Humanity to Honey-Bees / or, Practical Directions for the Management of Honey-Bees Upon an Improved and Humane Plan, by Which the Lives of Bees May Be Preserved, and Abundance of Honey of a Superior Quality May Be Obtained

CHAPTER X.

APIARY AT DELABERE PARK.

Having stated (in page 144) that "I have well-authenticated, indisputable proofs of the abundant produce of honey having been taken from collateral-boxes, and that of very superior quality too," I could, in support of this statement refer the reader to a great number of my apiarian friends, a bare catalogue of whose names would fill several pages of this book. But as the best proofs of the merits, advantages, and practicability of anew system, are in its established success, I will select one instance, and have great pleasure in referring to that of the apiary established on my principles, at the seat of my noble patron—the Marquess of Blandford, at Delabere Park, near Reading. Situated in a part of the country most abundantly favoured by nature,—effete with every variety of Bee-herbage, and with every local advantage combined in its favour, the noble Marquess has prosecuted his apiarian pursuits with a spirit of liberality and enterprize redounding to his credit, and well meriting the success which has equalled my own as it has his most sanguine expectations. I do not consider that I can introduce this better to the notice of my readers, than by transcribing the account of a visit, that was paid to it by my intelligent friend Mr. Booth, the Lecturer on Chemistry, and which appeared in the Stamford Mercury of July 26th, 1833. It is as follows:—

"To the Editor of the Mercury.

"Sir,

"From the interest you appear to take in whatever relates to the extension of Mr. Nutt's invaluable system of Bee-management, and the prompt attention you have given to former communications on the subject, I am induced to detail the successful results of that system in the hands of the Marquess of Blandford, who has gone most extensively into the subject, and with an ardour and enthusiasm second only to that of the intelligent inventor. As I had the permission of the noble Marquess to make my observations, so I am enabled to make reference to his Lordship for the accuracy of my statements, and I am only fulfilling' the wishes of the noble Lord, in making these details as extensively public as possible, for the information of those who are interested in this most important, though long neglected branch of rural economy.

"His Lordship's park is most pleasantly situated near the beautiful and romantic village of Pangbourn, in Berkshire, and the choice of situation for the apiary is most excellent. It is at the top of a tower[E] forty-six feet high, situated in the midst of a wood, and commanding a most extensive view of the surrounding country, including Hampshire, Berkshire, Wiltshire, and Oxfordshire, the face of nature being clad in an almost endless variety of fertility, and old Father Thames gently meandering through the valley, formed by the distant hills which bound the scene, affording but few prospective traces of the immense physical developments of his powers, which render him, truly, the monarch of rivers. At the top of this tower his Lordship possesses four colonies in collateral-hives, and one inverted-hive, all of which have been started since April 1833. In the collateral-hives the labours of the Bees have been highly successful. From one colony has already been taken a box containing thirty pounds of honey; whilst another box and three small glasses, which cannot together contain less than forty pounds, are quite ready for taking, and which will afford the sum of seventy pounds, and this without infringing on the quantity necessary for the winter support of the Bees. The thermometer in the collateral-boxes did not exceed 70 degrees, whilst in the air it was at 64. A most remarkable contrast was afforded by the superior quality of the honey in the end-box and that of the 'pavilion of nature:' the superiority of the former was most evident. Mr. Smith, the keeper, who quite follows in the steps of Mr. Nutt, informed me that the average quantity of honey produced from a cottage-hive, upon the old principles, does not exceed from thirty to forty pounds; whilst, but in one case, did he ever obtain from a hive, enlarged by eking, the amount of fifty pounds. It is extremely satisfactory and fortunate, that, for the sake of reference, Mr. Nutt's system has fallen into such good hands, as both his lordship and the keeper appear as devoted to the subject, as they have been happy in their results. For young beginners the results reflect great credit.

"I am not able to speak much regarding the progress of the inverted-hives, of which his lordship possesses two; the one being at the top of the tower and the other situate on the lawn, at the back of the house; the former containing twenty-three glasses and the latter thirty-three. The latter is really a magnificent construction—an ornamental appendage such as the gardens of few noblemen can boast. The Bees had, in each, filled all the intermediate parts betwixt the hive and the glasses, and were just then commencing their labours in the latter. Next summer his lordship will, I anticipate, reap a glorious harvest both from these, and his collateral-hives, which are getting into prime condition for the winter.

"I have troubled you with these details because they relate to facts, and a publication of such facts is all that is required to introduce this admirable system of Bee-management into universal practice. To what extension it may be brought, it is impossible to state, but these results most strongly impress upon others of the nobility to 'Go and do likewise.' The mantle of the warrior has indeed fallen upon the philanthropist in the person of the heir to the title and fortunes of a Marlborough; and let the example but be extended, and the practice inculcated amongst our rural population, and, whilst it will greatly conduce to their advantage, we need no longer look to France or Italy for a supply of treasures, which our own country and peasantry can so efficiently produce. Nothing could possibly more advance these objects, than the formation of an Apiarian Society, which should offer premiums and prizes to the most successful competitors; and I do hope that for the sake of humanity as well as philanthropy, and when I see the long and noble list of names which dignify Mr. Nutt's patronage, I shall not be deceived in my anticipations of the speedy formation of a society, established for such laudable purposes.

Yours, &c.
Abraham Booth,

Lecturer on Chemistry.
"Reading, July 22d, 1833."

To the above very able and explicit description, and which is to me the more interesting because not written by a practical apiarian, I have nothing to add, but that it has met the cordial approbation of his Lordship, whose still more recent and continuous success has confirmed him in the practicability and value of my system.

The sketch which precedes this account was taken for the purpose by his amiable Countess, whose kind solicitude for the welfare of the industrious and valuable little insects, to which so much of my attention has been devoted, and approbation of my exertions, have not been amongst the least valued of my rewards and consolations.

CHAPTER XI.

HONEY-BEES.

