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Lastly, in the hive we shall find what is called'propolis,'--a very thick sticky substance, which, after a while, gets hard like cement. We shall not, however, find much of this ; and we shall not find it stored away in any of the cells, but only put into cracks and crevices in order to make all tight and secure, and to shut out cold and draughts.

Thus in the hive we find a palace for the queen, a nursery for the young ones, a store-room for food, and a comfortable home for all.

As we take such a general view of the interior and its contents, one of the many things which will strike us very much, will be the wonderful way in which the combs are all made to fit into the space which the bees have at their disposal, and how they are contrived so that no room is lost. If one comb is a little twisted, the next one to it is made with just the same twist ; and if there is a little vacant corner anywhere,a little bit of comb is made exactly to fit it, and very often in the most curious and ingenious way possible.

There is no waste of room or material, or carelessness as to little things. If we could hear them talk we should never hear them saying, 'Oh! never mind that little bit of wax, or that little corner of the hive. It will not much matter if we do waste it. It won't make much difference. It's only a trifle.' And if they meet with difficulties, and get into awkward places, as they often do in badly made hives, or in trees or buildings, they will always, in a most wonderful way, make the best of the situation, and adapt themselves to circumstances. We cannot do better, I think, than try and follow their example.

Another thing that will certainly strike us will be the tidiness of everything--the whole house kept in good order. We shall see an excellent example of the old saying, 'A place for everything, and everything in its place.' We shall not find dirt, dust, and refuse left about, if only the weather is such that they can get rid of it. If there is a piece of dirt, or a dead bee, we shall see them pulling at it with all their strength ; and if it is too much for one to manage, we shall see two or more joining in the work, until they get it out of the hive and throw it on the ground.

It is quite the tidy house one likes to see,--everything clean, even if old ; everything in its place, and everything well ordered, and done at the right time. It is not the home one often sees,--without order or arrangement, dirty and uncomfortable, and everything in confusion from morning to night.

## Chapter XII the history of the hive.

The colony of bees, described in the previous chapter, is one that is in a prosperous condition. There are plenty of bees, and the hive is full of comb; and there is abundance of brood and plenty of honey, and pollen stores, and all things in order. In the next place let us see how all this has come about. What has been the history of the hive? This, to some extent, depends on its age; but as, after a colony is well established in the hive, its history is much the same every year, we will think of it especially in its early days--the first year of its history.

And very possibly, although we see it now so full and prosperous, it is not more than a few months old. It is now, let us say, the month of August, and very possibly it was only last May that the bees first took possession of the hive.

To trace its history let us go back in thought to that merry month of May, and I will suppose that you and I are together, amongst the hives, on some bright morning of that beautiful month, when all nature seems to be putting forth its freshest vigour; and we stand and admire the lovely sight of the orchard trees,--the apple, pear, cherry, and others,--full of blossom; while the bees from all the hives fill the air with their pleasant hum.

And now I call your attention to what appears as an unusual state of things at the entrance of one of the hives, and we notice that the bees are evidently not working as usual. They seem restless and excited, flying round and round, and not going far from home. The entrance is especially crowded. Possibly there are numbers of bees hanging together there in a great cluster. The great drones also partake in the general excitement in their own noisy way, rushing in and out, and circling round, as if determined to be seen and heard.

The fact is, the bees are preparing to swarm. Let us observe them closely. And we have not watched them long before we notice hundreds of bees, perhaps very suddenly, pouring out of the hive, and hundreds more pressing after them as fast as they can get out of the entrance, tumbling over one another in their haste, and then flying round and round ; and more pressing out, until the whole air seems filled with bees in the most excited state.

egin{tabular}{l} 'Upward they rise, a dark continuous cloud \ Of congregated myriads numberless, \ The rushing of whose wings is as the sound \ Of a broad river headlong in its course.' \ \end{tabular}

Southey.

