SOME of our readers may deem us neglectful in having, as it were, left them to struggle through their bee-keeping novitiate without informing them how to avoid the annoyance of stinging from their docile but well-armed flock. Of course, having described the bee dress, we have supposed that the apiarian was clad, if not "in complete steel," at least in the head-gear and gloves, which will render him invulnerable. The best safeguard from the anger of bees—as, indeed, from the malice of men—is a quiet and peaceable spirit. Never strike at a single one. The apiarian will learn to handle his bees not only as "if he loved them"—as the quaint angler says—but as if he fully believes that the bees love him. This they will do whenever he approaches and treats them gently. There are some cases of exception to this generally peaceable disposition of the bee; perchance a few bees are dyspeptic, and refuse to be pacified, let their master seek to bribe them never so wisely. Then, too, sometimes the bee-master himself may be dyspeptic, which the unerring olfactory sense of the bees speedily detects, and their anger is immediately aroused. Some few persons, owing to constitutional peculiarities in their breath or insensible perspiration, are objects of constant animosity with bees, who, by driving them from the apiary, are giving a physician's advice without charge for a fee. Some of the choicest perfumes used by ladies are offensive to bees; and one may feel very certain that the "fine puss gentleman," who disgusted the brave Hotspur with his "pouncet-box" and praise of "'parmaceti for an inward bruise," would have been speedily driven from an apiary in ignominious flight. For the same reason they will ferociously, and perhaps fatally, attack a sweaty horse, while they appear to have an equal antipathy to dogs. The hand should not be waved near them in sprinkling, as has already been remarked; nor should they so much as be pointed at when disposed to be out of temper. "Above all," says Mr. Cotton, "never blow at them; they will try to sting directly if you do." The distinguished success of Burnens in his examinations was attributed in part by Huber to his power of repressing his respiration. Confidence is another important specific: if a person covers his face with his hands the bees will attack and worry him at once and persistently; while a bee that is inclined to sting will often prefer a person who is watching at a supposed safe distance, judging such person afraid, and probably also seeing him better.
Again, when once a bee has stung, the scent of the poison has an infuriating effect upon others; therefore, says Butler, "you had best be packing as fast as you can." Höfler, who lived in the same century, gives the advice, "Never approach the bees with your hat off; for a bee which may chance to have settled upon the head becomes easily entangled in the hair, grows angry, stings, and moreover calls others to its aid by its hissing passionate note." They have a dislike for woollen gloves, also to some kinds of leather ones. If used to attendants in light clothes it is said they will attack a visitor whose dress is dark. Electricity in the air appears also to ruffle them; and when kept at home by rain, or at night or early morning, they will resent any interference. In very hot weather, too, those inside the hive are sure to be in a bad humour. Von Berlepsch states that to disturb the combs at such a time may perhaps, by breaking them, even cause a civil war in the hive, as once happened to himself when exhibiting an Italian queen and brood to some over-curious tyros, and when, out of some seventy or eighty thousand bees, one-half were slain in the course of an hour. Lastly, they are in a stinging mood when they are queenless and before they have got over the agitation; also when in excitement during her majesty's nuptial excursion. The best time to choose for operations is when, with the hive in a normal condition and the weather agreeable, the great mass of the older bees are out upon the wing. It is these that there is the principal occasion to fear.
Occasionally even a skilful aparian may inadvertently, crush a single bee; such a mischance is detected by the whole community with much more facility than by any "crowner's quest," and their prompt verdict decrees the summary punishment of the offender. There would be much less fear of stings if it were always remembered that bees are never aggressive. "Defence, not defiance," is their motto. They scarcely ever attempt to sting when away from the hive, and very seldom indeed at the time of swarming, for then they are gorged with honey. When molested by angry bees, do not attempt to beat them off; the safest and best retreat is a green bush. Thrust your head into this, or, if no such refuge is near, in an emergency throw yourself on the ground, and, with face downwards, the bees will soon leave you.
