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

The plates here presented to my readers exhibit a set of my collateral Bee-boxes open, and every compartment exposed to view, especially to the view and for the examination of experienced workmen. I make use of the word experienced, because the better the boxes are made, the more certain will the apiarian be of success in the management of his Bees in them.

There has been some difference of opinion as to the most suitable dimensions for Bee-boxes. I approve of and recommend those which are from eleven to twelve inches square inside, and nine or ten inches deep in the clear.

The best wood for them is by some said to be red cedar; the chief grounds of preference of which wood are—its effects in keeping moths out of the boxes, and its being a bad conductor of heat. But of whatever kind of wood Bee-boxes are made, it should be well seasoned, perfectly sound, and free from what carpenters term shakes. Good, sound, red deal answers the purpose very well, and is the sort of wood of which most of my boxes have been made hitherto. The sides of the boxes, particularly the front sides, should be at the least an inch and a half in thickness; for the ends, top, and back-part, good deal one inch thick is sufficiently substantial; the ends, that form the interior divisions and openings, must be of half-inch stuff, well dressed off, so that, when the boxes and the dividing-tins are closed, that is, when they are all placed together, the two adjoining ends should not exceed five-eighths of an inch in thickness. These communication-ends, the bars of which should be exactly parallel with each other, form a communication, or a division, as the case may require, which is very important to the Bees, and by which the said boxes can be immediately divided without injuring any part of the combs, or deluging the Bees with the liquid honey, which so frequently annoys them, by extracting their sweets from the piled or storified boxes.

This is not the only advantage my boxes possess: the receptacles or frame-work for the ventilators, which appear upon each of the end-boxes,—the one with the cover off, the other with it on—must be four inches square, with a perforated, flat tin of nearly the same size, and in the middle of that tin must be a round hole, to correspond with the hole through the top of the box, and in the centre of the frame-work just mentioned, an inch in diameter, to admit the perforated, cylinder, tin ventilator, nine inches long. This flat tin must have a smooth piece of wood well-made to fit it closely, and to cover the frame-work just mentioned, so as to carry the wet off it, then placing this cover over the square, perforated tin, your box will be secure from the action of wind and rain. The perforated cylinder serves both for a ventilator, and also for a secure and convenient receptacle for a thermometer, at any time when it is necessary to ascertain the temperature of the box into which the cylinder is inserted. Within this frame-work, and so that the perforated, flat tin already described may completely cover them, at each corner make a hole with a three-eighths centre-bit through the top of the box. These four small holes materially assist the ventilation, and are, in fact, an essential part of it.

We next come to the long floor, on which the three square Bee-boxes, (A. C. C.), which constitute a set, stand collaterally. This floor is the strong top of a long, shallow box, made for the express purpose of supporting the three Bee-boxes, and must, of course, be superficially of such dimensions as those boxes, when placed collaterally, require; or, if the Bee-boxes project the eighth part of an inch over the ends and back of this floor-box, so much the better; because in that case the rain or wet, that may at any time fall upon them, will drain off completely. For ornament, as much as for use, this floor is made to project about two inches in front; but this projection must be sloped, or made an inclined plane, so as to carry off the wet from the front of the boxes. To the centre of this projecting front, and on a plane with the edge of the part cut away for the entrance of the Bees into the pavilion, is attached the alighting-board, which consists of a piece of planed board, six inches by three, having the two outward corners rounded off a little. The passage from this alighting-board into the pavilion, (not seen in the plate, it being at the centre of the side not shown) is cut, not out of the edge of the box, but out of the floor-board, and should be not less than four inches in length, and about half an inch in depth; or so as to make a clear half-inch-way under the edge of the box for the Bee-passage. I recommend this as preferable to a cut in the edge of the box,—because, being upon an inclined plane, if at any time the wet should be driven into the pavilion by a stormy wind, it would soon drain out, and the floor become dry; whereas, if the entrance-passage be cut out of the box, the rain that may, and at times will, be drifted in, will be kept in, and the floor be wet for days, and perhaps for weeks, and be very detrimental to the Bees. In depth the floor-box, measured from outside to outside, should be four inches, so that, if made of three-fourths inch-deal, there may be left for the depth of the box-part full two inches and a half. Internally it is divided into three equal compartments, being one for each Bee-box: admission to these compartments, or under-boxes, is by the drawer and drawer-fronts, or blocks, which will be described presently.

The bottom, or open edge of each of the boxes, (A. C. C.) should be well planed, and made so even and square that they will sit closely and firmly upon the aforesaid floor, and be as air-tight as a good workman can make them, or, technically expressed, be a dead fit all round. In the floor-board are made three small openings, i. e. one near the back of each box. These openings are of a semi-lunar shape, (though any other shape would do as well) the straight side of which should not exceed three inches in length, and will be most convenient if made parallel with the back-edge of the box, and about an inch from it. They are covered by perforated, or by close tin-slides, as the circumstances of your apiary may require. The drawer (G.) the front of which appears under the middle-box, is of great importance, because it affords one of the greatest accommodations to the Bees in the boxes. In this drawer is placed, if necessity require it, a tin made to fit it, and in that tin, another thin frame covered with book-muslin, or other fine strainer, which floats on the liquid deposited for the sustenance of the Bees. Here, then, you have a feeder, containing the prepared sweet, in the immediate vicinity of the mother-hive, and without admitting the cold or the robbers to annoy the Bees. When you close the drawer thus prepared with Bee-food, you must draw out the tin placed over the semi-lunar aperture, which will open to the Bees a way to their food in the drawer beneath. The heat of the hive follows the Bees into the feeding apartment, which soon becomes the temperature of their native-hive. Here the Bees banquet on the proffered boon in the utmost security, and in the temperature of their native domicile. Under such favourable circumstances it is an idle excuse, not to say—a want of humanity, to suffer your Bees to die for want of attention to proper feeding.

