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'On books deep poring, ye pale sons of toil,

Who waste in studious trance the midnight oil,

Say, can ye emulate, with all your rules,

Drawn or from Grecian or from Gothic schools,

This artless frame? Instinct her simple guide,

A heaven-taught insect baffles all your pride.

Not all yon marshall'd orbs that ride so high,

Proclaim more loud a present Deity

Than the nice symmetry of these small cells,

Where on each angle genuine science dwells.'

Evans.

## Chapter XXII.

MORE ABOUT WHAT THE BESS DO.

We pass on now to consider more fully than we have done before, some particulars of the _work of the bee_ both at home and abroad. I have already said that every bee has its work, and works hard--works itself to death in a short time, but I want to point out a little more of the manner in which it works, and how it uses, and makes the most of, the various materials it gathers from the fields.

Of the queen I need not say much more. Her work is simply, as the honoured mother of the whole family, to lay the eggs which shall hatch into young bees to take the place of those lost by death, and thus keep up the full necessary strength of the colony, and furnish swarms for emigration. For this purpose she is made, and, beyond laying eggs, she does nothing,--never in any way taking care of her eggs after they are in the cells, but leaving all this to the workers.

But truly astonishing is the number of eggs the queen will lay,--as many as even 2000 or 3000 in the course of a day during the height of the honey season,--a very good day's work indeed! A queen has been seen to lay at the rate of six, or even eight eggs in a minute, putting each egg into its own cell; so that it is no exaggeration to say, as I mentioned before, that a queen, in the course of her life of three, four, or even five years, will lay more than a million of eggs.

The number of eggs, however, that she lays always greatly varies, not only with her age, but also according to the time of year and the weather. An old queen, as a rule, never lays so many eggs as a young one. She is generally at her best when from one to two years old. She will usually begin egg-laying in February, but instinct guides her not to begin before there is good promise of sufficient food to be had for the young larva when the eggs are hatched. She will, therefore, begin about the time when the early crocuses appear, as from these and some other early flowers the bees get a good supply of the food necessary for the infants. But if the weather is unfavourable, or the supply of food runs short, egg-laying is delayed ; and, if already begun, at once, in a great measure ceases. And at such times, even if the queen wishes to lay, the workers will prevent her ; they know the danger of having more young mouths than they can feed.

'The prescient female rears her tender brood

In strict proportion to the hoarded food.'

Evans.

Aware of this instinct, Bee-keepers take advantage of it ; and, when they want their queens to begin laying eggs rather earlier than they otherwise would, give them a little food--but only a little--day by day, which satisfies them that their little ones, if born, will not starve, and therefore that they need not fear to begin the great work of the year.

It is in May and June that the greatest number of eggs are laid. In September the queen generally, more or less, ceases to lay ; although this mainly depends upon the weather, and the honey-giving plants of the locality, for she will sometimes lay eggs as late as November. Where there is heather, the breeding season is continued much longer than in other places. You see, thus, how in this as in other things, instinct guides the bee to do just the right thing at the right time.

But after all, perhaps, the most extraordinary fact about the queen is her power--as mentioned before of laying such eggs as will produce either drones or workers, just as required. When in the course of her egg-laying she comes to a drone-cell, she lays an egg which will produce a drone ; and when she lays an egg in one of the smaller cells, it is one that will produce a worker.

Of drones, also, we have not much more to say. You must remember, however, that they are the male bees of the hive, and that the queen finds a husband amongst them, but generally from amongst those of some other hive than her own. Beyond being necessary in this way, it is sometimes thought that the poor drone is quite useless in the hive. I feel sure that this is not the case, because, when we really and fully understand any production of Nature--even the smallest insect, or even the most minute part of any insect--we find some good reason for it ; and I am quite certain the drone in the hive is no exception to the rule. And although we do not, as yet, fully know all the good the drone does, or the use of the number of drones that we often find in a hive ; I have no doubt that they serve one great purpose, and that is, to keep the interior of the hive nice and warm at a time when most of the other bees are out at work. The hive must be kept to a certain temperature, and always is so ; and if the drone can do nothing else, at all events its big, burly body gives out a great deal of heat.

When August arrives, however, the drones are no longer wanted for warmth or any other purpose, as the other bees stay much more at home. They are therefore in the way, and a very useless burden in the hive, eating a great deal of the food which is wanted for winter supply. The workers, therefore, now get rid of them,--drive them out of the hive, and leave them to starve.

'With terror wild,

The father flies his unrelenting child.

Far from the shelter of their native comb,

From flowr to flowr the trembling outcasts roam,

To wasps and feather'd foes an easy prey,

Or pine,'mid useless sweets, the ling'ring hours away.'

Evans.