Yet some people appear to think they must inevitably be stung if they, meddle with bees, and for their sakes it is needful to explain why it is that a sting is painful, and how the wound inflicted by the bee may be cured. The weapon, as we see it with our naked eye—finer than a needle's point—is only the sheath, which lengthens or contracts like the tubes of a telescope (see page 104). The dart, as before said, is barbed on each side, so that the bee, when very angry, is scarcely ever able to withdraw it, but—
There are, indeed, some happy mortals whose "blood such an even tenour keeps" that a bee-sting is to them simply a puncture, and nothing more. But unfortunately, as Langstroth puts it, "they seem to take a mischievous pleasure in stinging those upon whom the poison produces the most virulent effect." Dr. Bevan has suggested that lovers should subject themselves to the ordeal of a bee-sting, in order to prove, we suppose, that their temper is proof against "the stings and arrows" of any "outrageous fortune" that matrimony can bring.
It is the infinitesimally minute tincture of poison injected by the bee which causes inflammation. The first thing to do is to remove the sting, which, even when detached from the bee, will continue to penetrate still further into the wound. Next press the hollow point of a watch-key exactly over the place stung; this will express a considerable portion of the virus. Then dip the hand into, or bathe the part with, cold or tepid water, for the poison is volatile, and will thereby be dissipated, to a great extent. On no account whatever should the part affected be rubbed; to do that will diffuse the poison and increase the inflammation. The specific remedy for a bee-sting is taught us by chemistry: the venom is an acid, which an alkali will immediately neutralise when brought into contact with it. Spirits of hartshorn will generally be found efficacious, and should therefore always be kept in an apiary. There are also several other remedies more or less effectual, according to the special constitution of the patient. A strong infusion of tobacco-water applied to the wound after the sting has been extracted is a specific for many persons; others find relief from the application of a sliced onion, while Frau Lieb, of Jassy, declares nothing so efficacious as one's own saliva. Two preparations may be named as made especially for the purpose—the "Ledum Palustre," and Dr. Pine's "Bee-keeper's Lotion."
We have heard the remark from several who have kept bees for years, that the poison from a sting has little or no effect on them; after receiving many inflictions their flesh appears to become so little affected that the swelling and pain at one time experienced no longer trouble them. Herr Kleine recommends bee-keepers to subject themselves intentionally to stinging, in order that in two years their system may become insusceptible to the poison. No doubt those who are, so stoically inclined will duly appreciate and gratefully acknowledge the advice.
Boiling water poured on to bees makes a bee tea which has been highly recommended in bad cases of strangury. Bee poison itself is a specific with homœopathists, but one bee-sting is not cured by a second, as Mr. Langstroth satisfactorily demonstrated at the cost of much personal pain.
Some writers on bee-culture attach much importance to the particular position in which an apiary stands and the aspect towards which it faces. A southern, or rather a south-eastern aspect, is the one which we recommend. Our reason for this preference is that we deem it very important for the bees to have the first of the morning sun. Bees are early risers, and should have every inducement given them for the maintenance of so excellent a practice. A few years since, many strong opinions were expressed in favour of a northern aspect for hives. The chief reason given for those opinions, though very plausible, appears to us to be a very partial and inadequate one. It was said that, when the hives face the south, the bees may, like the incautious swallow in the fable, be tempted to fly abroad in the transient winter sunshine, and then perish in the freezing atmosphere when a passing cloud intervenes. But it is a very easy matter, if considered needful, to screen the entrance by fixing up matting so as to intercept the rays of the sun. At our own apiary we make no alteration in winter, under the belief that the bees will take care of themselves and that they seldom venture out when the weather is unsuitable.
Columella gave a number of directions on this point, the essence of which may be stated as follows. If in a valley it will be easier for the loaded bees to return home than if on a hill; it must not be "exposed to noisome smells, nor to the din of men or cattle;" it should be near a shallow running stream with pebbles for the bees to alight on, but not near deep water with steep banks'; and the trees near should be low, and convenient for manipulation in swarming.