I now come to notice the use of the block-fronts on each side of the feeding-drawer, marked G. These two block-fronts answer many good purposes, and furnish the apiarian with several practical advantages: first, in the facility they afford of adding numbers to the establishment, as occasion may require, which is done without the least inconvenience or trouble to the apiarian, and without the least resentment from the native Bees; second, in affording to the Bees a place of egress when you are about to take from them one of the end-boxes; third, in the effectual and beautiful guard they furnish against robbers: for instead of the solid block, seen in the plate, a safety-block (of which a description will be given presently) may be substituted, which is so contrived that ten thousand Bees can with ease leave their prison and their sweets in the possession of the humane apiarian, without the possible chance of a single intruder forcing its entrance to rob the magazine or to annoy the apiarian. Perhaps this is the most pleasing part, and the most happy convenience attached to the boxes. Its origin was this: Whilst explaining to some scientific gentlemen at the National Repository the method to be pursued in the management of Bees in a set of collateral-boxes,—and, in particular, the manner of taking off a box of honey, it was objected—that, on removing the block-front and withdrawing the tin that opens a communication into the box above, though a passage would thereby be opened for the imprisoned Bees to get away, it would at the same time afford an opening and an opportunity—nay, be a sort of invitation for the Bees of other hives,—for strange Bees and robbers to get in, annoy, and destroy the native Bees, then subdued by having been imprisoned, and to plunder and carry away their treasures.

This objection, to persons unskilled in Bee-matters, may, I grant, appear to be plausible—nay, reasonable: but every practical apiarian, who has taken off two or three end-boxes of honey, knows very well that there is not the least danger to be apprehended from robbers or marauders during the short time that the liberated, native Bees are hurrying away as fast as they can get. I have never witnessed any thing like an attempt to besiege and rob a box so situated. Were, however, the communication to be left open for any considerable time after the Bees have departed, I have no doubt that, if not discovered by Bees belonging to other hives, it (the vacated box) would be re-entered by its own Bees, and by them be soon entirely emptied of its honey. Nothing, however, but down-right carelessness on the part of the operator will ever subject a box of honey to a visitation of this description. But, notwithstanding the conviction in my mind that the above-stated objection is in fact groundless, I set my wits to work to answer it in a way more satisfactory to the highly respectable persons who raised it, and, if by any means I could, to obviate it entirely. It did not cost me much mental labour to invent—a safety-block,—nor does it require much manual labour to make one.

A safety-block must be made to fit the place of the common block, and may be cut out of a piece of half-inch deal board, having one side planed off so as to leave the bottom-edge less than one-fourth of an inch in thickness; then with a three-eighths-inch centre-bit cut as near the lower, that is—the thin edge, as you can, a row of holes. Ten holes in a length of six inches will allow a convenient space between each hole. Next, over each of these small holes, suspend a piece of talc, cut of a proper size for the purpose, by a thread of silk, and make that thread fast round a tiny brass nail above. The talc, which is a mineral substance as transparent as glass, and much lighter, and on that account much better than glass, thus suspended over each hole, is easily lifted and passed by Bees from within, but is heavy enough to fall again as soon as a Bee has made its exit, and forms an effectual bar or block against the entrance of Bees from the outside. A block of this description may be had for a trifling expense, and is recommended to all such inexperienced and timid—timid because inexperienced—-apiarians, as are apprehensive of being annoyed by intruders when they are taking off a box of honey. Though this safety-block rather impedes the escape of the Bees, it has nevertheless a pretty appearance when it is neatly made,—and it is amusing enough to see the beautiful, little creatures pushing open first one little trap-door and then another, popping out their heads, and then winging their flight to the entrance of the pavilion. After all, though it certainly is a complete safety-block, and was invented to obviate a groundless objection, it is more an article of curiosity than of real usefulness.

Lastly, I have to notice the security which the under-box or frame gives to the stability of the three upper boxes,—the firmness with which it supports them,—and the dry and comfortable way in which the Bees by it are enabled to discharge their dead, and other superfluities of the colony, without their being exposed to the cold atmosphere of an autumn or a spring morning.

The octagon-box, marked H, is a covering for the bell-glass, marked B, which is placed on the middle-box, or seat of nature. It matters not of what shape this covering is, because any covering over the glass will answer the same purpose, provided the under-board of it is wide enough to cover the divisional openings, and to throw off the wet. I choose an octagon because of the neatness of its appearance.

In endeavouring to recommend these Bee-boxes as worthy of general adoption, in order to succeed in my object, it is undoubtedly necessary that the parts and construction of them, and of every thing pertaining to them, be fully explained and clearly understood: I therefore proceed to give another view of them.

In the former plate they are exhibited as open, or detached and apart from each other: in the following one they are represented as closed and standing together, as when stocked with Bees, and in full operation in an apiary: in both it is the back of the boxes that is presented. With the exception of the alighting-board, the front is quite plain, being without window-shutters in the boxes, and without drawer and block-fronts in the under-board.

In this plate the engraver has made the floor-box to extend beyond the ends of the C. C. boxes; but, as has already been observed, and for the reason before given, it is better that the floor-box be made so that those (C. C.) boxes project a little over the ends and also over the back of the floor.

EXPLANATION OF THE REFERENCES TO THE DIFFERENT PARTS OF A SET OF COLLATERAL-BOXES.