But before they do all this I say to you, 'Let us venture near the hive; and you need not be afraid to do so, for bees, when they are swarming, are generally in the best of tempers. Let us watch the entrance, and, perhaps, we shall see the queen herself come out. Yes, look! there she is! Do you not see her? Shejoins the throng, looking quite the queen, the acknowledged ruler amongst her many faithful subjects. And now, as we watch the crowd in the air, we notice that many of them seem to be gathering round, and settling on one of the boughs of a neighbouring tree. It evidently is so; and then others follow to the same place, and more and more collect, clinging to one another, until at last they hang down from the bough in a bunch larger than a man's head, and even bend down the bough with their weight.

* Round the fine twig, like cluster'd grapes, they close In thickening wreaths, and court a short repose, While the keen scouts with curious eye explore The rifted roof, or widely gaping floor Of some time-shatter'd pile or hollow'd oak, Proud in decay, or cavern of the rock.' Evans.

And now, as you look at this swarm, you would doubtless like to know how many bees there are in it. How many do you suppose? Well, if we were to weigh the whole lot we could almost tell the number ; for 30,000 bees, generally speaking; weigh rather more than 6 lbs. (6 lbs. 5 oz.), and it is possible there may be this number in the swarm we are looking at ; but, if so, it is a very large one. An average swarm contains about 15,000 or 20,000 workers, besides several hundred drones, and, of course, the one queen. I am speaking, however, now of what is called a first swarm, for it is rather different in a second, or what is usually termed a 'cast.'

But we must not stand watching the swarm too long, for, unless we take measures to secure the bees,they will fly again, and take possession of the 'fitted roof' or the 'hollow'd oak,' and we shall lose them altogether.

In order to secure them, I get an empty hive ; and I take this, and, placing it under the hanging cluster, shake the bough, when all the bees drop into the hive, which I then immediately turn over, and place upon a board on the ground, leaving a crack for the bees to come out and go in.

A vast number of bees at once rush out, but very soon, if the queen is in the hive, and the bees like its appearance, they settle down, and take possession of it as their new home, instead of the place they had found and intended to occupy. Thus the swarm is secured, and we carry it gently to its stand. Sometimes the swarm settles in a very awkward place,--very high up in a tree, where it can only be reached by means of a ladder ; or sometimes the bees will settle round about the body of the tree itself, from which they can only be swept with a light brush, or gently persuaded to move by a little smoke, or the smell of carbonic acid. A little ingenuity, however, will generally very soon get over such difficulties.

Our hive being now in position, the bees at once begin, with the greatest energy, to make some comb in their empty, unfurnished house. They do not lose a minute, and they are able thus at once to begin comb-building, because they have been very provident, and have brought with them from the old hive as much honey and material as they could possibly carry.

Thus even in an hour's time they will have made a little bit of comb, and, in a very short time, will have made a sufficient number of cells for the queen to lay a few eggs. And then, if the weather is fine, so fast is the building proceeded with, and such numbers of eggs are laid by the queen, that in about three weeks' time many young bees are hatching out, and, soon after, hundreds more, and then day by day get greater numbers.

And all this goes on more and more rapidly as the young bees themselves join in the work of the hive, so that now, in August,--the time I named,--every corner of our hive is as full as possible of both bees and honey, and everything is prepared, and the whole colony is in a prosperous condition for the winter months. And, if we only keep it dry, it will be well able to stand the frost and snow,--the bees all huddled together, and keeping themselves warm, however severe the cold, until at last the spring-time comes again, and out - of - door work once more commences.

'Rous'd by the gleamy warmth from long repose, 'Th' awaken'd hive with cheerful murmur glows : To hail returning spring the myriads run, 'Poise the light wing, and sparkle in the sun. Yet half afraid to trust th'uncertain sky, 'At first in short and eddying rings they fly, 'Till, bolder grown, through fields of air they roam, 'And bear, with fearless hum, their burdens home.' Evans.