That branch of natural history which treats of INSECTS is called entomology. And Linnæus, the celebrated naturalist and botanist, and the father of the classification of animated and vegetable nature, has divided insects into seven orders; the fifth of which is termed hymenoptera, and includes all those insects that have four membranous, gauze-like wings, and that are furnished with a sting, or with a process resembling one. To this class the Honey-Bee belongs. It has, however, been so repeatedly described by naturalists and by apiarian authors, that it would be difficult to say any thing respecting it as an insect merely that has not been said before. It is, moreover, so universally known, that it may seem to be a superfluous undertaking to attempt to describe it at all. As, however, my little work might be deemed to be imperfect without some account of it, I will present to my readers the substance of what appears to me to be a condensed, well-written article on the Bee. It is from Watkins' Cyclopædia.

There are, he says, and I believe it, fifty-five species of Bees. The general characteristics of the Bee are these:—its mouth has two jaws and a proboscis enfolded in a double sheath; its wings are four, the lower or under pair of which is smaller than the upper pair; in the anus of the female and working Bees is a concealed sting. Of the fifty-five species the HONEY-BEE—classically, or at any rate entomologically—apis mellifica, is the most interesting and important, and that with which I am directly concerned. Of this Bee there are three kinds—the Queen, the drone, and the working Bee; it is no more than justice to the draughtsman and to the engraver to say, the following are beautiful representations, except the head of the working Bee, which is too round.

The Drones are larger than the others; their heads are round, eyes foil, and their tongues short; they are also much darker and differ in the form of the belly; they have no sting, and they make a greater noise in flying than the common Bees. Generally speaking, they are found in hives from the beginning of May to the middle or latter end of July: sometimes they may be seen earlier, especially in good stocks; and sometimes their destruction does not take place till the middle of August, or even later. They neither collect honey nor wax. It has been supposed that their office is to impregnate the eggs of the Queen after they are deposited in the cells; but according to Mr. Bonner this supposition is a mistake. In this I agree with him, and beg to remark—that in no case is a supposition a proof. Bonner says that the Queen lays eggs which produce young Bees without any communication with the drones. He supports this position by the statement of several very exact experiments. In this opinion he is supported by the respectable evidence of Schirach. On the mysterious subject of the Queen's impregnation I am inclined to coincide in opinion with Huber, whose multiplied observations, and various and curious experiments, do render it highly probable that the Queen is impregnated by the drone, not whilst in the hive, but whilst flying in the air: but of this debatable subject more by and by.

The QUEEN-BEE is easily distinguished from other Bees by the form, size, and colour of her body. She is larger, longer at least, and her wings are shorter in proportion to her size than those of other Bees. The wings of drones and of common working Bees cover their bodies, but those of the Queen scarcely reach beyond the middle. Her hinder part tapers more than the corresponding part of other Bees, and is admirably adapted for the purpose of being introduced into the cells to deposit her eggs, which she does without being incommoded by her wings, as she no doubt would be, were they long in proportion to the length of her body. Considering then the office she has to perform, the shortness of her wings and the length and tapering of her body are alike conveniences to her; her belly and legs are yellower, and her upper parts darker than those of other Bees. Though furnished with a sting, she very rarely uses it, and will bear being handled without being provoked. A young Queen is smaller than a full grown one. When three or four days old she is quick in her motions; but when impregnated she becomes heavy. The common or working Bees have the faculty or instinctive power of raising a Queen-Bee, when they are in want of one, from an egg in a common cell. To do this, they choose a common cell in which is an egg, and inject a thick, white, liquid matter from their proboscis, they then build on the edges of that particular cell and enlarge it; on the fifth day the royal maggot appears in the form of a semicircle, in which form it swims in the midst of the matter in the cell; and on the seventh day it is sealed up. During which period the embryo Queen undergoes various metamorphoses. On the fourteenth or fifteenth day afterwards it comes forth a perfect Queen-Bee. Schirach has discovered a method of multiplying Queen-Bees to almost any extent, and consequently of making artificial stocks. This can only be successfully accomplished when there are in a hive eggs, nymphs, and little maggots two or three days out of the cell, that is, when there is in a hive young brood in these three different stages of existence. When a Queen dies and the Bees are left without the means of raising another, that is—when there are no eggs nor young brood of a proper age in the hive, the Bees cease working, consume the honey, fly about at random, and if not supplied with another Queen, soon dwindle away; but if supplied with a new Queen, they revive, and exercise their labour with new and increased activity. The Queen is, as it were, the very soul of the hive. It has been computed that the ovary of the Queen contains above 5000 eggs at once, and that in the space of two months she may produce 10 or 12,000 Bees. I am inclined to think that this computation is too-limited: from what I have witnessed in my observatory-hive this summer (1832), I am led to conclude that a fertile Queen is capable of laying far more than the beforementioned number of eggs in the space of two months.

The working Bees are considerably smaller than either the drones or the Queen. They, like the others, have four wings, which enable them to fly with heavy loads. They have six legs, of which the two foremost are the shortest, and with these they discharge themselves of their loads. The two last or hindmost are the largest, and on the outside of the middle joint of these is a cavity in which the Bees collect the materials for wax, which materials they carry home to their hives; this hollow is peculiar to the working Bee. Each foot terminates in two hooks. The honey-bladder is of the size of a small pea, and very transparent. The sting is horny and hollow, through which the poison is ejected. The wound inflicted by it is mortal to many insects; and instances are not wanting of horses and cows having been stung to death by Bees. When the sting is left in the wound, and being barbed it commonly is left there, the Bee that loses it dies in consequence.

With regard to the age of Bees, the drones have a short life, being destroyed annually by the working Bees; these—the workers—are supposed by some to live but one year, but others are of opinion that they live several years: those of them that escape a premature death will live, if I mistake not, three or four years, or even longer. I once clipped one of the wings of a Queen so that I could identify her, in case I should ever meet with her again: I then returned her to her hive, and had the good fortune to see her several times afterwards during three successive years. Of course she lived more than three years. What became of her at last I do not know; nor whether she may not still survive I do not know. If, however, working Bees be as long-lived as Queen-Bees, and I think it will be difficult to assign a good reason why they should not, they may live to be three or four years of age, and perhaps more than that. The ample provision they make for life seems to me to be a natural indication that they expect at least to live to have occasion for it. Sometimes fierce, destructive battles take place between the Bees of different hives in an apiary, and when the Queen of one hive is killed, the war ceases, and the surviving Bees of the two hives unite and become one peaceable stock.