The vicinity of sugar warehouses, or other places of temptation of the kind, is certain to prove prejudicial if not fatal to an apiary. The beeish instinctive love for sweets, like all other good things, has its bad side, and here we see it developed into a propensity to acquire on the shortest and easiest though most suicidal method. Mr. Langstroth tells us that he once furnished a sweet-shop will gauze windows and doors, when the bees "alighted on the wire by thousands, fairly squealing with vexation," and in desperation they descended the chimney, which had to be stopped in like manner.
Apiarians generally agree in the opinion that very little can be done in the way of providing any special forage for bees. Yet bee-fanciers are always interested in observing which are the flowers that the bees prefer; and there are certain well-established conclusions as to the kind of districts and seasons which are the likeliest to produce a good honey harvest. There is an old saying, that a country which produces the finest wool also yields the best honey; and a pastoral district is decidedly better than one under tillage. The principle of the matter is, that the bees are best suited with a long dry season—an early spring, a hot summer, and a late autumn. As not one of these blessings can be commanded by the apiarian, his art must be applied to providing some mitigation of the injury suffered by the bees when the season is short or wet. For early springs the crocus, the blue hepatica, and the violet all afford good supplies of pollen and honey, and, if cultivated near the apiary, will be of great service when the wild flowers are backward. All varieties of the willow and poplar furnish early supplies of honey, as well as of the propolis to be presently described; the blossoms of the gooseberry and currant are very useful for the bees in May. Wet, when it enters flowers of any kind, prevents, the tongue of the bee from reaching the secret source of honey. On this account it is well to know, as does the bee, that the drooping blossoms of the raspberry escape the effect of the showers, and honey is gathered from them when other flowers are drenched within as well as without. For a similar reason borage (Borago officinalis) is valuable for bees, and also because that plant continues to flower until the frosts set in. The honey both from raspberry blossoms and borage is very superior. Mr. Langstroth says, that "the precipitous and rocky lands of New England, which abound with the wild red raspberry, might be made almost as valuable as some of the vine-clad terraces of the mountain districts of Europe." The golden rod and also asters afford superior honey for autumn gathering. Dzierzon strongly recommends buckwheat being sown in the winter stubbles on behalf of the bees, and he tries hard to persuade farmers that it is to their interest to cultivate it. It should be named that all the ordinary fruit blossoms, especially that of the apple, supply abundant store for bees.
It is, however, to wild or field flowers that the bee-master must chiefly look for the raw material on which his myriad artisans shall exert their skill. The white clover of the pasture,[32] the wild thyme on the hill, the heather on the moors, the furze and the broom on the sandy waste, offer exhaustless stores for a greater number of bees than can ever be located near them. Lime trees, when in blossom, and mignonette are also most valuable resources; and there are two or three peculiar sources of honey which one would not have suspected, as, for instance, the blossoms of the onion plant, of turnips, and, in still greater degree, the flower of the mustard plant.
[32] It is a good practice to induce the owners of adjacent fields to sow clover seed.
In those districts of England where mustard seed is cultivated so extensively, it would be well worth while for the farmers to keep large colonies of bees. Another, but a very uncertain, source of honey is the "honey-dew," which in some seasons appears in large quantities on the leaves of the oak, the lime, and some other trees (see below).
All that need be said in this place is a few observations upon honey considered in itself. Practically, but not absolutely, it is destitute of nitrogen, which is the flesh-forming principle in food. It has been much contended whether or not it undergoes any transformation by being swallowed by the bee. Dzierzon and others have maintained that it does; Gundelach and Dr. Dönhoff have taken the contrary view, and Von Berlepsch has come round to the same, which it will be seen is also held by Schmid and Kleine, from whom we translate the following description of this article:—
"Honey may be of diverse origin: it is either nectar or bud honey, or leaf honey (the so-called honey-dew), or aphis honey [another form of honey-dew], or fruit honey. The sources of honey unfortunately do not flow with the same strength everywhere and at all times.