## Chapter Xiii.

Having described in the previous chapter the probable early history of the hive, which we saw so prosperous in August, I have now to relate a sad story of death--the end of many such hives. It is a tale of cruelty and improvidence.

You know the fable of the foolish man who possessed the wonderful goose which day by day laid golden eggs, and which would have enriched the man if only he had been content to wait for all the many eggs the bird would have given him. Impatient, however, to be rich, he killed the bird so that he might get at once all her golden eggs, but found, of course, that in doing so he lost everything, his bird and its eggs, and was left himself a poor man after all.

Well, in very much the same cruel, foolish way, it used to be the common practice everywhere in this country to kill the bees in order to get their honey, instead of preserving them to work again at a future time. And, I am sorry to say, this bad old custom still prevails in many places.

On some August evening, when the hives are full of bees and stores, and all are at home, ready for work again on the morrow, the bee-keeper (although bee-murderer would be a better name) comes in the dark to do his deed of cruelty, and digs a small round hole, at the bottom of which he places burning sulphur.

Then, taking the hives one by one from theirstands, he places them over the burning pit ; where the horrible sulphur-fumes, rising up into the hive, soon destroy all life within ; but not before you may hear a loud humming noise, the dying cries, as it were, of the thousands of bees as they fall from the combs into the pit below,--cries that seem loudly to reproach the cruel owner for his ingratitude to his faithful servants, rewarding them with death after they have worked hard, and done all they could for him, and were ready to do a great deal more.

* Ah! see where robb'd and murder'd in that pit Lies the still heaving hive! at evening snatch'd, Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night, And fixed o'er sulphur ; while, not dreaming ill, The happy people, in their waxen cells, Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes Of temperance for winter poor ; rejoiced To mark, full flowing round, their copious stores. Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends; And, used to milder scents, the tender race, By thousands, tumble from their honey'd domes, Convuls'd and agonising in the dust. And was it then for this you roam'd the spring, Intent from flower to flower? for this you toi'd Cesaeless the burning summer heats away? For this in autumn searched the blooming waste, Nor lost one sunny gleam? for this sad fate? O man! tyrannic lord! how long, how long Shall prostrate nature groan beneath your rage, Awaiting renovation? When obliged, Must you destroy? Of their ambrosial food Can you not borrow ; and, in just return, Afford them shelter from the wintry winds? Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own Again regale them on some smiling day? Thomson.

### 4.1 TALE OF DESTRUCTION.

But it is not only a cruel system, and a foolish one, because like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs ; but it is also quite unnecessary, for, by proper management, all the honey can be obtained without killing a bee.

It is also a very profitless system as regards the honey itself, making it of a very inferior quality. And we can easily understand this when we remember that the hive not only contains much old comb, blackened by age and the impurities left by young bees, but also that in many of the cells there will be a quantity of pollen, or bee-bread, and even young brood in various stages,--in appearance like so many little maggots. All this comb is cut out of the hive,and broken up, and then smashed, and pressed, and mixed with the honey, before this latter is strained off. The honey thus obtained, and which many people eat, must indeed be very impure and inferior, and not for a moment to be compared with that which the bees will give us, clear, and bright, and clean, just as they themselves store it, if only we treat them properly.

How to obtain this pure honey, stored in perfectly fresh, clean combs, and in abundant quantity, and with considerable profit, you will learn at a future time.

Well, then, let this be your first great lesson in practical bee-keeping,--a lesson of what you are not to do : 'Never kill your bees.' Always look upon the sulphur-pit system as a most cruel and wasteful one,--the system by which you get the smallest and worst return possible for your money, time, and labour.

## Chapter Xiv.

Intelligence and observation necessary.