Some apiarians have obtained an extraordinary command over Bees, particularly Mr. Wildman, who could entice a whole swarm to settle just where he pleased—on his chin, on his head, on his hand, or on any particular branch of a tree; but these feats, so surprising to the beholders, he effected, as any other dexterous person may, by getting possession of the Queen-Bee, and placing her where he intended the Bees should settle; for it is a well-ascertained fact, that such is the attachment of Bees to their Queen, that they will congregate around her, and, as far as they can, protect her in whatever situation they find her. Were the attachment and allegiance of all subjects to their legitimate sovereigns thus true and powerful, it would, as Sterne says, be something!

In working the Bees are said by some, whose sayings are perhaps more fanciful than correct, in the following instance at least;—it has, however, been said—that in working the Bees form themselves into four companies, one of which roves the fields in search of materials for the hive, another is employed in laying out the bottoms and partitions of the cells, the third in smoothing the inside from the corners and angles, and the fourth in bringing food for the rest. According to this account some are labourers, others are builders, others finishers, and others purveyors. As there is no difference in the formation of the workers, I see no reason for assigning them any particular task or sort of work, nor do I think the allotment of labour just mentioned rests upon any other foundation than that of vague conjecture. Their diligence, however, and activity, are so great, that in a favourable day they will make cells which lie on each other, sufficient to contain some thousands of Bees. To keep their habitations—their hives, close and tight, they make use of a resinous gum, which the ancients called, and which is still called—propolis. This substance is at first soft and pliable, but becomes firmer every day; when it has acquired its proper consistency, it is harder than wax and is an excellent cement. They guard against the entrance of ants and other inimical insects into their hive, by gluing or filling up with this propolis the smallest inlets; and with it they fasten the edge of their hive to its floor in a very secure manner. Some Bees stand as sentinels, and mount guard, as it were, to prevent the intrusion of strangers and enemies. But if a snail, or other reptile, or any large insect, forces its way into the hive, they first kill it, and then coat it over with propolis, to prevent being annoyed by the noisome smell, or by the maggots which might proceed from its putrefaction, if left to putrefy. Bees can perceive the approach of bad weather; for when black clouds are in the sky indicating rain, they immediately hurry home with the greatest speed; and when to the eye of man there is no visible token of a sudden shower or other immediate change from fine weather to foul, Bees are aware of it, and by their sudden, hurried return to their hives, are the first to prognosticate a change as near; nor, often as I have observed them, have I ever found them wrong in this respect. The manner in which Bees rest when they settle, after having swarmed, and frequently in the hive also, is by collecting themselves into a cluster and hanging to each other by the hooks of their feet. When the weather has been warm I have frequently seen them, presently after being admitted into an end-box, hang in catkins or ropes: this they no doubt do to cool themselves the more. To view the Bees suspended from one another in these single ropes is a natural curiosity well worth attention. The flight of Bees when swarming is singularly rapid and most extraordinary: during some minutes after having risen into the air, they dart across each other in every conceivable direction, wheel round and shoot through the merry crowd again, again wheel round and again dart through; and notwithstanding the very limited space within which they confine their gambols on these occasions, they never seem to come in contact or to clash with each other; though animated and excited to a degree of apparently frantic ovation, I never have observed one Bee fall foul of another, and this it is that strikes me as being wonderful. The balls attached to the legs of Bees returning to the hives, consist of a powder gathered from the stamina of flowers, not yet brought to the state of wax. The Bee, when it enters the cup of the flower, rolls itself till its whole body is covered with the yellow farina that is therein. It then brushes off this powdery farina with its hind legs, and kneads it into two balls or small pellets, loaded with which it returns to the hive. Bees powdered all over with farina may frequently be seen entering their hive: the Bees thus covered carry their loads upon their whole bodies, without the labour of packing them upon their thighs. Probably when farina is collected in the immediate vicinity of their hives, Bees may have the wisdom (I know not what else it can be properly called) to save themselves the labour of brushing and making it into pellets. Some authors hold that this substance is eaten by degrees, and being digested in the body of the Bee, that it becomes wax,—or that by some peculiar process it certainly is converted into wax,—and that when there is a superfluous quantity of this undigested, or unmanufactured matter, it is laid up in store, and is called Bee-bread. For my part I am of opinion that farina is stored up purely as Bee-bread and food for the young brood, and that it enters not into the composition of wax. The material of which wax is formed I take to be quite distinct from farina—a material of a different nature.

The following account of a working Bee appeared in the Farmers' Journal some time ago, I subjoin it, because, in some respects, it is more particular than that just given; but in one thing it is deficient—it makes no mention of the eyes—the two luminaries or lights of the body. The eyes of Bees are of an oblong figure, black like jet, transparent and immoveable.

BEE, says the Farmers' Journal, a small and well-known insect, famous for its industry. This useful and laborious insect is divided by two ligaments into three parts or portions,—the head, the breast, and the belly. The head is armed with two jaws and a trunk, the former of which play like two jaws, opening and shutting to the right and left; the trunk is long and tapering, and at the same time extremely pliant and flexible, being destined by nature for the insect to probe to the bottom of the flowers, through all the impediments of their chives and foliage, and drain them of their treasured sweets: but were this trunk to be always extended, it would prove incommodious, and be liable to be injured by a thousand accidents; it is therefore of such a structure, that after the performance of its necessary functions, it may be contracted, or rather folded up; and besides this, it is fortified against all injuries by four strong scales, two of which closely sheath it, and the two others, whose cavities and dimensions are larger, encompass the whole. From the middle-part or breast of the Bee grow the legs, which are six in number; and at the extremity of the paws are two little hooks, discernible by the microscope, which appear like sickles, with their points opposite to each other.

The wings are four, two greater and two smaller, which not only serve to transport them through the air, but, by the noise they make, to give notice of their departure and arrival, and to animate them mutually to their labours. The hairs, with which the whole body is covered, are of singular use in retaining the small dust that falls from the chives of the flowers. The belly of the Bee consists of six rings, which slide over one another, and may therefore be lengthened or contracted at pleasure; and the inside of this part of the body contains the intestines,—the bag of honey,—the bag of poison,—and the sting. The office of the intestines is the same as in other animals. The bag of honey is transparent as crystal, containing the sweet juices extracted from the flowers, which the Bee discharges into the cells of the magazine for the support of the community in w inter.