"For collecting the honey, bees are provided with tongues and honey-stomachs.... In the stomach the honey undergoes no transformation; only by evaporation in the cells does it receive its subsequent distinctive character. After sufficient evaporation the cells that contain it are sealed over with flat wax lids.
"Between different honeys there exists an essential difference in respect of aroma, taste, colour, and composition. Whether there is such a thing as poisonous honey is a question upon which opinions are divided.
"In trade honey is often adulterated with starch, syrup, sugar, and more pernicious ingredients, which can easily be detected by chemical and microscopical analysis. The crystallisation of honey differs essentially from that of sugar or of a mixture of honey and sugar."
On this matter of adulteration we have been favoured with some remarks from a well-known apiarian who writes under the name of "A Lanarkshire Bee-keeper." He recommends the purchaser to take a common test-tube, nearly fill it with water, and add about one-twelfth as much of the honey; when dissolved it will be turbid if the honey was pure, but clear if sugar had been mixed with it. Those who wish to proceed further may add a few drops of concentrated nitric acid, and then let the tube stand for a week, at the end of which time the honey will be precipitated, but the sugar remain in solution, and then by filtration the quantities may be found.
Honey, like most vegetable products, should be fresh every year. It may easily be kept from one season to the next; but after that, unless carefully stored in a warm temperature, it will crystallise in the comb, or perhaps ferment if separated therefrom.
Bees will often gather honey from the laurel, ivy, or other sources more agreeable to themselves than to us, in which case there is little choice but to leave the benefit of it to its producers (see page 97). Again, the fact related by Xenophon in the retreat of the Ten Thousand, that bees in Asia Minor extracted honey from plants which had not only a disagreeable but a poisonous tendency to man, shows that it is quite possible, where such noxious plants abound, for the bees to extract the juices without any injury to themselves.
Bees, when fully grown, feed almost wholly on honey; but the larvæ require for their development a more substantial kind of nourishment. Such solid fare is found by the bees in the pollen of flowers, a farina which contains the nitrogenous element of which honey is nearly destitute. The body of a worker bee is covered with hairs, to which the pollen adheres when, by contact with the bee, it is rubbed from the anthers of flowers (see page 88). Dewy mornings or humid bowers suit the bees for the gathering of the pollen. If the atmosphere be too dry for kneading it into pellets, they roll themselves in the blossoms, and on their return, with assistance from others, brush off the farina into the cells intended for it. A portion of this "bee-bread" is taken at once by the "nursing bees," who are supposed to subject it to some change before offering it to the larvæ; but the greater part of the pollen is stored away and reversed in the cells for future use. In April and May the bees are frequently busy "all the day" in gathering pollen, and often one community of bees will collect about twenty pounds weight of "bee-bread" in one season.
One of the objects of the apiarian is to assist the bees in providing for the nurslings of the hive. Dr. Dzierzon first suggested the plan of providing the bees with "unbolted rye meal" as a substitute for the farina of flowers. He had observed that, in early spring, before the flowers were open, his bees had entered a neighbouring cornmill, from whence they returned laden with rye flour. Since his discovery, some keepers, in early spring, have placed rye or wheat meal near the apiaries; to this artificial store the bees repair by thousands, and seek to rollick in the enjoyment of such plenty, many of them returning to the hive as dusty as millers. The object in thus supplying them is that the brood may be rapidly brought forward, and early swarming induced. In this way a few pounds of rye meal, at one penny per pound, may tend to the production of very many pounds of honey of twelve times the price.
In the British Bee Journal there is a recommendation to sprinkle pea flour amongst deal shavings in any open vessel, and place this near the hives so that bees have access to it. We can endorse this recommendation, for we know that it is freely taken by the bees.
If the bee-keeper ascertains that for some interval no pollen has been conveyed into any particular hive he may regard it as a sure sign that no young bees are there hatching, and consequently that the hive is without a queen. Mr. Mahan, of Philadelphia, once met with a hive which no pollen had been seen to enter for twenty-eight days; he put a queen into it, took out his watch, and observed in three and a half minutes a bee come in with pollen on its legs—many more speedily following!
