brought home is not stored. The bringers have been feeding themselves while collecting, but the poor hardworking artisans in the live have nothing to eat, unless
they cease their labours and stop the great work of the hive; that they will not do; so the others attend to them with the greatest care and affection. They go to them, they open their mouths (the temporary honey store-house), the hungry, tired workers of the hive put in their proboscides exactly as they would do into a flower, and so eat. It is said, also, that certain robber bees maintain themselves in a genitlemanly and Paul Clifford-like manner, by waylaying industrious common-place bees who have been meritoriously employing themselves in working for the good of their hive, and then compelling the poor innocent creatures to deliver up the contents, not of their saddle but their honey-bags, generously permitting their victims to set out uninjured in search of more honey to replace that which they have appropriated to their own uses. The proboscis is too interesting a piece of vital mechanism to be passed by with only an indirect mention. So let us first show it greatly magnified, as in the accompanying engraving (Fig. 9), and then examine it a little in detail.
Bees form part of that section of insects called mandibular insects, \(i.\)\(e.\), insects which eat with jaws, in contradistinction to the haustellates, or insects which suck up liquid food through a trunk. Beetles, hornets, and other insects,are also mandibulates, but the bees have a fuqutlier distinction, in that they lap up food with a proboscis, and afterwards transfer that food to their mouth, as the elephant does. This kind of insect is called "lambert," or lapping insects, from a Latin word "lambere." to lick or lap. It is by means of their mandibles, or jaws, that they are enabled to excavate the wax, smooth the interior of the hive, and perform similar labours; and by means of their proboscides, they moisten, knead, and spread the wax, as well as collect honey. Although the parts of which the proboscis is composed are so minute as to be scarcely visible to the unassisted eye, yet they are quite as complex as those of the mighty elephant's trunk.
The proboscis consists of no less than five distinct branches; namely, a central trunk, or tongue, and four horny scales, tapering to a point, convex outwards, and concave towards the trunk. The two outer ones so sheath the inner, as to appear but one single tube. By a joint in the middle they bend or extend all at once, carrying with them the unarticulated or unjointed proboscis, which is cylindrical, and about the size of a human hair, and appears through a magnifier to be composed of successive rings. It has probably as many short muscles as the tongue of a fish, which are capable of moving it in all directions, and towards its termination is furnished with hairs, or villi, some of which at the point are very long, and seem to act like capillary tubes. Mr. Wildman assures us that he has seen the trunk growing bigger and less by turns, swelling the instant the bee sucked, and this alternate lessening and enlargement propagated from the extremity to the root. What a delicate apparatus of invisible muscles must perform this office? The trunk is capable of being contracted and folded up at pleasure, for if it were constantly extended, it would be exposed to injury. When at rest, therefore, it is doubled up by means of its joint, and lies in a very small compass; the first portion being brought within the lip, and the second part folded under the head and neck; protection is given to it by a double sheath, consisting of four strong scales, the two inner scales sheathing the tongue, and the two outer and larger ones encompassing the whole. When at work, the trunk is lengthened beyond bees.
Its sheaths, probes the very bottom of the flowers, through all impediments of foliage or fructification, and drains them of those treasured sweets which without such an apparatus would be completely inaccessible. The proboscis of the bee is not used like that of flies, as it is not tubular like theirs, but serves as a brush or besom to sweep, or as a tongue to lap. Having collected the nectar of flowers in small drops, it deposits its collection upon the tongue, which is protruded for the purpose of receiving it, and having received it, withdrawn again.*
The reader must guard against the common fallacy of supposing the proboscis to be same thing as the tongue, The proboscis is a collection of several organs, which are to be found variously modified in every insect; but the tongue is an extremely minute organ, and is so small and insignificant that a careful examination with a lens is required to detect it. The proboscis collects the honey, and deposits it in the mouth, from whence by the action of the tongue it is passed to the honey-bag.
In some cases, the means used by the bees in order to get at the honey are singularly ingenious. The humblebee, as is well-known to observers, when engaged upon the blossoms of the bean, which are too narrow to admit its body, and too long for its trunk to reach to the bottom of the flower where the honey is found, bites a hole just over the part where the honey is found, and through the orifice inserts its proboscis, and extracts the hidden sweets. But it is not so well known that the honey-bee resorts to the same stratagem. It has been repeatedly seen biting through the flower of the common fuschia, and extracting the honey precisely in the same manner as the humble-bee. It may be as well to remark in this place, that the sweet liquid when extracted from the flower, is not what we call honey, but appears to gain its consistency and peculiar odour in the crop of the bee.