If the drones resist, the workers may be seen to seize them in the most determined manner, and without scruple to bite and gnaw their wings at the root, or wound them elsewhere ; so that, when cast out, they cannot return, but are left helpless on the ground and soon perish from cold or wet. Resistance is useless for--

'All, with united force, combine to drive

The lazy drones from the laborious hive.'

Virgil.

And is there cruelty in all this? Shall we blame the bees who thus destroy their companions whom they have reared with tender care? These are questions which we can hardly help asking ; but, when we consider what striking proofs of wisdom we have on all sides, and how every creature of God is marvellously made and wonderfully provided for, and that nothing is done without good and sufficient reason, we cannot doubt but that there is good cause for the manner of death of the poor drone, as there is also for his apparent idleness.

## Chapter Xxiii.

The same subject--continued.

Having considered the queen and the drone, we proceed now to think more 'particularly of the workers. I have spoken of their work before, in a general way ; and, to make it all clear, I think it is well I should just remind you of what I have said on this subject in previous chapters.

Well, we thought a good deal of their industry, energy, patience, and cheerful work. I also described how they work early and late, out of doors, making even a hundred journeys in the day, if only the weather is fine, and the supply of food plentiful, and near at hand.

I also spoke of the way in which the bees, living together in a community, help one another, and work together, and thus, by united effort, produce the comb, the brood-nest, and the abundant stores of honey and pollen, and keep everything neat and in good order.

We saw how much of truth--even if somewhat of error--there is in Shakespeare's description of--

'The honey bees,

Creatures, that by a rule in nature, teach

The act of order to a peopled kingdom,

They have a king and officers of sorts :

Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ;

Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ;

Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,

Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ;Which pillage they with merry march bring home

To the tent royal of their emperor :

Who, buried in his majesty, surveys

The singing masons building roofs of gold,

The civil citizens kneading up the honey,

The poor mechanic porters crowding in

Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate,

The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hun,

Delivering o'er to executors pale

The lazy yawning drone.'

King Henry V, Act i., Sc. 2.

I also, in a previous chapter, endeavoured to explain some of the reasons of the form in which they build the comb--how marvellously they make it just in that shape, and in that way, which gives the greatest strength and capacity, with the least material and space.

What more is there to say of their work? Well, a great deal more might be said, and I must pass over many things. I will, however, mention a few facts of interest--first of all, respecting their work in the fields and gardens, and then of their work in the hive.

First, then, of their work abroad.

'The winter banish'd and the heavens reveal'd.

In summer light, they range the woods, the lawns,

They sip the purple flowers, they skim the streams ;

Soon urged by strange emotions of delight

To cherish nest and young.'

Virgil (by Kennedy).

It is a question often asked, 'How far will bees go from their hives in order to find, and bring home, the honey?' I dare say you will like to know, and I am sure that what I have to say will surprise you, and make you feel, more than ever, what wonderful little insects our friends are.

Generally speaking, animals, birds, and insects do not go very far in order to obtain food for their young. In order to supply their own wants, and when they have no home with young, they will, as we all know, go far and wide; and many birds will migrate from one country to another ; but when they have young--as the bees have in their hives--their journeys are limited. Rooks and pigeons will go some distance ; so will foxes, amongst animals ; but I imagine there is hardly any animal, bird, or insect that will go so far as the little bee.

The way in which this has been found out has been by marking bees in a particular way, and then going to some distant favourite place, and there finding the marked bees.

'A gentleman, wishing to test this fact, dusted with fine flour his bees as they emerged from a hive. Then, driving to a heath five miles distant, which he knew to be much frequented by the insects, he soon found many of those which he had sprinkled at home.'

But even more wonderful than this, cases have been known of bees actually going seven miles from home on the same errand. At the same time, however, we may say that two or three miles is, perhaps, quite the limit within which the bees can collect honey with much profit. The stores collected from a greater distance cannot repay the extra labour and time expended.

* Harris.

But, on the other hand, the actual time occupied in any journey is not long. It is only, when many journeys have to be taken, that it is of much moment, for the swiftness with which bees fly is very astonishing. They very soon cover a mile of ground. We see them dart from their hives, and in a moment they are out of sight ; but, great as this pace is, I have no doubt, when out of sight, and 'the steam is up,' they go faster still. We gather some idea of this from what we have seen when travelling in a fast train with the carriage windows open. A wasp, or bee, attracted by some sweets within, will fly in and out of the windows, apparently as easily as if the train were at rest. On the other hand, a partridge, frightened by the passing train, and flying along the line, will hardly keep pace with the carriage in which you are seated.

Another remarkable fact connected with the bees' work is, that when in search of honey and pollen, they do not go from one kind of flower to another, but always keep to the same kind during any one journey. Whatever the kind of flower they begin with, they go on with, until ready to return home. They do not, for instance, go from mignonette to sweet-pea, although both may be growing in the same border ; but if they begin with mignonette, they go on with it, and so with the sweet-pea.