The bag of poison hangs at the root of the sting, through the cavity of which, as through a pipe, the Bee ejects some drops of this venomous liquor into the wound made by the sting, and so renders the pain more excessive. The mechanism of the sting is admirable, being composed of two darts, inclosed within a sheath that tapers into a fine point, near which is an opening to let out the poison; the two darts are ejected through another aperture, which being armed with several sharp beards, like those of fish-hooks, are not easily drawn back again by the Bee; and indeed she never disengages them if the wounded party happens to start and put her in confusion; but if, when stung, one can have patience to continue calm and unmoved, the stinging Bee clinches those lateral points round the shaft of the dart, by which means she recovers her weapon, and gives less pain to the person stung.

FOR THE STING OF A BEE.

Many nostrums have been recommended as cures—infallible cures, of course—for the sting of a Bee, a few of which I will just mention; premising, however, that I myself never make use of any of them; for, if by chance a Bee happens to sting me, which is very rarely indeed the case, though I never so much as cover my face, nor even put on a pair of gloves, when operating among thousands and tens of thousands of Bees, I extract the sting instanter, and never afterwards experience the least pain, nor suffer the slightest inconvenience. But, if the sting be suffered to remain in the flesh, during a few seconds only, it is not very easy to stop the inflammation and to allay the pain. An onion cut horizontally into thin slices, and pressed closely to the wounded part, and renewed at short intervals, has been accounted a good application. If the part stung be first well-rubbed with one of those slices, that would perhaps have a soothing effect. The juice of the plantain is also said to be a specific; olive oil is another; so is common salt; so is laudanum; so is spirits of hartshorn; so is a solution of sal ammoniac; and so is chalk or whitening.

The Doctor (and who so likely to prescribe properly for the case as the Doctor?) says[F] "common whitening proves an effectual remedy against the effects of the sting of a Bee or wasp. The whitening is to be moistened with cold water, and immediately applied. It may be washed off in a few minutes, when neither pain nor swelling will ensue."

In "The Apiarian's Guide, by J. H. Payne," published since the first edition of this work, I find the following novel mode of treatment recommended as "almost a perfect cure," and which is said to be "as immediate as it is effectual." "The method I (J. H. Payne, Esq.) have of late adopted, by which the pain is instantly removed, and both the swelling and inflammation prevented, is to pull out the sting as soon as possible, and take a piece of iron and heat it in the fire, or for want of that, take a live coal, (if of wood the better, because it lasts longer) and hold it as near to the place as I can possibly endure it, for five minutes; if from this application a sensation of heart (quere heat) should be occasioned, a little oil of turpentine or goulard cerate must be applied.

"I have found the quicker the application, the more effectual the cure."[G]

Pressure with the hollowed end of a small key, or with a pencil-case, is practised by some unfortunates, and is said to check the circulation of the poison.

This last mode of treatment—i. e. pressure with a small key, or pencil-case—the smaller the better—is the simplest, and, if immediately adopted, is I believe the very best: but its efficacy depends upon the instant application of the key or pencil-case to the part stung, by which the poisonous matter is not only prevented from being absorbed into the system, but the puncture is laid open, and the virus thereby expressed and entirely got rid of more readily than by any other means.

Accidents may sometimes happen, and the most cautious and humane apiarian may occasionally receive a sting; but gentle treatment does not irritate Bees; and when not irritated they have no disposition to use their stings.

CHAPTER XII.

IMPREGNATION OF THE QUEEN-BEE.

Notwithstanding the most persevering attention of Huber and of other ingenious apiarians, and notwithstanding the experiments and expedients had recourse to, to discover the secret, it is still doubtful—it is still undiscovered, in what precise way the Queen-Bee becomes impregnated. No one has ever yet witnessed the fact of her copulation with a drone, either in the hive or elsewhere,—in all probability no one ever will be witness to it; consequently the contradictory conclusions apiarians have come to on this subject are unsatisfactory, because unsupported by sufficient and convincing proofs. Huber, after having made a variety of observations and tried numberless experiments to get at the fact, gives it as his opinion—that the impregnation of the Queen is accomplished by her intercourse with the drone during a flight in the open atmosphere; but modestly states that he never witnessed the act of copulation. On this last point I entirely coincide with him, and firmly believe that no man ever yet has been present to confirm the supposed fact; neither can any person deny the possibility—not to say—the probability of such an union. On the other hand, Mr. Huish is an advocate for the drones in another way, stating them to be the male Bees, and that they fecundate—not the Queen, but all the eggs of the Queen, produced by her, the year in which the drones are brought into existence. But Mr. Huish has nowhere stated, in his much admired treatise on Bees, what fecundates those eggs of the Queen which are produced by her in the absence of the drones. It is well-known that those eggs do well and come to perfection, long after the drones have ceased to exist in the hive. Eggs are laid and matured into Bees when there is not one drone in the hive. This, therefore, is an argument in favour of Mr. Huber's opinion—namely—that the Queen once impregnated remains so during her life,—and that, as the Queen lives some years, the drones are called into being to fecundate the young Queens, brought into existence for purposes that will be noticed in the next chapter. Neither should we overlook the singular services of the short-lived drones in other circumstances of the colony; for most essential is their presence in the hive during the months of May, June, and July. Do we not in those months behold the extraordinary rapidity with which the working Bees leave their hive in search of materials for their various works? So indefatigable are these admired insects, after enriching their commonwealth, that in the time of honey-dews, scarcely a mechanical labourer is left in the hive. Now, were it not for the drones—those large bodied Bees—what would become of the young larvæ then in existence? It would undoubtedly perish. No sooner, however, is this busy season at an end, than the total destruction of the drones takes place; but not until the animal heat which the drones impart to the hive has accelerated the production of the young Bees, and added thousands of them to the mother hive.