For a Bee-passage between the pavilion and the bell-glass, is cut, in the centre of the top of the pavilion, a circular hole, an inch in diameter, and from the edge of that circular hole are cut four or six passages, just wide enough to allow the Bees space to pass and re-pass. These lineal cuts must of course terminate within the circumference of the circle formed by the edge of the bell-glass that is placed over them.

Perhaps it may be said,—in fact, it has been said—that these boxes are in reality nothing more than a common cottage-hive. Be it so: but it is an improved cottage-hive, made convenient by being divisible, and by having its parts well arranged. The middle-box, or department, marked A, is, however, square, and not round, like the common straw-hive. But beyond this one box the comparison cannot easily be carried; the common straw-hive possesses no such conveniences and accommodations as those afforded both to Bees and Bee-masters by the end-boxes of my hive.

In the middle-box the Bees are to be first placed: in it first they skilfully construct their beautiful combs,—and, under the prerogative of one sovereign—the mother of the hive—carry on their curious works, and display their astonishing, architectural ingenuity. In this box the regina of the colony, surrounded by her industrious, happy, humming subjects, carries on the propagation of her species,—deposits in the cells prepared for the purpose by the other Bees, thousands upon thousands of her eggs, though she deposits no more than one egg in a cell at one time: these eggs are hatched and nursed up into a numerous progeny by the other inhabitants of the hive. It is at this time, viz. when hundreds of young Bees are daily coming into existence, that my collateral-boxes are of the utmost importance to the Bees domiciled in them: for when the young larvæ are perfected upon the cottage plan, a swarm is the necessary consequence. The Queen, with thousands of her Bee-subjects, leaves the colony, and seeks another place in which to carry on her astonishing labours. But as swarming may, by proper precaution and attention to my mode of management, generally be prevented, it is manifestly a good thing to do so; for the time necessarily required to establish another colony, even supposing the cottager succeeds in saving the swarm, would otherwise be employed in collecting the pure sweets, and in enriching the old hive. Here, then, is one of the advantages of my plan, viz. the prevention of swarming. When symptoms of swarming begin to present themselves, and which may be known by an unusual noise in the hive or box (for it is of Bees in boxes that I am now treating), and by the appearance of more than common activity among the Bees; when these symptoms are apparent, then the Bee-master may conclude that more space is required. At this period, therefore, he should draw out the sliding-tin, marked 1, from under the bell-glass, which simple operation will immediately open to the Bees a new room—a palace—which they will adorn, and fill with their sweets as pure as the crystal stream. But if by mistake the manager should draw up either of the collateral-slides, which divide the end-boxes from the pavilion, the Bees in that case will refuse to go up into the glass, and will commence their works in the collateral-box opened to them, in preference to the elevated glass; so well aware are these matchless insects of the inconvenience attending the carrying of their treasures into an upper room, when a more convenient store-house is to be had in a lower one. The natural movements of Bees have demonstrated to me this fact by more than a thousand trials: year after year I have made this experiment to my entire satisfaction. The natural movements of the Bees also suggested to me the idea of the utility of ventilation, and that by its influence their works might be both divided and purified; and that a place of safety might still be preserved for the Queen in the pavilion. She wants a certain situation in which to carry on the work of propagating her species. Like the fowls of the air, she will not, if she can avoid it, propagate her young whilst under the observation and influence of man: she, therefore, prefers the middle-box for her work of propagation; as well on account of its privacy, as because the ventilation of the end-boxes so cools their temperature, that they are not the situation nature requires to bring the young larvæ to perfection; yet they can be kept at such a temperature as to make them desirable store-rooms for the Bees' treasures. By this mode of management we prevent the necessity of swarming; and behold the grandest chemists in the world, and stores after stores of their pure treasure, unadulterated by the necessary gathering of immense quantities of farina for the young larvæ, which we see in the piling system, as well as in the common cottage-hive; but this is all carried into the immediate vicinity of the seat of nature, the place where it is wanted.

When the glass is nearly filled, which in a good season will be in a very short space of time, the Bees will again want accommodation. Previously, however, to drawing up the tin-slide to enlarge their crowded house, the manager should take off the empty end-box he intends to open to them, and smear or dress the inside of it with a little liquid honey. Thus prepared, he must return the box to its proper situation, and then withdraw the sliding-tin between it and the pavilion, or middle-box, and thereby enlarge the Bees' dominion, by opening an end-box to them, which will produce the greatest harmony in the hive. The Bees will immediately commence their operations in this new apartment. This simple operation, done at a proper time, effectually prevents swarming; and by it the Queen gains a vast addition to her dominions, and consequently additional space for the population of her enlarged domicile. There is now no want of store-house room, nor of employment, for our indefatigable labourers. And while the subjects are employed in collecting, and manufacturing (if I may so say) their various materials, the regina is engaged in carrying on the great, first principle of nature—the propagation of her species. This she does in the department (A.) re-filling with her eggs the cells which have been vacated by the young larvæ. When, however, her next new progeny are about to be brought into life, the Bee-master must draw out the other tin-slide, and thereby open a communication to the other empty apartment, and so make a further addition to the Queen's realm; which the new, and even veteran labourers, will presently occupy, and set about improving and enriching their again enlarged commonwealth. No sooner have the Bees finished their operations in the several compartments of their box-hive, which may be ascertained by looking through the little windows at the back and ends of the boxes, than the Bee-master gently puts in the tin-slide (1.) lifts up the lid of the octagon-box or cover (H.) and takes off the bell-glass, filled with the purest and most perfect honey. Before, however, he endeavours to take away the glass, it is necessary that he should cut through between the bell-glass and the box, with a fine wire, in order that the tin may the more easily slide under the full glass of honey; when this is done, he may take off the full glass and replace it with an empty one. He must then draw out the tin-slide (1.) and so on for even The operation of taking off a glass, or a box, of honey, may be best performed in the middle of a fine, sunny day; and in taking off a glass, the operator, having put in the tin-slide (1.) as already directed, should wait a few minutes, to see whether the Bees made prisoners in the glass manifest any symptoms of uneasiness; because, if they do not, it may be concluded that the Queen-bee is amongst them; and in that case it is advisable to withdraw the slide (1.) and to re-commence the operation another day. But if, as it generally happens, the prisoners in the glass should run about in confusion and restlessness, and manifest signs of great uneasiness, then the operator may conclude that all is right, and, having taken off the octagon-cover, may envelope the glass in a silk handkerchief, or dark cloth, so as to exclude the light, remove it with a steady hand, and place it on one side, or so that the Bees may have egress from it, in some shady place, ten or fifteen yards from the boxes, and the Bees that were imprisoned in it will in a few minutes effect their escape, and return with eagerness to the pavilion and their comrades.