Some remarks on the services which bees render to flowers will be found in the section upon "Faculties and Functions" (page 55).
"Propolis" is a Greek word which originally signified "the outskirts of a city," but was adopted by Latin writers on bees to denote the sticky substance with which these city-rearing insects protect their outskirts. It is "a resinous substance, very tenacious and semi-transparent," which is indispensable for the bees as a cement wherewith to fix their combs and fortify their hives against intruders.[33] The bees, in working the propolis, often soften it by blending it with a portion of wax; but they have to extract it in its natural state directly from the bark and buds of certain trees. The bark of the willow, the leaf-buds of the poplar and alder, and the unopened blossoms of the hollyhock are very usual sources of propolis. In the case of a new swarm, as bees must have this glue before they can begin to build their combs, they will resort to most unlikely places to obtain it. Sometimes they will enter a paint-shop and attack the varnish, and it is said they have been seen to obtain propolis from the pitch and rigging of a ship. These circumstances afford intelligible hints to the apiarian, who, if his bees have not easy access to firs, poplars, or willows, will provide some glutinous or resinous matter which may serve for a substitute. The extraction of propolis costs the bees very considerable labour, which they should be relieved of as much as possible in order to facilitate their great work of honey-gathering. Bees choose the warmer part of the day during which to gather propolis, as then it does not so rapidly stiffen. Frequently when they arrive at the hive it has become so hard that the other bees are scarcely able to gnaw it from their thighs.
With propolis bees fasten down their hives, stop up crevices, to exclude moths and ants, and sometimes use it to narrow their doorways against the invasion of wasps. Extraordinary anecdotes are told of the prompt and ingenious use they make of this substance. Réaumur relates that, a snail having been observed by the bees on the window of the hive, they proceeded to glue the shell to the glass, and there sealed down the intruder in hopeless durance. In another case, that of a slug, the bees, having slain it with their stings, were quite unable to remove it from the hive. With wonderful foresight they then proceeded to secure their community from the noxious effects likely to arise from the decay of the carcase; and this they did by completely enveloping it with a coating of impervious varnish. Huish relates a similar occurrence in the case of a mouse caught in a hive by bees. Propolis yields benzoic acid, and contains some aromatic properties.
We have already made some remarks upon wax in the Chapter on "Anatomy and Physiology." The subject is one that even yet has not been thoroughly cleared up, though the discoveries of Hornbostel and Huber have demonstrated that instead of being a vegetable product extracted from pollen it is a fatty secretion of the bees themselves. But later observers have come to the conclusion that though not obtained direct from pollen, that food is essential to their power of secreting it. Cases are certainly recorded in which combs have been built when the bees had for several days been deprived of the means of procuring this food, but it has not been shown that bees which have never had access thereto have still the power of secreting wax; Langstroth on the contrary asserts that some pollen is always found in the stomach of wax-producers. So Dzierzon: "Even if wax, as a fat, is [like honey] a substance destitute of nitrogen, and even if feeding upon honey or sugar is alone sufficient to enable the bees to prepare it, it does not therefore follow that pollen is not necessary for its continued production. For, as already remarked, the bees can prepare food for their young for a considerable time without pollen, yet no one would assert that this is unnecessary for the nourishment of the brood. In the one case as the other the bees are sustained by a certain store taken into themselves, but which by degrees becomes exhausted." To yield one pound of wax they require to consume from thirteen to twenty pounds of honey; so that it would seem as if honey was the food-forming principle of the wax, and pollen the stimulant that imparted to their own organs the capacity for effecting the transformation.
The bees, it need hardly be stated, elaborate this secretion by clustering themselves in festoons and curtains, in which they remain, the fore legs of one clasping the hind ones of another, perfectly still for some twenty-four hours, at the end of which time the scales are found exuding around them, as mentioned in our earlier reference.