I might now tell you of the new and better way of beeeeping, and show you how even boys and girls may so keep bees as to find, in the occupation, both interest and amusement, and also earn something to put into a savings bank,--as bees put honey into their cells,--ready for a future time. But before I tell you of beeeeping I want you to understand bees, and so must tell you something more than I have done yet, of their natural history, their habits and instincts ; also of the structure of the several parts of their bodies, as, for instance, the head, the mouth, the wings, the legs, the sting ; and how each is wonderfully made and fitted for the work it has to do. I must also tell you how bees differ from other insects, having certain habits, and certain parts of their structure, peculiar to themselves.

You must take trouble to understand something of all this, for the more you understand it, the more, I know, you will take interest in the subject, and love your bees. You will be able also to keep them better and with more profit, because you will manage them intelligently ; you will know why you are to do this, and why you are to do that, and why you are not to do something else. You will see a reason for everything, and have a reason for all you do.

It is the same with bee-keeping as with every other occupation of life, you must understand first principlesin order to do it thoroughly well; you must work with your head as well as with your hands. The gardener to be a good gardener, must be able not only to dig and root out weeds, but must understand something of the habits and growth of flowers, fruits, and vegetables; the farmer must know about the different qualities of land, and how to cultivate the soil according to its nature. Or, if a man is an engineer, he must learn by close study the nature of the materials, and the power of the forces with which he has to deal, such as the strength of iron and steel, and the true reason of why this or that is to be done.

This was how Huber made his great discoveries. He took the greatest trouble to understand even the most trifling things; nothing was overlooked. And it is the same with the study of every department of natural history. Observe everything. This is the foundation of success. A well-known naturalist has said, 'It is impossible to say at the moment of what use the most trifling facts may be. It is impossible to determine the exact importance of any circumstance in the history of an animal until we know its whole history.' And this is most true of bee-keeping. We shall succeed all the better by taking trouble to understand the bee, and by close observation of little things in its natural history.

In order to impress this truth, and to illustrate how great results may come from the exercise of such a habit, a few examples may be given from the lives of distinguished men.

It is said* that 'when Franklin made his discovery of the identity of lightning and electricity it was sneered at, and people asked, 'Of what use is it!' to which his apt reply was 'What is the use of a child? It may become a man!' Again, many before Galileo had seen a suspended weight swing before their eyes with a measured beat, but he was the first to detect the value of the fact. One of the vergers in the cathedral of Pisa, after replenishing with oil a lamp which hung from the roof, left it swinging to and fro, and Galileo, then a youth of only eighteen, noting it attentively, conceived the idea of applying it to the measurement of time. Fifty years of study and labour, however, elapsed before he completed the invention of his pendulum, an invention the importance of which can hardly be overvalued.

'Again, while Captain (afterwards Sir Samuel) Brown was occupied in studying the construction of bridges, with the view of contriving one of a cheap description to be thrown across the Tweed, near which he lived, he was walking in his garden one dewy autumn morning, when he saw a tiny spider'snet suspended across his path. The idea immediately occurred to him that a bridge of iron ropes or chains might be constructed in like manner, and the result was the invention of his suspension bridge.'

I can give you also another story, teaching us not to be satisfied until we know, if possible, the object and the use of even the smallest thing in any department of natural history, which we may be studying. It is the story of another discovery, as wonderful as any ever made, and which has brought the greatest blessings to the world, and has been the means by which, through the knowledge it gives of the secrets of life, innumerable precious lives have been preserved. I mean the discovery by the great Hervey of the circulation of the blood, or the way in which the blood is constantly, and every moment, flowing onward from the heart, through the arteries, to every portion of the body, returning by the veins to be first purified by the lungs, and then returned to the heart, ready to start afresh on its course, never ceasing till the moment of death.

This discovery is said by Hervey himself to have sprung from his seeking to know the use of some little valves which are found in the veins. They are, apparently, so insignificant that no one, before, thought much about them. Hervey knew they must have some use, and so set himself, with much study and by endless experiments, to find out the why and the wherefore. At last, after eight years, he was led gradually, step by step, to make his great discovery, which, although treated with scorn and all kinds of opposition at first, for ever marks him out as one of the greatest benefactors of the world.