It is not possible that the drones can influence the impregnation of the Queen's eggs, particularly those eggs which are produced after the total destruction of the drones, which generally takes place in August, and sometimes in the latter end of July. These later eggs are hatched, and brought to a state of perfection by the crowded population of the hive at that period: for a sufficient number of common Bees, that is—a well-populated hive, will always bring to perfection the Queen's eggs that have been deposited in the cells, after the total destruction of the drones. This seems to prove, that there is some probable truth in Huber's opinion respecting the agency of the drones in the procreation of Bees, by their sexual union with the Queen. Though I was once inclined to differ in opinion with Huber on this subject, and even went so far as to venture to say with Huish, and in Huish's own words—that the Queen knows not coition, and that she is both virgin and mother,[H] from what I have seen in my observatory-hive this summer (1832) I am led to doubt the accuracy of that remark, and am disposed to lean to Huber's doctrine, and to think, that there may be more truth in his experiments than has hitherto been awarded to them: in short, I see no objection to Huber's theory, although there is no direct proof of the copulation of the Queens with the drones. All apiarians allow that there are male and female in a hive or stock of Bees;—all admit—indeed, it is impossible to deny—-that Bees do increase and multiply at a prodigious rate, and so fulfil the Divine injunction; the only question to be solved is this—How is the Queen-Bee impregnated? This secret in nature—if those matters, or natural operations which we cannot clearly explain, which, though in themselves sensible and gross, may, nevertheless, be too subtile, too refined, for our obtuse understandings to comprehend, and for our dull faculties to investigate,—if these may be called secrets in nature, there is a secret of this description respecting the sexual union of Queen and drone Bees, or, at any rate, respecting the manner of the impregnation of the Queen-Bee. I condemn no man who differs from me on this nice subject, as I have no direct proof, either that Huber is right, or that Huish is wrong, in their surmises relative to this disputable matter. Individually they are men deserving the highest respect; their labours and perseverance to throw light upon this mystic branch of apiarian science deserve the utmost praise; as also do the labours of the learned and ingenious Dr. Bevan, whose treatise on Bees I have read with much pleasure; and have occasionally referred to, and shall again make use of it, in this my humble attempt. We have all exerted our best abilities to become the favourites of our patrons and friends. How much each of us deserves the honours conferred on us, is best known to those who have been most benefited by our unceasing endeavours to improve and extend apiarian science. My great object is—not to dispute with the naturalist, the philosopher, or with the apiarian, how the Queen-Bee becomes impregnated: because, be that as it may, it is, no doubt, consistent with the law of nature,—it is, no doubt, a part of that all-prevailing law; and though hitherto undiscovered,—hitherto "one of nature's gambols with the human mind," I do cherish strong hopes that the observatory-hive I have constructed, will on some auspicious, future day, disclose such facts as will set the matter at rest for ever: my great object at present is—to endeavour to improve the culture of Honey-Bees, and to lay before my readers practical instructions for the more humane, and more profitable management of those interesting, little insects.

CHAPTER XIII.

SUPERNUMERARY QUEENS.

In the last chapter we were at sea without a compass by which to steer our course aright,—with two pilots on board, 'tis true; one of them a foreigner, experienced beyond most other men, though aged, and infirm, and defective in his eyesight, but willing, nevertheless, nay—anxious to conduct us to our wished-for haven; the other, though not inexperienced, less practised, it is thought, in voyages of discovery, and more venturesome than his senior in the office, contending that the respectable, old gentleman had put us on a wrong tack,—that we were in a wrong latitude,—that our reckoning was incorrect, and even making merry with the old man's infirmities. Perplexed, and doubting in whom it is most reasonable and safest to confide, we seize the helm ourselves and make to the nearest shore, and luckily land on terra firma—terra cognita, and are now approaching a field with every corner of which we are thoroughly acquainted. But metaphor apart, lest we should not properly sustain it.

There is but one reigning Queen in a colony of Bees at one time: but previously to swarming, royal-cells are constructed, and provision made, for ensuring a successor to the Queen that leads the swarm and emigrates, when the too-crowded population, and over-heated temperature of the hive, render such emigration necessary. That it is the old Queen that leaves the hive with a swarm I am well convinced, notwithstanding what some apiarians assert to the contrary. To satisfy myself on this point, I have sometimes in the evening of the day on which a hive has swarmed, at other times on the second, and at others on the third day after that event, put the parent-stock under, or rather, I may say—over fumigation, dissected and examined the combs and Queen-cells minutely, and the Bees also, and whenever I did find a Queen, she was invariably a young one; but, instead of a Queen, I have more frequently found a royal-cell just ready to give birth, as it were, to a successor to that that had left the hive; and in general there are several of these royal-cells containing embryo Queens, in different states of forwardness: so that it seems, Bees have an instinctive foresight which leads them to provide against casualties, for they are generally provided with the means of bringing forth supernumerary Queens, that in case the first that comes forth should prove steril, should be defective, or in any way unfortunate, or unfitted to assume the sovereignty of the hive, there may be others ready to burst into being, and remedy the misfortune that would ensue, were there but one chance of a successor, and were that one chance to prove abortive. But no sooner is a young Queen enthroned, as it were, and established in the government of the hive than the supernumerary ones, in whatever stage of existence, are all discarded, and cast out of the colony, Mr. Porter, of Cowbit, has this year (1832) picked up eight of those discarded, virgin Queens, together with the old Queen, which last was sorely mutilated, but not killed—she alone was cast out alive, the others had been killed: these nine supernumerary Queens were all cast out of one fine colony of Bees in the course of two successive days. That colony is a remarkably prosperous one, and has not swarmed. I myself have observed no fewer than twenty-four supernumerary, virgin Queens that were cast out of one of my stocks; and that stock is flourishing, and has not swarmed: and my respected friend, Mr. Salmon, of Stokeferry, informs me that he once collected upwards of thirty of these young Queens; whether his stock swarmed or not I am unable to state positively, but presume it did not; for, generally speaking, when supernumerary, virgin Queens are cast out of a colony, it may be considered as an indication that that colony is not only prosperous, but that swarming is not contemplated—in fact, is abandoned for that season. The question then is—how are Bees to be managed, in order that they may be induced to rid themselves of these supernumeraries? The relation of the following practical lesson will both answer the question, and exemplify and confirm the foregoing remarks.

It has already been related (in pages 62-66) that in 1826 I forced a colony of Bees to swarm,—that I returned that swarm to its parent-stock, and managed so as to prevent its swarming in future,—and that two royal nymphs were cast out on that occasion. To prove whether I could not accomplish the same object, and prevent swarming altogether, I had recourse to the following experiment.