Whilst honey is thus being collected for the present nonurishment of the workers in the hive, and for future supply in case of need (observe, the sealed stores are never touched except in periods of real distress among the com22
munity), another important department of the commissariat of the hive is attended to in a no less exemplary manner. There will be young ones in the hive by and by; how are they to be fed? "Why, with bee-bread, to be sure," answers some old nurse-bee of the hive; and so, having, we may suppose, received their instructions, the bees set out to collect pollen as well as honey, from wherever they can find it. If you watch the bees as they return to the hive, you will scarcely see one of them without a little ball or pellet of farina on each of its hinder-legs, at the part marked \(a\) in the accompanying engraving (Fig. 10).
The hinder leg of the Worker-bee ; \(a\), the part on which the pollen is carried.
Of the six legs of the bee, the four hinder legs are used for collecting pollen. On each of them one joint is so thickly covered with thick and highly elastic hairs, that by using these joints as brushes, the bee is enabled to brush the pollen from the stumens. From these legs the pollen is transferred to the fore pair of legs, which, by help of the jaws, knead it into a compact mass. This mass is then placed on the hinder legs, where it is defended from falling by a triangular groove edged and covered with thick hairs, which form, together with this groove, a kind of basket, which may be often seen so heavily laden, that it appears almost impossible for the little creature to sustain itself in the air,RES. 20
when weighed down with two such comparatively enormous balls of farina.
These balls are invariably of the same colours as the antler-dust of the flower in which these luxurious little rogues have been rolling; there can be no doubt, therefore, that it is of this substance, after it has been used for the reproduction of vegetable life, that the bees take possession, to assist in the rearing of their infintine insect-life: another instance of the economy that exists amidst all the profuse wealth of the natural world. Well, the little pollen-bearers come back to the hives; there they are met by the expectant nurses, who take part of the pollen from them and devour it, but not for themselves, it is only laid by for the future use of the larvae. It is placed in that singular receptacle the honey bag, where it becomes sufficiently mixed with liquid honey for the young and tender grubs to devour it. It is possible that the bee may be able to regulate the food that passes from the honey-bag into the stomach, as well as that which it regurgitates into the mouth, but it is more probable that, after remaining for a certain time in the honey-bag, it involuntarily passes into the true stomach. As to the rest, watch that bee yonder; after the nurse has done with her she is looking for a cell, making a noise all the while with her wings to call her brethren around her. On reaching the cell, with at least one attendant, she balances herself firmly on the edge with her middle and hind legs, whilst with the fore legs (her arms and hands) she seizes the farina, drops it into the cell, and leaves the attendant bee to knead it into the bottom and varnish it over, whilst she flies back to " fresh fields and pastures new."
The " bee-bread" is unquestionably composed of the pollen of flowers, probably kneaded up with a little honey, but so little that it is not perceptible to the taste. There have been many discussions as to the exact substances of which this bee-bread is composed. From examinations made by myself, it appears that the bee-bread, when taken at different depths from the same cell, is composed of the pollen taken from different plants, but that which the bee takes home on its thighs, has been invariably found to consist of the pollen of one flower only; so that it would appear that each bee, when it starts on its collecting tour, devotes itself to one particular species of blossom. The use of this curious instinct in the fructification of flowers is evident. The bee, by visiting various blossoms, either shakes the pollen from the stamens upon the stigmata, or by bearing about them the pollen from a male flower, and afterwards visiting a female flower of the same species, renders them fruitful. Thus great object will, of course, be better secured if the bee only visits one species of flower, as if it visited several, either the pollen might be such as would have no fertilizing effect, or it would produce an endless catalogue of varieties which, as is well known, never do occur spontaneously, and are only to be found in the garden of the florist, who often appears to base his happiness on producing a flower as unlike its original form as possible.
There is yet another substance formed by those wonderful little workmen, the bees, namely, _propolis_, which is of a resinous nature, and derives its name from its uses. This most useful material is obtained principally from the young buds of various plants, which are defended by a resinous varnish from the weather, while they are yet feeble and unable to withstand its inclemency. Among the principal of the resinous buds we may notice those of the hollyhock, the horse-chestnut, the willow, the poplar, and the fir. It is taken from the bud in threads, moulded upon the thighs, and conveyed home just as the pollen is. The bees seldom make use of it in its original state, but mix it with wax in various proportions according to the work to be executed. It is somewhat singular that bees should employ this substance so extensively, for they are in general violently opposed to the smell of turpentine, and you can hardly insult a bee more than by offering him a little spirits of turpentine to smell. The actions of the poor bee strongly resemble those of a cat which has been forced to inhale the odour of a reasonably powerful bottle of smelling salts.