## Chapter Xv.

The natural history of the bee.

The first thing, in the natural history of the bee, which you must, in some measure, understand, is the bee's position in the great insect world, or something of what is called the classification of insects.

As everything in a school would be in confusion without arrangement of the children into divisions, classes, and standards ; so, to prevent confusion in the study of natural history ; all animals are, as far as possible, arranged according to certain rules, each animal in its own proper place.

For this purpose animals are, in the first place, grouped together into certain great'Classes,' such as the Class of Mammalia (animals that suckle their young), or the Class of Birds, or the Class of Reptiles.

These great classes are, in the next place, subdivided into large groups called 'Orders,' according to certain points of resemblance between the animals contained in any particular Order. For instance, amongst Mammalia there is the Order of flesheating animals, and the Order of animals like the ox, and the Order of monkeys, and so on.

Then, in the next place, these 'Orders' are divided into large'Families,' according to yet further points of resemblance, such as the Family of all animals like the Cat, or the Family of all animals like the Dog.

In the same way these families are again divided into smaller groups called 'Genera,' and the genera into'Species.' And of species there are Varieties.

And what has been done with animals has also been done with insects.

They are, in the first place, put in a Class ; and are called Insects, because the whole body is, to a certain extent, divided, and consists of three segments, some being larger or more distinct than others.

You will see these parts very plainly in a bee.

There is first the Head. Then, very distinct from it, is the next portion, called the Thorax,--to which are attached the legs and wings. And then, thirdly, and very distinctly divided from the Thorax, there is what is called the Abdomen.

Some other points in which all true Insects are alike are the following : In the perfect state they all have six legs. They all have two antennae, the peculiar thin long feelers which stand out from the head near the eyes. They also all breathe, not as animals with lungs, but through very small tubes, which run into all parts of the body, and have a multitude of very small openings through the side of the insect, but so very small that they can only be seen with a powerful microscope.

But then there are many thousands of different kinds of little creatures which have these points of resemblance, and which therefore belong to the great class of Insects. Consequently the next thing which has been done in the way of arrangement has been to divide this great class into smaller, but yet very large, divisions, or 'Orders,' as they are called.

This has been done by arranging them, chiefly, according to the number and character of their wings. I will not give you the names of all these orders of insects ; it would only confuse you. But, as examples, all kinds of Beetles are put into one order, called Coleoptera, because the wings of all beetles have a hard peculiar sheath.

All kinds of Butterflies and Moths are put into another order, and are called Lepidoptera, because their wings are covered with a beautiful kind of scale-like dust, the scales being laid one over another like the tiles of a house.

And then we have the order of insects called Diptera, so called because they have only two wings, instead of four,--an order including the common fly, gnats, and many other such-like insects.

And then we have another great and important order, in which come Bees, Wasps, Ants, and many other insects, which go through a complete transformation. And as this order includes our bees, you must try and remember the long hard name by which it is called--Hymenoptera--so called because the wings (generally four in number) of all insects, belonging 'to the order, are of a thin kind of membrane.

Notice the wing of a bee, and you will see of what a thin and delicate, and yet strong, membrane it is composed.

But then, as this order of Hymenoptera is very large, and includes very different insects, although they all have the same membranous wings ; the whole order (and it is the same with the other orders) is subdivided again into families, -- each family being distinguished by its own peculiar character.

Thus we have the family of wasps, including all kinds of wasps ; and the family of ants, including all the many kinds of ants ; and then, amongst the others, the great Bee Family, called Apidae, including all kinds of bees.

But then, again, this great family of bees--and now we must think only of this one family--includes so very many different kinds,--there are such numbers of bees, as was mentioned in a previous chapter,--that these again, according to certain points of resemblance, are put into divisions of their own, and are called genera.

