I have seen people shift about their hives very inconsiderately, but change of place invariably weakens them, as the bees will return to their old residence, the environs of which are so familiar to them. A hive should remain as fixed to the spot as the ancient oaks, in the hollows of which they delight to establish themselves,—where they have their young, their companions, their beloved queen, and all their treasures. When the young bees take wing for the first time, they do it with great precaution, turning round and round, and fluttering about the entrance, to examine the hive well before taking flight. They do the same in returning, so that they may be easily distinguished, conducting themselves nearly after the same maimer as the workers of a newly hived swarm.

When they have made a few hundred excursions, they set off without examining the locality, and, returning in full flight, will know their own hive in the midst of a hundred others. But if you change its place you perplex them, much the same as you would be if, during a short absence, some one lifted your house and placed it a mile off. The poor bees return loaded, and, seeking in vain for their habitation, either fall down and perish with fatigue, or throw themselves into the neighbouring hives, where they are speedily put to death.

The following fact proves how much these precious insects are attached to place, and how far they retain the recollection of it.

During my residence at Lignieres, where I passed twenty-seven years, I removed all my hives into the house towards the middle of November, to guard them from the drifted snow, in which my apiary would sometimes be buried, and I replaced them again some fine day in March. Having hives of wood and straw, of different sizes and shapes, I arranged them with more order and symmetry, and, with this view, I placed the first on the opposite side of the apiary to where it formerly stood. Although it had been shut up nearly four months, the bees returned to the same place they had occupied the year before, which obliged me to return my hive with all speed, and led me to conclude that they should not be moved about, and that the bees will not be pliable to our fancies and caprices.

When hives are transported to a considerable distance, there is no fear that the bees will return. But this inconvenience would be sure to take place, and many of the working bees would perish, if they were removed only a few hundred paces from the spot they have been accustomed to. The hive may not perish, but it will be greatly weakened. In my opinion, if the situation is to be changed at all, they should be removed at least a mile and a half.