And what may be done with B, may also be done with either of the C. C. boxes, as occasion requires. It may not, however, be amiss to be more explanatory of the mode of taking away the treasures of the Bees in the side-boxes. It will be necessary to examine minutely the state of your boxes, particularly when the whole of your colony is full of the Bees' works. When the tin is put down to divide an end-box from the mother-hive, you, no doubt, make many prisoners; to prevent which, the night before separating an end-box from a middle one, lay open the ventilator, which will not only lower the heat of the box, but will admit the atmospheric air, which naturally causes the Bees to leave that apartment, and to draw themselves into the middle-box—their native climate; when this is done, you may put down the tin-slide (D.) as already directed, and let your Bees remain fifteen or twenty minutes in total darkness: then open the windows of the box you are about to take off, and if the Queen-bee is not within that box, the Bees that are in it will show a great desire to be liberated from their disagreeable confinement, by running about in the most hurried, agitated, and restless manner. But should the Queen-bee be there, you will then find the Bees show no desire to leave her;—the commotion will appear in the middle-box. Under such circumstances, which sometimes happen, you must act with caution; for were you to open the egress from the box, that is, the block (F.) and tin-slide (2. or 4. as the case may be) to permit their departure, very shortly would the whole of the working Bees join their sovereign in the box you intended to take; and this would be a great disappointment and complete puzzle to the Bee-master, not thoroughly acquainted with the moves of, or proper mode of managing, his valuable hive. To me such an occurrence would be a repetition only of a demonstration of facts—of pleasures unspeakable, in beholding the grand works of nature, the noble influence of her majesty—the Queen of the Bees.

When, however, you do find the Queen in the box you are about to take off, is it not easy to draw the tin-slide up again? Certainly it is easy to draw up the dividing-tin. Do so, then, and that done, the Queen-bee will readily embrace the opportunity of leaving the place of her confinement; and then, having put down the dividing-tin, you will presently be in a situation to accomplish your object. You will soon see the Bees running to and fro upon the windows in the box you are about to take off, and when you thus find them anxious to leave your box of honey, close the windows, and you have then only to open an egress by withdrawing the tin, No. 2. or 4. as your box may require; the Bees finding an aperture, with light to direct their departure, will immediately embrace the opportunity of regaining their liberty, will fly away from their prison, and join their fellow-labourers at the entrance of the mother-hive. In a few minutes you will be in possession of a box of honey, and all your Bees will be in safety and harmonizing with their beloved parent—the Queen of the hive. Take from them the box your humanity entitles you to, minding that the tin-slide is safe to the middle-box. You will then empty the full box, and return it empty to its former place; then draw up your tin, and you again enlarge their domicil, having gained a rich reward for your operation, at the expense of their labour. A child of twelve years of age may be taught to do this without the least danger; there need no Bee-dresses,—there needs no fumigation of any sort. It is a natural movement for the welfare of these worthies, that prevents their swarming, and at once secures to the sovereign Queen of Bees her rightful throne. Reader, this declaration is founded on facts,—on the practical experience of many years. And that you may adopt this principle and mode of managing Honey-Bees, that is, of taking from them their superabundance of treasure, and preserving your Bees uninjured, and, if you can contrive it, improve upon the instructions here given you, and upon the example here set you, is my hearty wish, for my country's welfare, and for the welfare of my admired, nay, my beloved BEES.

Should it, however, so happen, as it sometimes may, owing to a variety of causes, such, for instance, as the negligence, or unskilfulness, or unavoidable absence of the Bee-master at a critical time, or from any other cause, should it, I say, so happen that the pavilion, or middle-box, should swarm, take such swarm into one of the end-boxes, prepared for such an event, by merely making an entrance to it, at or as near as possible to the corner farthest from the entrance into the middle-box; and before this new entrance fix a small alighting board. The swarm will thus become a family of itself, and as much a stock pro tempore, as if it were placed on a separate stand, provided the dividing-tin, which separates the middle-box from that in which the swarm is put, be carefully adjusted, and made perfectly tight and secure, so that a Bee cannot pass from one box to the other. To this material point the apiarian will necessarily attend when he first removes the end-box in order to put the swarm into it. In the evening place the box containing the swarm on its floor, just where and as it was before it was taken off. Let the Bees thus managed work two or three weeks, or as the nature of the season may require,—I mean—until the end-box appears to be pretty well filled with combs. Then close up the exterior entrance of the collateral-box containing the swarm of Bees, and draw out the sliding-tin which hitherto has separated the two families or colonies, and the Bees will unite, and become one family. The apiarian will likewise witness with pleasure the effect of ventilation in the hive; for as soon as the Bees have deposed one of the Queens, and the end-box has been cooled by means of the cylinder-ventilator, he will discover that the combs will be presently emptied of every material necessary for the support of the young larvæ; so that the combs, that had been so recently constructed for a seat of nature, soon become receptacles for pure honey, and the numerous Bees become the subjects of one sovereign in the middle-box.