Thus we have the genus Apis (a bee), and the genus Bombus (humble-bee), and many more.

And then of each of these genera there are many species. Thus of the genus Apis, with which we are specially concerned, our honey-bee is one species called the species 'Mellifica,' because of the honey that it gathers.

And then of this species of honey-bee there are many, so-called, varieties, such, for instance, as our English bees, and the Italian bees, and the Cyprian bees, and many more. These are varieties of the one species of honey-bee Mellifica,--a species which belongs more especially to Europe and the adjacent countries.

I think we had better now go over this rather hard lesson again. And if, for example's sake, we take a specimen of the Italian bees, of which there are so many in this country, we may think of it thus :--

First, it belongs to the insect 'class,' having, with other characters of a true insect, the three distinct parts--head, thorax, and abdomen.

Secondly, it belongs to the 'order' of insects called Hymenoptera, because of its four membranous wings.

Thirdly, it belongs to that 'family' of the Hymenoptera which is called Apidae, or the Bee Family.

Fourthly, it belongs to the 'genus' Apis, as distinguished from the genus of humble-bees and others.

Fifthly, it belongs to that'species' of the genus Apis, which is called Mellifica, or Honey-bee.

Sixth, and lastly, it belongs to that 'variety' of Mellifica, which is called 'Italian,' because of its Italian origin.

The following diagram will perhaps make it clearer :--

## Chapter Xvi. the transformation of insects.

The next thing to think of is the way in which the bee is produced--born into the world ready for its busy, active life.

The bee--and it is the same with all insects--comes from a tiny egg laid by the mother insect. It is, however, an egg which greatly differs in many respects, besides its size, from the egg of a bird. Both eggs--the egg of the bird and the egg of the insect--contain that which, after a time, will become, as the case may be, the young bird or the young insect; but the process by which this end is reached is very different in the two cases.

You all know the process with the egg of the bird. Nurtured by the parents' warmth and care, the egg hatches, and produces the young bird; which, in most cases, is as helpless as any infant, although in some instances, as with the common chicken, it is able to run, and feed itself at once. In every case, however, the young one, immediately it is hatched, is without doubt a bird. It may be a poor, wretched-looking, unfledged little thing; but all the same, it is plainly a bird, and it goes through no further change. It only grows gradually to its perfect condition.

But with the egg of the insect the process is very different. It hatches, and produces, not an insect,but a grub or caterpillar,--a little creature as unlike as possible to the insect to which it will grow. In this condition it is called a larva--a name you must remember as we shall often use it. It does not, however, long remain a larva ; for it has to go through two more changes before it becomes the perfect insect.

When first hatched the larva is very small, but it grows most rapidly, eating enormous quantities of food ; so much so that the larvae of some butterflies will consume in twenty-four hours double their own weight of food. Nourished by this abundant food, and grown to its full size, the next great change takes place, and the larva becomes what is called a Nymph or Pupa.

The process is very curious. The larva, in the first place, spins around itself a beautiful silk kind of web, called a cocoon. Within this covering the little creature--now called by its new name, pupa--begins to have, or rather to develope, its wings, legs, and other parts, gradually more and more becoming the perfect insect.

The time taken in this process varies greatly, according to the kind of insect. In some cases a very short, and in others a very long time is necessary. At last, however, the pupa state is over, and the day comes for the insect to issue forth into the world ; and it breaks through its covering, and appears, to our astonishment, the perfect insect, now called the Imago--perhaps a butterfly, or beetle, or ant, or bee--but in all cases, with all its parts fully formed and full-grown, and itself able at the proper time to do its part towards bringing into the world other young ones like itself.

The process of these changes is called the Metamorphosis or Transformation of Insects. It is a most interesting subject, and full of wonders, of which I can now only just mention one, as a striking instance of the Divine Wisdom seen in nature,--namely, the way in which the food is provided for the grub in its larval state.