The little plates of wax are withdrawn by the bee itself with its hind feet, and carried to the mouth with its fore feet, where the wax is made soft and ductile; vigorous shakes of the body assist in detaching the plates, and the floor-board is afterwards found covered with the pieces that have fallen. One by one some of them then leave the cluster and deposit their burdens in rough masses, which are subsequently wrought by others into the hexagonal form. But it seems feasible that the lower bees pass their secretions up the living ladder to the uppermost ones to undergo this double process. The rapidity with which comb-building progresses at such times would lead to the supposition that there is a division of labour of this kind among them, just as our labourers convey building material to the artisans on the scaffold above. This work of comb-building is carried forward in warm weather, for a cold temperature interferes with the secretion of wax. Von Berlepsch declares that he has known cases in which a hive has built three hundred square inches of comb in a single night!
The secretion of wax, and the method of its adaptation by the bees, are thus admirably described by Evans:—
We have had many times to allude to the truly sad character which our little favourites bear in this particular. Directions as to the precautions necessitated thereby have been given pretty generally in connection with operations in which it is to be feared, so that one or two general remarks are all that need be added here. Von Berlepsch stoutly maintains that there are no professional robbers amongst the bees, but that all are ready to lend a hand in a job of the kind when it is to be had. This is probably true in great part, but not to the extent that there exist no individual differences in the strength of the propensity, and the remark quoted from Dzierzon on "black" bees (page 72) may be taken as expressive of the other side of the truth.
It is queenless stocks, nucleus hives, and weak colonies in general that have most need for protection against enemies of their own kind. By keeping the entrances narrowed, and feeding carefully without leaving a trace of food about, the enticements to plunder may be kept down as much as possible. It has been recently recommended in extreme cases to saturate a rag with carbolic acid diluted with water (fully half); this will effectually repel all except those who have no other home to which to betake themselves. But it will be obnoxious to these latter as well, so should not be lightly resorted to.
Mr. Langstroth has a capital little bit about a highhanded piece of audacity that has been occasionally observed in our insect. House-robbing, it seems, is not bad enough for them, but they will even go the length of acting as highwaymen and garotters. For thus runs the story of their waylaying and despoiling the humble bee: "Seizing the honest fellow they give him to understand that they want his honey. If they killed him they would never be able to extract his spoils from their deep recesses; they therefore bite and tease him, after their most approved fashion, all the time singing in his ears, 'Your honey or your life,' until he empties his capacious receptacle, when they release him and lick up his sweets."
Dysentery is a disease produced either by long confinement, by dampness, or by feeding in the winter. The first thing bees do when disturbed is to fill themselves with food, so that in winter weather, when they cannot get out to void their fæces, hives should not be meddled with, otherwise the complaint may be brought on. It is also engendered in many instances by the state of the weather in winter months, and is indicated by the yellow colour of the excrement, and by its being voided upon the floors and at the entrance of the hives, which bees in a healthy state generally keep clean. All that can be done for them when affected is to see that there is plenty of wholesome food in the hive, and to well clean or to change the floor-board, and so produce cleanliness.
The more formidable, but happily less common, malady of "foul brood" does not attack the bees themselves, but affects the larvæ, by causing them to putrefy in the cells, thus destroying all hope of the rising generation. Bees are exceedingly fond of their young, and are greatly dispirited when their hives are in this plight. In common with most pestilential disorders, no satisfactory cause is assigned for its first appearance. Some apiarians contend that "foul brood" is another name for chilled brood; others, that the queen, by a freak of nature, deposits some of her eggs the wrong way upwards, and that these putrefy in the cells, and contaminate the others. Whatever may be the origin, one thing is very certain—"it is catching:" there is, however, in the circumstance of the adult bees and of those about emerging from the cells not being injuriously affected thereby, a great help to its eradication, as will presently be shown.