This is a neat method of re-uniting a swarm to its parent-stock; and the operation is so easy that the most unpractised apiarian may perform it without subjecting himself to the slightest danger of being stung by the Bees. It can however only be practised with Bees in boxes. Another and a more prompt method of returning a swarm to its parent-stock, and which is practicable with swarms from cottage-hives, as well as with those from boxes, is the following.

After the swarm has been taken in the usual way into an empty box, or into a straw-hive, and suffered to settle and cluster therein for an hour or two, gently and with a steady hand take the box or hive, and, having a tub of clean water placed ready and conveniently for the purpose, with a sudden jerk dislodge the Bees from the box or hive and immerse them in the water. Let them remain therein two or three minutes: then drain it off through a sieve, or other strainer, and spread the now harmless Bees—harmless, because apparently half-drowned, upon a dry towel or table-cloth, and search for and secure the Queen. This done, and which may very easily be done, place a board or two in a slanting direction from the entrance of the parent-hive to the ground; upon this lay the cloth on which are your immersed Bees, and spread them thinly over it, in order that they may the sooner become dry; and, as they become dry, you will with pleasure see them return to their native-hive, which they will be permitted to enter without the slightest opposition from the Bees already therein.

By this operation not only are the immersed Bees cooled, but their re-union with those already in the hive cools them also, and considerably lowers the temperature of the whole stock. With a late swarm from any sort of hive, as well as with an accidental swarm from boxes, this is a good method to be adopted; and, if the apiarian possess sufficient coolness and dexterity to perform it cleverly, it is a practice I would recommend whenever it is advisable to return a swarm to its native-hive. When a swarm has thus been returned to a cottage-hive an eke should be added forthwith.

Before I further explain the nature of my collateral Bee-boxes, I shall briefly express my desire that my readers will attend particularly to the discovery of the effects of ventilation. I have been asked—"Of what use is ventilation in the domicil of Bees?" I answer—one of its uses has already been described, and much more of its use, I may say, of its necessity, in the humane management of Bees will be told presently. Many treatises on the management of these valuable insects have appeared, but in none of them do I find any allusion to this important point—important in my practice at least, and essentially necessary in it. Therefore—

Perhaps the divided labour of the Honey-Bees was anticipated by the author of these lines: but, be that as it might, I, in my turn, will ask—How can we preserve the Bees uninjured, divide their works, and take away their superabundant treasure, without the influence of ventilation? I think it is impossible. A lesson, a true lesson from nature, has demonstrated this fact to me, and twelve years' constant labour and attention to this important subject have put into operation my plans for the welfare of that wonderful insect—the sovereign Queen of Bees. Well might Dr. Bevan say—

Curious facts respecting this extraordinary creature are before me, which have been ascertained and proved by means of my observatory-hive. This hive is unknown in any work hitherto published on the interesting subject of Bee-management: and with reference to it I may observe—that when a new principle is discovered by studying nature, such principle will seldom fail to produce effects beneficial in proportion to its being understood and skilfully applied. So simple and so rational (if I may so say) is my observatory-hive, that it cannot but be approved, when it is once understood, by the followers of my apiarian practice. Be my humble theory what it may, it hath truth for its foundation; and by perseverance and industry I flatter myself I shall materially improve, if not bring to perfection, the cultivation and management of Honey-Bees, merely by pointing out how the produce of their labour may be divided, how a part thereof may be taken away, a sufficiency be left for the sustenance of the stock, and how their lives may be preserved notwithstanding.

Much has been said against the probable results of this practice: but facts are stubborn things; and luckily for me and my mode of Bee-management, I have an abundance of the most incontrovertible facts to adduce, which will, I think and hope, convince all those who have heretofore entertained doubts upon the subject.

The first movement in my apiarian practice commences with the pavilion of nature. This pavilion, which is equivalent to a cottage-hive, is the subject of my present observations and explanation.

I say, then,—-disturb not this hive—this pavilion of nature: weaken not its population; but support its influence, and extend to it those accommodations which no practice, except my own, has yet put into operation, or made any adequate provision for. This humane practice partakes not of the driving, nor of the fumigating, nor of the robbing system. It is a liberal principle of Bee-cultivation founded on humanity. And it is by such practice that we must succeed, if we hope to be benefited by the culture of Honey-Bees.

CHAPTER III.

VENTILATION.

To ascertain the degree of heat in a colony of Bees, and to regulate it by means of ventilation, as circumstances may require, recourse must be had to the use of the thermometer, as will be explained presently. But here I would ask my worthy Bee-keepers, whether, in the course of their experience, they have at any time beheld a honey-comb suspended beneath the pedestal of any of their hives—a circumstance that not unfrequently occurs under old stools? The beautiful appearance of a comb suspended in such a situation is, as it were, the very finger of Providence, pointing out the effects of ventilation, and teaching us by an example the necessity there is for it in a crowded, busy hive. Behold the purity of such a comb; examine the cause of that purity, and you will find that it is owing—solely and undoubtedly owing—to the powerful influence of VENTILATION.