Propolis signifies _before the city;_ the Greeks having observed that it was used by the bees to strengthen the outworks of their city. It is with propolis the combs (or the blocks out of which they are constructed) are fastened to the roof of the hive. It is with propolis the bees defend themselves from catching cold or rheumatism through draughts, by stopping up every crevice into their hive, no matter how minute, so that one only opening shall exist, the proper legitimate entrance. M. Reaunmur once thought proper to fasten the glass of a hive with pasted paper, in a careless manner, before putting in a swarm. Just as he had anticipated, the bees found out his unworkmanlike conduct, and contemptuously tearing away with their teeth the trumpery defence he had put, they made all firm and taut, as the sailors say, with good solid propolis. Once an unlucky shell-less slug crept into a hive. After having settled him with their stings, the bees varnished him carefully over with this same propolis, to prevent his becoming unpleasant in the dog-days. Another, confiding apparently in his impenetrable shell, an impudent, idle, yet honey-loving snail,* thinking to plunder their stores, appeared on the threshold of their dormitory -- to learn, alas! most unexpectedly, a new use for this wonderful composition; the bees actually glued him down to the ground, at the edges of his armour, as firm and immoveable as a rock, before he had time even to explain that he was but looking in, and intended to go back again instantly.
Propolis has a remarkably rapid drying property. Although when first procured from the tree it is plastic, soft, and can be easily removed in threads like birdlime, yet, in a very short time after it has been taken from the secreting surface of its native tree, it becomes hard and comparatively brittle. So rapid is this change, that the bees who are engaged in collecting propolis are forced to gather it about noon-day, when the sun is at its height, as the heat of the sun softens it for the time; they are furthermore obliged to work with great rapidity, and hurry homewards directly they have taken a cargo, as, even in the short space of time which their flight homeward consumes, the propolis often becomes so hard, that they can scarcely detach it from their hair-covered baskets.
* While deeoying moths at night by means of a fragrant and intoxicating mixture of beer, sugar, and run, spread upon the trees, I seldom found one of the trees without one or more large gray slugs already busily devouring the sweet deeeption, and several more _decending_ from the branches, eager to join in the feast.
**Notes.**
Does are so fond of this their vegetable mortar, that they will never commence the work of a hive until every crevice has been carefully filled up. It is, therefore, a considerable saving of time to the bee-keeper, to take care that his hives are closely made, and particularly that they fit quite accurately to the surface of the footboard, as the bees will waste very much of their valuable time in stopping gaps. Wooden hives, in particular, should be carefully examined, as either the footboard itself, or the bottom of the live, is apt to shrink, if it has been made of ill-seasoned wood, or has not been clamped. The manison thus in process of erection, the storehouses thus being rapidly filled, the great mysteries of life and reproduction begin to evolve their wondrous, phenomena.
In our respect for the wisdom of some of our ancestors, we cannot but transcribe their theory of the propagation of bees. We have said "theory," but that is hardly the right word ; for the following "experiment of the generation of bees," was, it appears, _practised_ by " that great husbandman of Cornwall, old Mr. Carew, of Anthony." Thus run the directions :--"Take a calf, or rather a sturk (steer), of a year old, about the latter end of April, bury it eight or ten days till it begin to purtify and corrupt ; then take it forth of the earth, and opening it, lay it under some hedge or wall where it may be most subject to the sun ; by the heat whereof it will (a great part of it) turn into maggots, which (without any other care) will live upon the remainder of the corruption. After a while, _when they begin to have wings_, the whole purified carcass should be carried to a place prepared where the lives stand ready, to which, being perfumed with honey and sweet herbs, the maggots, after they have received their wings, will resort." This, it appears, was a practical man's method of proceeding to stock his hives. Need we, then, wonder at the ancient poet, whose guidance he was (perhaps unwittingly) following, Virgil, who has given similar directions, only more poeticully expressed, in his fourth Georgia :--
**BES.**
" First in a place, by nature close, they build
A narrow flooring, guttered, wattled, and tiled.
In this four windows are contrived, that strike
To the four winds opposed, their beams obliquer.
A steer of two years' old they take, whose head
Now first with burnish'd horns begins to spread ;
They stop his nostrils, while he strives in vain
To breatle free air, and struggles with his pain.
Knocked down he dies ; his bowels bruised within
Betray no wound, a thin, unbroken skin.
Extended thus, in their obscene abode
They leave the beast; but first sweet flowers are strowed
Beneath his body, broken boughs and thyme,
And pleasing cassia, just renewed in prime.
'This must be done, ere spring makes equal day,
When western winds on curling waters play ;
Ere painted meads produce the flowery crops,
Or swallows twitter in the chimney-tops.
The tainted blood in this close prisoa pent
Begins to boil, and through the bones ferment.
Then, wondrous to behold, new creatures rise,
A moving mass at first, and short of thighs ;
Till shooting out with legs, and imped with wings,
The grubs proceed to bees with pointed stings ;
And more and more affecting air, they try
Their tender pinions, and begin to fly.
At length, like summer-storms from spreading clouds,
That burst at once, and pour impetuous floods :
Or flights of arrows from the Parthian bows
When from afar they gall embatelled foes ;
With such a tempest through the skies they steer,
And such a form the winged offspring bear."
Dytden's VIRGL, Georg. **IV.** l. 417.