On the 26th of June, 1827, at one o'clock p.m. the thermometer, in one of my colonies of Bees, suddenly rose to 96. The progressive rise and constantly high temperature in that colony, during the evening and night, together with the extraordinary weight of the hive, induced me to suspect that swarming, if not prevented, would shortly take place. Not, however, perceiving any of the symptoms that usually precede the immediate act of swarming, I suffered matters to go on until the 6th of July, on which day the thermometer stood at 102. The drones came out and sung their merry tune; and during the whole night the temperature of the colony continued to increase. On the next day unequivocal symptoms of swarming presented themselves. These urged me to push my experiment to the highest pitch of proof; I therefore went on narrowly watching and ventilating this stock, until the 10th of July, when, in spite of my endeavours to keep down the temperature by merely ventilating the thermometer was standing at 112, consequently I concluded that it was high time to lay this prosperous colony under contribution; and in the evening of that day, I took from it a beautifully finished glass of honey, as pure as the crystal stream; its weight was sixteen pounds. I continued ventilating the side-boxes, and placed an empty bell-glass upon the middle one, from which I had just before taken the full one, I then withdrew the dividing-slide, and the Bees immediately entered the glass, and began their works in it, and in four days filled it with comb, and partly filled the cells with honey. On the sixth day after those operations had been performed, a continuance of the former temperature demonstrated to me the necessity of taking away a side-box. I did so, and found its weight to be no less than sixty-five pounds. On removing the box of honey, I replaced it with an empty one; and on drawing up the tin-slide, in order to admit the Bees into the empty box, to my great gratification I found the thermometer standing at 82 in that box, and in the space of five minutes the other collateral-box was under the same agreeable temperature. By this continued ventilation, within the short space of twenty-four hours afterwards, I ascertained the following important fact,—viz.—that no sooner did the Queen-Bee feel the agreeable change that had taken place in the interior of her domicil, than the royal nymph was dislodged from its cell, and by the Bees brought out of the pavilion, and laid lifeless on the front-board.

This fact taught me by experiment, that the reigning Queen would very soon, from real necessity, have been compelled to leave the now discarded nymph to take possession of the hive.

The Queen, owing to the excessive and daily increasing heat of the hive, would have left her wealthy colony—would have been compelled to leave it—had not the ventilation, and the enlargement of her domicil, prevented the painful necessity of her so doing. This, I think, proves the truth of the observation—that it is the old Queen which leaves, when Bees are compelled to swarm; but, if not, the following experimental operations have demonstrated the fact. I have united many swarms, and every sovereign Bee I have been under the necessity of making a captive, has invariably been an old one.

On the 25th of June, 1828, I took up a parent-stock, four days after it had thrown off a swarm, and there found only the royal nymph within its cradle—there was no Queen left in that stock, save the one in embryo—the old Queen had gone with the swarm. This lesson caused me to carry my experiments farther. Having taken up the parent-stock, as just stated, I united all the working Bees of that stock to those of the swarm already mentioned, and I also put the young larvæ found in the parent-stock, to the now united-stock; I then placed the intended royal species—the nymph already mentioned—with the remainder of the young brood, in one of the collateral-boxes, and immediately let the odour of the stock through the communicating slide. To my great satisfaction I discovered the willingness of the old Bees to bring to perfection the young they had been compelled to leave in their former domicil. The royal nymph, however, was an exception; she alone was instantly dragged from her cell, and cast out of the hive.

This confirmed the proof of the important fact gained the preceding year,—namely—that ventilation and the means of dividing the treasures of the Bees, by taking off a glass or a box of honey,—or, if necessary, by taking off both a glass and a box, set aside the necessity for swarming. On all occasions, under this practice, a proper temperature may be supported in a colony; and in all critical points, by a just observation of the state of the thermometer, Bees may be relieved and assisted, and all the mischiefs attending the old mode of management may be guarded against and prevented. For when adequately relieved and properly assisted, they proceed to rid the colony of all embryo Queens, which would only become so many supernumeraries in a hive where the reigning Queen is fertile, and the necessity for emigration is superseded. But, unless Bees could be made to understand that accommodation will be extended to them at the proper time, they, guided by their sense of their situation—not by ours—naturally and wisely provide their own means of relieving themselves; and in so doing frequently bring forth what afterwards become supernumerary Queens, which are invariably destroyed and cast out of the colony, as soon as the Bees are sensible that they have no occasion for them. And, whenever a royal nymph or a virgin Queen is thus cast out, swarming need not be apprehended.

CHAPTER XIV.

BEE-FEEDING.

Neglected generally, as is the management of Bees by their cottage possessors, there is no part of it less attended to, nor more slovenly performed, when performed at all, than that of feeding. The cottager commonly takes up, as he terms it, his best hives for the sake of the treasures they contain, or are supposed to contain. This is destroying Bees because they are rich! He also takes up the lightest and poorest—of course the late swarms—and those that are the least likely to live through the winter; because if he get from one of these but two or three pounds of honey, though he seldom gets so much, and a few ounces of wax, he thinks that that is all clear gain: and, if he get neither honey nor wax, he, at any rate, gets rid of the expense and trouble of feeding his good-for-nothing swarms, which, in his opinion, however fed, would never come to any good. A pennyworth of brimstone will do the job at once, and is more easily paid for than a pound of sugar, and after that another, and perhaps another. Such is the reasoning, and calculation, and cruel practice of the generality of cottage Bee-keepers! Such is the destruction annually dealt out to hundreds of poor swarms, and thousands and millions of poor Bees!! I do from my heart pity and deplore the untimely fate of these suffocated, innocent, valuable insects. To destroy Bees because they are rich is a barbarous practice, and ought by all means to be discountenanced and discontinued;—to destroy Bees because they are poor and may need support, is cruel—-is inhuman—is shocking, however little may be thought of it by those who still adhere to this practice. Even with the common straw-hives, this terrible havoc among poor stocks and late swarms might be prevented, if they, who happen to have them, would so far improve themselves in the practical management of an apiary, as to be able to fumigate, and to take such Bees out of the hives containing them, and to join them to their richer stock-hives, in the latter end of August, or any time in September. This is by far the best plan that can be adopted with poor hives; and there really is no difficulty in the operation. This strengthens the population of rich stocks, and causes them to swarm early in the ensuing spring, it preserves the Bees, which is of itself, independently of the advantages accruing from it afterwards, a consideration that never should be lost sight of,—it leaves the contents of the fumigated hive, as absolutely in the possession of the Bee-owner, as if the Bees had been suffocated and destroyed,—and in most cases it entirely does away with the necessity of feeding. I confess I should rejoice greatly, and flatter myself that every friend of humanity would rejoice with me, to see this mode of disposing of weak hives universally adopted; because, it may be presumed, that the next step in the way of improvement would be to take away the superabundant treasure of the Bees and still preserve them.