An occurrence of this description, I mean—the discovery of a beautiful comb suspended, as just described, having excited my curiosity and my admiration, led me to inquire into the cause of it, and to study to discover, if by any means I could, why my skilful, little Bees should have constructed their combs in such a situation. My observations soon satisfied me that one of these two causes, viz. either a want of room in the hive,—or a disagreeable and oppressive heat in it,—or most probably, a combination of these two causes, had rendered it necessary for them, if they continued working at all, to carry on their work in that singular manner. My next step was to endeavour to prove the truth of my reasonings and conclusions, in which, I flatter myself, I have fully succeeded, after no inconsiderable labour, and many contrivances to accommodate the Bees with additional room, as they have had occasion for it, and after repeated experiments to keep such room, when added, at a temperature agreeable to them by means of ventilation. In short, my COLLATERAL-BOXES and VENTILATION are the results of my studies and experiments on this point of apiarian science.

There are few persons, who are managers of Honey-Bees under the old hive system, who, if they have not seen a comb constructed and suspended in the manner just described, have not, however, beheld these little creatures, when oppressed with the internal heat of their crowded domicil, and straitened for want of room in it, unhappily clustering and hanging at the door, or from and under the floor-board of their hive, in a ball frequently as large as a man's head, and sometimes covering all the front part of it, for sixteen or twenty days together; and this, be it remarked, at the season of the year which is the most profitable for their labours in the fields and among the flowers. During this distress of the Bees in, or belonging to, such a hive, their labours are of necessity suspended,—their gathering of honey ceases,—ceases too at the very time that that saccharine substance is most plentifully secreted by the vegetable world. And—-why? Because they want an enlargement of their domicil,—an extension of the dominion, or (if it may be so termed) of the territory of the Queen; by which enlargement swarming is superseded, and the Royal Insect relieved from the necessity of abdicating her throne, retains it, continues and extends the propagation of her species, and of course increases the busy labours of her innumerable subjects. This accommodation is provided for Bees in my collateral-boxes.

Ancient as well as modern Bee-keepers have frequently adopted the plan of eking, that is—placing three or four rounds of a straw-hive (called an eke) under their hives. This method of enlarging a hive does in many instances prevent swarming during that one season. Notwithstanding, from all that I can see in it, it tends only to put off the evil day, and to accumulate greater numbers of Bees for destruction the following year. This is certain, because on minute examination of the pavilion of nature, we find an increase of wealth, as well as an increase of numbers in the state; but there is no provision or contrivance in the common hive for dividing the wealthy produce of the labours of those numbers: eking will not do it,—eking enlarges the hive, and that is all it does; consequently to get at their honey, the necessity for destroying the Bees follows, and the suffocating fumes of brimstone at length bring these worthies to the ground—to the deadly pit in which they are first suffocated, then buried, and are, alas, no more! a few minutes close the existence of thousands that had laboured for their ungrateful masters; and their once happy domicil becomes a scene of murder, of plunder, and of devastation, which is a disgrace to Bee-masters, and ought by all means to be discountenanced and discontinued. Assuredly Bees are given to us by the gracious Giver of all good things for a better purpose than that of being destroyed by thousands and by millions. Are we not instructed by the sacred writings to go to the Bee and to the ant, and learn wisdom? We are not told, neither are we warranted, by this language, to go and destroy them and their works,—-to disobey the commands of their, no less than of our Maker, who has given Bees to us for our edification and comfort, and not wantonly to commit a species of murder, in order to procure their delicious treasure. Nor is there the slightest necessity for destroying Bees in this cruel manner, when an act of humanity will obtain for us their purest honey, and secure to us their lives for future and profitable labour. Surely, then, an act of humanity to Bees cannot be displeasing to any one, especially when we are taught by the beneficial results of our experience, that their lives may be preserved, and their labours for us thereby continued.

Apiarian reader, take this subject into thy serious consideration: in the busy hive behold the curious works of God's creatures—the Bees; misuse riot, then, the works of his hands; but improve upon this lesson from nature: and for a moment pause before thou lightest the deadly match,—before thou appliest it with murderous intent to the congregated thousands in thy hive.

These insects' indefatigable labours alone should humanize our feelings for them, and induce us to spare their lives, for the rich treasures which they first collect, and then unresistingly yield up to us when operated upon by the healthy influence of ventilation.

Why should we lay the axe to the root of the tree that produces such good fruit? Rather let us gather from its pure branches, and let the root live. Examine the nature and effects of my Bee-machinery, and you will discover its utility and its value in the management of Bees. By the proper application of that machinery you may instantaneously divide the treasures of the Bees, even in the most vigorous part of their gathering season, without the least danger to the operator, and frequently without the destruction of a single Bee. Is not this, then, a rational and humane practice? I trust it wants only to be properly understood in order to be universally adopted.

Again: Does not she that is a kind mother know the wants and desires of her children? Take the lovely offspring from its mother's care and protection, and imprison it before her eyes, and will she not impatiently cry aloud for its release and restoration to liberty? and will not the child's screams show its affection for its fond parent? and when its liberty is restored, does not consolation quickly follow? The lost child being once more under its mother's care, both mother and child are happy. Similar facts are exemplified by the mother of the hive, who loves her multitudinous offspring, and lives in harmony and affection with them. She evidently dislikes a separation from her subjects, who seem to be, and doubtless are, most devotedly attached to her. And when, on taking off a glass or a box, they are divided only for a few minutes, we witness their sorrow, and hear their lamentations in the hive,—the Queen-mother calling for her children, anxious on their part to be released; and as soon as an opportunity is afforded them of effecting their escape, they embrace it,—the moment they feel their liberty, they gladly take advantage of it, and return to the pavilion in multitudes, so that in a short time tranquillity is restored, and peace and happiness are again enjoyed by the previously unhappy mother of the hive,—her subjects crowd round her, and the place that had lately been their prison soon becomes their palace, and a magazine for future treasure, which the humane apiarian will again be entitled to.