There are two kinds of foul brood—one of which is dry and not contagious, the brood merely drying up in the cells; from which partial character it is probably within the power of the bees themselves to overcome. In the other kind, instead of drying up, the brood remains dark and slimy in the cells, and emits a most unpleasant odour, perceptible at some distance from the hive.
In the year 1848 Pastor Dzierzon lost a large number of stocks from this disease; he however was enabled to banish it from his apiary, and communicated to a German bee-journal very wholesome advice, which Mr. Langstroth quotes, and from, which we make an extract; "When the malady makes its appearance in only two or three of the colonies, and is discovered early (which may readily be done in hives having movable combs), it can be arrested and cured without damage or diminution of profit. To prevent the disease from spreading in a colony there is no more reliable and efficient process than to stop the production of brood; for where no brood exists none can perish or putrefy. The disease is thus deprived both of its aliment and its subjects. The healthy brood will mature and emerge in due time, and the putrid matter remaining in a few cells will dry up, and be removed by the workers. All this will certainly result from a well-timed removal of the queen from such colonies. If such removal becomes necessary in the spring or early part of the summer, a supernumerary queen is thereby obtained, by means of which an artificial colony may be started, which will certainly be healthy if the bees and brood used be taken from healthy colonies. Should the removal be made in the latter part of summer, the useless production of brood will at once be stopped and an unnecessary consumption of honey prevented. Thus, in either case, we are gainers by the operation."
In cases where the disease assumes a more malignant character—in other words, "has got ahead," through "not being nipped in the bud"—it will be well to take notice of another quotation from Mr. Langstroth's book: "In the spring or summer, when the weather is fine and pasturage abounds, the following cure is recommended by a German apiarian: 'Drive out the bees into any clean hive, and shut them up in a dark place without food for twenty-four hours; prepare for them a clean hive, properly fitted up with comb from healthy colonies; transfer the bees into it, and confine them two days longer, feeding them with pure honey.'"
The late Mr. Woodbury's apiary was severely attacked by this disease in the spring and summer of 1863. The writer happened to be on a visit to him at this juncture, and witnessed him withdrawing infected combs from hives that were literally masses of corruption, the brood-cells of which, on being opened with a pointed instrument, revealed the dark brown slimy matter before alluded to, and from which arose a most unpleasant smell. Mr. Woodbury communicated to the Journal of Horticulture, of July 21, 1863, an exact and graphic account of his misfortunes, headed "A Dwindling Apiary." Finding that the removal of the putrid matter must be simultaneously effected and the bees driven out and placed in hives that had undergone a complete purification, he set about endeavouring to accomplish his object, and was so far successful that he was able to furnish an article to the before-named journal of August 4, same year, under the more cheerful title of "Convalescent," in which he says: "First, let me endorse the opinions both of Dzierzon and Rothe, that, except under very especial circumstances, it is unadvisable to attempt the cure of a foul-breeding stock: better, far better, to consign its inhabitants to the brimstone pit; the hive itself, if a straw one, to the flames; the comb to the melting-pot; and appropriate the honey to any purpose, except that of feeding bees."
Mr. Woodbury further says: "Before starting, it was requisite to ensure the transfer of the bees to unpolluted hives; and here I found that Dzierzon declares that every hive that has contained a foul-breeding colony should be exposed to the sun and air for two years before being re-stocked. In my own case this was simply impossible, and I therefore adopted the practice of another German writer on the subject, viz., to scrape out the hive very carefully, wash it all over with a saturated solution of chloride of lime, keeping it closely shut up for twenty-four hours, and then, after thoroughly washing it with clean water, exposing it to the sun and air until the smell of the disinfectant had passed off. This method has the advantage of enabling one to use a wooden hive again after a lapse of a couple of days, and is, I believe, thoroughly effectual."