Notwithstanding, under certain circumstances it will always be necessary, and judicious in Bee-masters, to have recourse to feeding. If, for instance, after an early swarm is put into a hive, or into a box, two or three or more cold, ungenial days should follow, and more particularly if those days should happen to be rainy also, by feeding such a swarm you will assist your impoverished labourers, not only with necessary food, but with materials and treasure, which, unfortunately for them, they cannot at such an unfavourable juncture get abroad to collect elsewhere.

Different apiarians have adopted and recommended different ways of feeding Bees, none of which, in my opinion, possess any great merit; in order, therefore, to improve this part of Bee-management, my endeavours have been directed to the contrivance and construction of a feeding department; which is attached to my collateral-hives in so convenient a manner, that I can feed my Bees, at any time when feeding is required—in spring, in autumn, or in winter, without disturbing the position of the hive, and without changing its interior temperature; which temperature cannot be kept equable and comfortable, where a hive is frequently lifted up from its stand, and its interior is suddenly exposed to the action of perhaps an extremely cold atmosphere. Besides, a hive cannot be lifted up without breaking the propolis by which it has been cemented all round and made fast to its stool. In sharp, cold weather, disruption of the hive from its stool is a serious mischief done to the Bees; because, however carefully it maybe set down again, there will have been made many vents and crevices between the edge of the hive and the stool, which will occasion various currents of air, cold, frosty, or other—proper or improper—to be continually passing through the lower part of the hive. And should Bees be tempted by food, or urged by hunger, to descend into these currents in sharp, frosty weather, but few of them will get away alive; the keen air acting upon them whilst feeding, paralyzes and kills them. I am an advocate for keeping Bees cool in winter—yes, cool and still also: let them not be disturbed nor disunited,—let them not be forced nor tempted to (if I may so say) uncluster themselves. I have no objection to a current of air passing through the lower part of a hive in winter, provided the Bees be not disturbed—be not exposed singly to its nipping influence; but I strongly object to the feeding of Bees in such currents, because, in that case, feeding is prejudicial to them. The cottager seldom protects his hives in winter with any other covering than that which a pot, called a pancheon, whelmed over each hive, forms; capped with this unsightly piece of earthenware, his hives are exposed to all weathers; consequently the less he disturbs them the better. He therefore should give his weak stocks a copious feeding, in September at the latest,—not molest them during the severity of winter,—but in the spring, as soon as the Bees begin to make their appearance at the mouth of his hives, introduce his wooden trough furnished with a little Bee-sirup, and then close up the entrance,—withdraw the trough in the morning, and return it replenished every evening, as long as feeding is necessary. Tearing off a hive at Christmas, and scattering a few ounces of brown sugar upon the stand, and then setting down the hive again, deserves not the name of feeding; though it is all the bounty that is bestowed on some stocks; and is even more than others are treated with. It need not then be wondered at that so many stocks of Bees perish in the winter, and in the spring of every year. By judicious feeding, at proper seasons, almost any stock of Bees may be preserved: by injudicious feeding, at an improper season, even good stocks—stocks that would survive, if not fed at all, nor molested, during the depth and severity of winter, may be seriously injured—may be totally destroyed. The peasant Bee-keeper, however, does not often subject himself to the charge complimental of being accessary to the death of his Bees through mistaken kindness.

The sum and substance of my directions, as respects Bee-feeding, are these:—

1. In spring feed sparingly.

2. In autumn feed plentifully.

3. In winter do not feed at all.

4. Feed swarms, if unseasonable weather immediately follow the act of swarming.

5. Preserve the Bees of weak stocks, and prevent a great deal of the necessity for feeding, by adding them to those that are rich and able to support them. This last is the best and cheapest, nay—it is even a profitable method of feeding Bees.

Early swarming, where swarming is necessary as in the straw-hive colonies, is of great advantage to the watchful apiarian, but not to the inattentive and slothful manager. I have seen in a cottager's garden a swarm of Bees on the 10th of May, which was considerably weaker in the month of August, than was a swarm on the 10th of July, and that solely on account of not being fed and properly attended to.

If early swarms are judiciously fed, and supported by a natural heat within, they will be greatly benefitted thereby, and eventually prosper.

But, notwithstanding what has been already said, the cottager may probably ask—"how can I feed my Bees without lifting up their hive?" I again and again request him to examine my collateral box-hive; and he will perceive that he may easily feed the Bees in his cottage-hive in the same easy manner, if he have but ingenuity enough to attach a proper feeder to the stool or floor of his hive.

Mr. Huish advises apiarians to make choice of a fine and warm day in which to feed Bees, he says, the danger to be apprehended from the change of the temperature in the hive will thereby be obviated. This, I grant, is rational and humane, and in some degree a confirmation of my already expressed opinion, respecting the mischiefs resulting from the inconsiderate practice of exposing the interior of a hive to sudden and extreme alternations of temperature. But it matters not what sort of weather it may be, if my mode of feeding be adopted. I feed my Bees in their native temperature, without disturbing them or exposing their food to the temptation of robbers, which feeding in the ordinary way so frequently encourages, during the spring and autumnal seasons; and it is at these times that Bees stand in most need of assistance.