Much has been said on the piling or storifying mode of managing Bees; and I admit that there are advantages in it which we do not meet with in the cottage-hive system. It is, notwithstanding, imperfect in the design,—it is founded in error,—in practice it is liable to many difficulties,—and it is particularly disadvantageous to the labours of these valuable insects, as will be more fully shown when I come to state my objections to it.

We have only to study the nature and habits of Bees, and to watch particularly the desires of these indefatigable creatures. They alone will teach us the lesson. But follow them through their movements during a summer's day, and you will behold them, as it were, pitifully asking for the assistance of man, according to the varying state of the thermometer.

CHAPTER IV.

THERMOMETER.

As I have been frequently asked to explain the utility of ventilation in a hive or colony of Bees, so have I as frequently been asked, sometimes with civility and politeness, sometimes jeeringly and in contempt,—"What has the thermometer to do with Bees?" I answer—We shall see presently; and I trust, see enough to convince the veriest sceptic on the subject, that the thermometer is an instrument that is indispensably necessary in the management of Bees according to my plan. Such inquirers might as reasonably ask what the mainspring of a watch has to do with the movements of that machine? Without the mainspring the watch would not work at all; and without the thermometer we cannot ascertain with any degree of accuracy the interior temperature of the hive; the knowledge of which temperature is of the utmost consequence in the humane management of Honey-Bees. The thermometer is the safest, if not the sole guide to a scientific knowledge of their state and works. To ventilate an apiary or colony of Bees, when their interior temperature is under 60 degrees, would be ruinous to them,—because contrary to the prosperous progress of their natural labours. From upwards of fifteen hundred observations in the summer of 1825, I am fully satisfied on this point. Their nature is to keep up at least that, and sometimes a much higher, degree of temperature by their indefatigable labours; and as the temperature of the hive rises, so does it invigorate and encourage an increase of population, as well as an increase of their treasured sweets. As the hive fills, so will the thermometer rise to 120 and even to 130 degrees, before these worthies will by over-heat be forced to leave their wealthy home. When the thermometer is at the above height, these wealthy colonists will have arrived at the highest state of perfection,—wealthy indeed, every store-house being filled nearly to suffocation with their abundant treasures, and they, as it were, petitioning the observer of their too-limited store-house for a fresh room. Thus circumstanced then give them a fresh room,—accommodate them with such a store-house as either of my collateral-boxes will and is intended to afford them. Force them not to warm: an emigration from a prosperous colony of half its population cannot fail of being very disadvantageous, both to those that emigrate, who must necessarily be poor, and to those that remain, be they ever so industrious, or ever so wealthy.

When you discover your thermometer rising rapidly, and, instead of standing, as it generally does in a well-stocked colony, at about 80 degrees, rising in a few hours to 90, and perhaps to 96, or even to 100, you may conclude that ventilation is then highly necessary. The more you ventilate, when their temperature gets to this oppressive and dangerous height, the more you benefit the Bees labouring under it; for when they find a comfortable temperature within, they enjoy it, and will proceed to fill every vacant comb.

Nature has provided the Queen of Bees with the power of multiplying her species, and of providing against any casualty which in so numerous a state may frequently happen. That all-seeing eye that neither slumbers nor sleeps, but constantly superintends alike the affairs of insects and of men, has, doubtless, long beheld the shameful neglect of man, which is the main cause of the distress of the hive, and which forces it to swarm. Let man, then, remedy the distress and mischief which he occasions, by preventing it. It is the Queen-Bee that emigrates; were she not to lead, none would lead; nor would any follow were another than the Queen to lead, to seek and to settle in some place more congenial to them than an over-heated, over-stocked, though rich hive. She well knows she cannot live in a state subjected to a suffocating heat, amidst an overgrown population. So she leaves the royal cradle, impregnated with the royal larva, and withdraws from the hive, reluctantly, one may suppose, though accompanied by thousands of her subjects. The Queen-Bee leads the swarm to seek a place of comfort, and to establish another home, where not one cell nor drop of honey exists.

To establish the truth of these assertions, and to prove the utility of ventilation and of the thermometer, in regulating the degree of ventilation in the management of Bees, I will now give my reader an account of some interesting experiments that I made in 1826, and then add a few extracts from my thermometrical journal of that summer; which in fact guided me in those experiments, for without the assistance of my thermometer I could not have made them; from which, taken together, it will, I think, be sufficiently evident that ventilation and the thermometer are highly necessary,—are alike important,—in short, are indispensable in the humane management of Honey-bees.