One would have thought that they would go to the flower which came most conveniently in their way, without making any selection ; but such a mixture would never do. So, if you examine a little pellet of pollen when brought home, you may find it deep yellow or light, or it may be red or brown ; but you will not find these colours mixed. It will be all of one colour, coming from one kind of flower. You will hear, later on, why this is, and that it is one of those wise provisions of the Ruler of all, which gives us what is beautiful and profitable in our fields and gardens. At present, however, I only want you to remember the fact.

## Chapter Xxiv

More about honey, pollen, and propolis.

And now, what is honey? Is it something made, or only gathered? You know that it comes from the sweet liquid sometimes called'nectar,' which is produced, or, as it is termed, secreted, with considerable rapidity by the flowers, especially when the weather is warm and sunny--so much so, that a bee may in such weather go very frequently in a day to the same flower, and take all away, and yet, when it comes back, find more ready for it.

If, however, it were possible, and we ourselves were to collect all this same sweet liquid, it would hardly be what we call honey, and it would soon become acid. But when collected by the bee, it undergoes some slight change in the honey-bag, and then, when it is put into the cells, the bees are very careful not to seal it up at once. They leave it for a time so that all the watery liquid in the honey may pass away or evaporate. It then becomes thick, and will keep good for a great length of time. And thus, although, as I have said, the bees do not make it, they do something more than merely collect it.

In flavour, it varies very much according to the source from whence it comes. The very best honey is gathered from the white clover, although some people think that no honey is to be compared with that which is gathered from the heaths.

When the bee goes from home, to gather pollen, it often undesignedly collects it over its whole body ; for in many flowers the pollen is like the finest dust, which is shaken off in clouds as soon as the flower is touched. The bee then has to get it off its body, and on to its pollen legs. This it does by means, as before described, of its other brush-like legs ; but it is sometimes so covered that you will see it return to its hive like a little miller, when the other bees come to its help and remove it all.

When, however, in the process of honey-gathering, the pollen sticks to its tongue, we may well ask how it gets it off, and on to its pollen legs? This might well seem difficult, but, like every difficulty, it is provided for. On the fore-legs of the bees there is a very curious little notch. You will see it in the illustration, which is that of a portion of the leg magnified. It is thus described by Root :-

'There is a little blade, as it were, at B, that opens and shuts ; and the bee, when its tongue is well loaded, just puts it into the grooved or fluted cavity, then shuts down B, and gives its tongue a wipe so quickly that it leaves conjurors all far in the shade.' This little notch is also used in the same way for cleaning the antennae. How marvellous this contrivance! You see again how everything has an object and use.

But then it has to get this sticky pollen from its fore - legs into the pollen - baskets. How does it manage this? Well, between the pollen-gathering legs and the pollen-basket legs are another pair, and these play a very important part in the operation. With the tongue, fore-leg, and middle leg, the bee pads up the pollen and honey until there is quite a wad of it, and then, with a very quick motion, almost too quick to be seen, carries this little cake, scarcely so large as the head of a small pin, between the middle and fore-leg, back to the pollen-basket. When in place, it is firmly pressed, and then neatly patted down with the middle leg, and so is ready to be carried home.*

The propolis is carried home by the bees in the same way as pollen. The bees gather it chiefly from the sticky buds of certain trees, such as the chestnut,fir, and poplar; and also from the gum which oozes out through the bark of these and other trees.

With merry hum the willow's copse they scale,

The fir's dark pyramid, or poplar pale,

Scoop from the alter's leaf its ooxy flood,

Or strip the chestnut's resin-coated bud.'

Evans.

The bees use it, as you have been told before, for several purposes, but chiefly for filling up all cracks and chinks, which otherwise would let in cold air. But, at the same time, they are quite ready to put it to other uses as occasion offers.

Here are two curious instances, showing how cunningly and ingeniously they contrive to meet difficulties. A snail once crept into a hive. What could the bees do with it? They could not sting it through its shell. They could not drag or drive it out. What they did was to surround the edge of the shell with propolis, and so to fasten it down tight to the floor of the hive. A little was sufficient, and all air was excluded, and the snail was, as it were, buried in its own shell.

On another occasion a slug entered a hive. This the bees soon stung to death. But then, how were they to remove it? And, if left, the smell of its decay would be unbearable. This apparent puzzle the bees soon solved, for they at once covered the whole body with a coating of propolis, which made it quite as harmless as if it had been buried.

Lay the pierced monster breathless on the ground,

And clap in joy, their victor pinions round.

While all in vain concurrent numbers strive,