In some cases--as with bees, wasps, and ants--the food is provided not by the mother, but by other insects of the colony--in some instances by the mother herself. The little grub is thus fed and nursed, and taken infinite care of.

But in many cases, as with butterflies and moths, the eggs are simply left in some spot by the mother, who takes no more notice or care of them, but most probably herself dies very shortly afterwards. Now we might think that these eggs are left, without care, to chance, but it is not so; for the mother insect has selected just that place where, when the eggs are hatched, the young larva will find the kind of food they want. See how remarkably this is the case with the common white butterfly. You see it flying round some cabbage plants rather than the gay flowers. And why? It does not want the cabbage for itself; but it knows, taught by the marvellous instinct given to it, that the cabbage will afford the best possible kind of food for its young when hatched. Thus it goes to the cabbage, and there lays its eggs, covering them over with a thin case to keep them from the weather; and thus, when hatched, the young larvae

The mother or queen bee lays its small egg at the bottom of a cell. This is the young bee's cradle. There; the other bees (for the queen takes no further notice of it) surround it with a food, made of pollen and honey mixed into a sort of jelly. In three days the egg hatches, and there comes forth the tiny larva, which at once finds ready for it that kind of food which it needs.

Nourished with this food it grows rapidly, and, in the course of six days from the time of hatching,--or nine days from the time the egg was laid,--is full grown, and almost fills the cell, and is ready to begin the next, or pupa stage of insect life by spinning around itself the sixteen web of the cocoon. And, as it will now want no more food, but only to be left in perfect quiet, the bees who take care of it put a kind of cap or lid on the cell, and thus shut it in. They make this covering of very fine threads of wax and pollen beautifully woven together, but so contrived that the necessary air is admitted to the young one within.

In its sealed-up cell the pupa, following the rule of insect life, as before described, gradually developes into the likeness of a bee. Its legs and wings are formed. Its antennae grow. Its mouth and other parts take their proper shape, and in twelve days more--or twenty-one from the time the egg was laid,--it is ready to come out of its prison-house a perfect, full-formed bee : and so cuts away the cover of its cell, and creeps forth, to be received with gladness by its companions who have taken such care of it in its helpless state.

Such is the process with a worker bee, but with drones it is different. To obtain drones, some of the cells in the hive are made larger than the others, as explained before. In these the queen lays,--as she is able to do when necessary,--a different kind of egg. You would not, however, know it from the others. It looks just the same minute thing fastened to the bottom of the cell. But, when it hatches, it takes longer to become the full-grown larva ; and then, when it is sealed up and spins its cocoon, the lid that covers the cell is made of that different shape, of which I spoke before, much higher and rounder, so that it is easily distinguished.

Out of this cell, and its pupa state, it does not come until some four days later than a worker, that is to say, on about the twenty-fifth day from the time the egg was laid. Then it comes forth, the great, sturdy bee, which makes so much noise.and does so little work.

The way in which the queen is produced is one of the great marvels of the hive. In due course she passes through all the usual stages. First there is

for in eight days more,--or about the sixteenth day after the egg was laid (instead of twenty-one in the case of a worker, and twenty-five in the case of a drone), it is ready to cut its way out, and to come forth, a beautiful young princess ; soon to become a perfect queen, and to begin to lay eggs.

What this food, or royal jelly, is, or whether there is anything else done or given, which turns the worker-egg into a queen-bee we do not know, but the fact is most extraordinary, for this queen-bee is, in many ways, a very different insect from the worker, which the very same egg would have produced, if it had not been treated to the large cell and the royal jelly.

As an illustration of this difference we may take the case of two dogs--the one a greyhound and the other a pug. If we put them side by side, the contrast is most striking. What can be more unlike,--the one with its slender legs, lithe body, beautiful pointed head, and quick, graceful movements, and the other with its short legs, square body, blunt nose and head, and ungainly movements? And yet there is not really so much difference between them, as between a queen and a worker-bee.