In the year 1828, I purchased a cottage-hive of a neighbour, it was a large hive, and well-stocked with Bees, but extremely light; I was fearful for the safety of its inmates, and, therefore, placed it over one of my feeders; in order to give them support by feeding, I placed the sirup intended for their food beneath the hive; but to my great surprise the Bees refused to take the proffered bounty. I persevered in my endeavours to induce them to feed for four days, but they would not touch the well-intended boon: I therefore resolved to ascertain the cause of their refusal, and on turning up the hive I discovered that thousands of the Bees were in a dying state, I had the curiosity to take the whole of them out singly. After several hours' particular attention and patient search, I found the Queen was dead. I then united the weak, enfeebled Bees to a rich stock, and they nearly all recovered their strength. Their numbers greatly assisted in the labour of the hive to which they were joined. Certain it is, that if any accident befal their Queen in winter, it is total ruin to that stock of Bees: where such a death is discovered, feeding will avail nothing, the Bees dwindle away and perish.

Mr. Huish says—and he is perfectly correct in saying—that there are some persons who defer the feeding of their Bees until the moment they suppose that they may be in actual want. This is a most reprehensible plan; for should feeding be too long delayed, the Bees will become so weak and debilitated, that they will be unable to convey the food into their cells: the food ought to be administered to poor stocks, three weeks or a month before they may be supposed to be in actual want; it will then be conveyed with the greatest despatch into the cells, and the hive will be saved from a death of famine. He then goes on to observe—that some apiarians conceive that the feeding of Bees in the spring renders them lazy and inactive. On what this opinion is grounded he is at a loss to conjecture, as must be every practical apiarian; for it is in direct contradiction, not only to Mr. Huish's experience, but also to that of many other apiarians. A little food granted to a populous, and even well-provisioned box or hive in the spring, is attended with very beneficial consequences. It diffuses animation and vigour throughout the whole community;—it accelerates the breeding of the Queen—and consequently conduces to the production of early swarms, where room is not previously given in order to prevent swarming altogether.

BEE-FOOD.

To a quart of ale add a pound and a half of sugar, gently boil them, in a sweet, well-tinned saucepan, over a fire clear from smoke, for five or six minutes, or until the sugar be dissolved and thoroughly incorporated with the ale; and, during the process of boiling, skim off the dross that rises to the surface. Some persons boil these ingredients much longer, and until they become, when cool, a thick, clammy sirup; this not only diminishes the quantity of the mixture, but renders it rather disadvantageous, to weak Bees in particular, by clogging and plaguing them, if, as they are almost sure to do, they get their legs or wings daubed with it. I prefer sirup in a more liquid state.

For spring feeding, I advise—that not more than a pound of sugar be put to a quart of ale, or sweet wort, if it can be obtained, and that a small quantity of common salt be added. By a small quantity I mean—a drachm or two at the most to a quart of the sirup. Salt, it has been said, is conducive to the health of Bees, and the most efficacious remedy for the dysentery, which sometimes affects Bees in the spring; therefore, it may not be amiss to put a little salt into their food, by way of preventive, rather than to have recourse to it afterwards as a remedy.

Speaking of the substances which are proper for the feeding of Bees, Mr. Huish says[I]—"he is perfectly convinced that honey alone is very injurious to Bees, as it in general gives them the dysentery." Whether by this extraordinary passage Mr. Huish has, or has not, subjected himself to the lash of his own ridicule, it would be hypercritical and unbecoming in me to determine. As an apiarian I respect him; in no other character am I acquainted with him. His work on the management of Bees I have read, and have derived information and occasionally assistance from some of its pages. There are in it, nevertheless, several untenable positions, of which I consider the above-quoted passage to be one: and, if what he has remarked somewhat sarcastically, in a note at the foot of page 31, be read in conjunction with this passage, it will be for the candid reader, apiarian, or other, to decide whether Mr. Huish in propriâ personâ does not, oddly enough, exemplify his own remark. It is there said—that "there is no wonder in nature which an apiarian has not seen." Professedly an apiarian himself, he must have seen some, at least, of the wonders in nature, otherwise he never could have been "perfectly convinced"—that honey—"honey alone"—the very substance which Bees, guided by the instinct of their nature, collect with so much industry, and store up with so much care, for their subsistence, should be "very injurious to them, and in general give them the dysentery." From this it seems that the substance, which is the natural food for one stock of Bees, is physic for another, if not poison!! I cannot but express my astonishment that a gentleman, so acute and experienced as Mr. Huish undoubtedly is, should have asserted in the most unqualified manner—that "honey alone is very injurious to Bees." Were this the fact, rich stocks, and all stocks that subsist upon "honey alone" during winter, would "in general" be affected with dysentery in the spring, which certainly is not the case. "In general" rich stocks are healthy and strong in the spring. Poverty is the predisposing cause of dysentery among Bees: a regular supply of their natural—their peculiar food, does not induce dysentery or disease of any sort. Had Mr. Huish analyzed the honey given to Bees as food, and which induced dysentery, he would, I suspect, have discovered that it was not "honey alone," but—medicated honey—honey and brimstone, or honey strongly tinctured either with brimstone or tobacco. That honey, tinctured with the pernicious qualities of those substances, should have a laxative effect upon impoverished, debilitated Bees, is no more than might be expected: but then it is not the honey that has the "injurious" effect, but the essence of the brimstone or of the tobacco that is administered along with it. What effect honey, that has not been stoved and saturated with brimstone or with tobacco, may have upon weak Bees, when given to them for spring food, I pretend not to determine, because I have never tried the experiment. But I do say that before the arrival of spring, honey, that has been drained or expressed from the comb, undergoes fermentation, and that fermentation may, for aught I know, impart to it physical properties, which in its pure, liquid, unchanged state, in the warm hive, it does not possess. I am not chemist enough to venture to assert that it is so, but I think it highly probable that fermentation may alter the properties of honey, and perhaps may render it unwholesome to Bees. But fresh, unfermented honey, even that in the blackest and oldest combs—the very refuse, and all such as the cottage-housewife makes into common mead, if spread upon large dishes and placed in an apiary, will be banqueted upon by the Bees in the most eager manner, and is apparently much enjoyed by them. They soon carry into their hives what they do not consume on the spot, and suffer no inconvenience whatever from the treat. I have feasted my Bees in this way scores of times, and esteem it the very best mode of autumnal feeding, and the most profitable way of disposing of broken combs and refuse honey. "Honey alone" is the natural food of Bees, and if given to them pure and untainted, in its primitive, limpid state, so far from being injurious, it is highly beneficial to them; of this I have not the shadow of a doubt. For autumnal feeding, I prefer honey to all other substances, and recommend it as the most proper food that can be given to them.