On the 26th of June 1826, I suffered a colony of Bees to swarm, in order to prove the truth of the foregoing statements. It was a very fine colony: the thermometer had been standing at 110 for six days previously, in one of the collateral end-boxes; on the eighth day it rose suddenly to 120. I was then forcing my Bees to leave their home; I could have lowered their temperature, and by so doing, I could have retained my worthies in their native boxes: but I was then about to prove a fact of the greatest moment to apiarians. On the ninth day, at half-past twelve o'clock, the finest swarm I ever beheld towered above my head, and literally darkened the atmosphere in the front of my apiary. After remaining about five minutes in the open air, the Queen perched herself upon a tree in my garden, where she was exposed to the rays of a scorching sun; but her loyal subjects quickly surrounded her, and screened her from its influence. I immediately did what I could to assist my grand prize, by hanging a sheet before it, to ward off the intense heat of the sun. I allowed the Bees to hang in this situation until the evening. During the absence of the swarm from the colony, my full employment was to watch the parent-stock, in order that I might, in the evening, return the Bees of this beautiful swarm to their native-hive, which they had been forced to leave. Curiosity and a desire to solve a doubtful problem, for the good of future apiarians, led me to act as already related, at the expense of much inconvenience to the Bees. The remaining Honey-Bees continued labouring during the remainder of the day; and in the evening of that same day, the thermometer was standing at 90 degrees in the old stock; so that the absence of the swarm had lowered the temperature of the pavilion 30 degrees, and I was quite sure I could reduce it in the collateral end-box to that of the exterior atmosphere, which, after the sun had gone down, was only 65.

To effect this, I resolved at once to take off a fine top-glass filled with honey. I did so: its weight was fourteen pounds. This operation reduced the interior heat of the colony to 75. But looking at my grand swarm, and intent as I was upon re-uniting it to the parent-stock, I thought it impossible for the vacant space conveniently to hold all the Bees. I had one, and only one, alternative left,—and that was to take from my colony a collateral-box. I therefore took it; and a most beautiful box it was: its weight was fifty pounds. I immediately placed an empty box in the situation the full one had occupied. I then drew from the side of the pavilion the dividing tin-slide, and the whole of the colony was shortly at the desired temperature of 65, that being the exterior heat of the evening. I was now fully convinced of the propriety of returning the swarm. I commenced operations for accomplishing that object at ten o'clock in the evening, by constructing a temporary stage near the mouth of the parent-stock. I then procured a white sheet, and laid it upon the table or temporary stage, and in a moment struck the swarm from the hive into which the Bees had been taken from the bough in the evening. My next difficulty was to imprison the sovereign of the swarm: but with a little labour I succeeded in discovering her, and made her my captive. No sooner was she my prisoner than the Bees seemed to be acquainted with her absence. But so near were they placed to the mouth of the parent-stock that they soon caught the odour of the hive, and in the space of about fifteen minutes the whole swarm, save only her majesty, were under the roof of their parent-home. The following morning increased my anxiety about the welfare of my stock. Fearful lest my carious anticipations should meet with a disappointment, at sun-rise in the morning I released from her imprisonment the captive Queen. I placed her on the front-board, near the entrance of her hive, to ascertain, if possible, whether there was within the state one greater than herself. But no visible sign of such being the case presented itself. The influence of the cheery sun soon caused her to move her majestic body to the entrance of her native domicil, where she was met, surrounded, and no doubt welcomed, by thousands of her subjects, who soon conducted her into the hive, and, it may be presumed, re-instated her on the throne, which a few hours before she had been compelled to abdicate. The Bees afterwards sallied forthwith extraordinary alacrity and regularity, and, beyond my most sanguine expectations, filled a large glass with honey in the short space of six days. That glass of honey was exhibited at the National Repository, with a model of my apiary, and was much admired by many of the members and visitors of that noble institution.

I have now to remark, that during the nine days after the swarm had been returned to the parent-stock, the thermometer continued rising until it reached the temperature of 90 within the collateral-box; and on the tenth day, at five o'clock in the morning, I witnessed the grand secret,—I viewed with unutterable delight the extraordinary fact I had been endeavouring to ascertain,—viz.—two royal nymphs laid prostrate on the alighting-board, near the exterior entrance of the hive. This circumstance alone convinced me that no more swarming was necessary. I have further to notice, that on the third day afterwards the Bees commenced their destruction of the drones,—which was a satisfactory proof that I had gained my point. That colony has never swarmed since the period I thus first satisfactorily established the utility of ventilation. And on minutely attending to the extraordinary movements of this my favourite colony, it was not uncommon to notice the most infant appearance of the royal brood lying upon the front-board of the pavilion. So that I am well satisfied that the royal larva is always in existence in the hive, independently of the reigning Queen. Let me not be misunderstood; I do not mean by this expression to assert—that the royal larva exists in the hive without the instrumentality or agency of the reigning Queen;—far from it; for no common Bees can make a sovereign Bee without the egg from the royal body: what I do mean is—that the royal larva is always in existence in a colony of Bees, notwithstanding the existence and presence of a reigning Queen—that the Queen is there, and that the royal larva is there at the same time. In this the wisdom of Providence is manifest; for Nature has thus provided that the royal cradle should contain the royal brood, that in case any accident, misfortune, casualty, or necessity, should occasion the absence of the reigning Queen, another may be brought forth. This larva in reserve, as it were, is protected and reared by the inhabitants with the utmost care, nay, in the absence of the Queen, it is almost worshipped, until it becomes sufficiently matured to take the office and fulfil the duties of its royal predecessor; of course it then reigns supreme,—it is then Queen absolute. On this point I not only coincide in opinion with Thorley, but have seen enough in the course of my experience among Bees to confirm the truth of what I have now stated. As, however, the further discussion of this nice point belongs to the natural history of the Bee rather than to the explanation and inculcation of my practical mode of Bee-management, I refrain from saying more upon it, lest by so doing I should inadvertently excite criticism and controversy. I therefore proceed with my proper subject.

The following thermometrical observations are from the journal before mentioned. The first column gives the day of the month,—the second shows the hour of the day when the thermometer was examined,—and the third is its height at those several times in the colony of Bees upon which my experiments were so successfully made.