Mr. Woodbury then captured the queen, secured her in a cage, and placed her in a clean empty hive; all her bees were brushed from their combs into it as rapidly as possible, in order to prevent their carrying much of the infected honey with them; whilst the combs themselves were set draining out of the bees' reach, and consigned as quickly as possible to the melting-pot. After the lapse of three or four days, the queen (still imprisoned) and bees were again transferred to another clean hive, furnished with a few pure combs, and in this they were suffered to remain, their queen being released in a day or two, as soon as they appeared contentedly settled. Mr. Woodbury gives another important hint, that operations of this kind with tainted combs should be performed out of reach of robber bees from adjacent hives, lest they should carry the infection to their respective houses. By the before-mentioned process, he succeeded in completely extirpating foul brood from his apiary in 1863, and had no return of it afterwards. English apiarian writers have made so little allusion to this disorder, that some of our older bee-keepers contend that modern hives and foreign bees have something to do with bringing it about. To show that the disease made its appearance in former days, there is a chapter on this subject in Bonner's "Bee-Keeper's Companion," published at Berwick in 1798, entitled "An Uncommon Disaster which sometimes, though rarely, happens to Bees." Bonner, after recounting therein his observations of the dwindling state of his own apiary, for which he could not account, says: "He saw plainly that the young were all going backward in the cells, and that he looked down between the combs, but was unable to proceed for the stench that the rotten maggots produced." Mr. Langstroth writes that "Aristotle speaks of a disease which was accompanied with a disgusting smell, so that there is reason to believe that foul brood was known two-thousand years ago."
Our own observation leads us to the belief that foul brood is caused in many instances by feeding stocks with fermented honey or with syrup likely to ferment. All liquid food should be boiled before it is given to the bees, to destroy any impurity and to make it wholesome, for in several cases we have found stocks to be infected that have thus been incautiously fed.
Suspicion may be aroused of the existence of foul brood in any kind of hive, firstly, by the unproductiveness of the bees, also by the diminishing number at the entrance; and if very far advanced the odour will be very noticeable a few feet from the hive. But in bar-frame hives an experienced eye will on examination readily detect the malady if present by the dark unwholesome appearance of the comb, and by the caps covering the diseased brood being sunken rather than raised. Small perforations are noticeable in some, and in others the grubs may be seen rotting in unsealed cells. We know of no cure, but some foreign apiarians of experience recommend injecting a solution of salycilic acid into every diseased cell; others say that carbolic-acid will effect a cure; we know that the latter is very distasteful to the bees and therefore should not be disposed, to advise its use. The best thing to do is to break the hive up at once. The bees may be saved by being put in quarantine a short time, and the hive cleansed as before mentioned; but if the hive be a valuable straw one, after cleansing and scraping, the interior should be coated with shellac dissolved in spirits of wine. If a frame hive it will be best to have new frames rather than to attempt to cleanse the old ones. To allow a hive to die out is very dangerous, because the bees from other hives will rob and carry the infected honey to their combs, and thus every colony within bee-flight is liable to be polluted.
It may be well to give a hint about using old combs. Any that is very black should be rejected, because the disease is sometimes present in old hives, and also because each maggot leaves behind a silken film which lines the top, sides, and base of the cell, also a slight deposit of excrement which the bees do not clear away; thus the cells grow smaller and the bees reared in them are also diminished in size, although the bees do add a little to the mouth of the cell. On this account we would recommend all when purchasing stocks to see that they are not very old. The combs of a hive may be said to be the furniture and storehouse of the bees, which in long service wear out and to some extent become after a lapse of years unfit tenements for use. To remedy this, Nature, always true to her laws and careful to make provision for the perpetuation of the species, may have ordered that swarming should be the means of establishing fresh colonies freed from the disadvantages and contamination of the old. The late Mr. J. H. Payne, of Bury St. Edmunds, had a straw skep that had had bees in it without intermission for twenty years, but it is not advisable to keep them so long, although, with a little judicious pruning, much may be done to remedy the defects of old combs. Our own experience for keeping a stock does not extend beyond ten years.
When we take into consideration how sorely our farmers are perplexed by the cattle plague, known as the rinderpest, concerning which so many conflicting opinions exist (and the same may be said of the recommendations for its cure), can we wonder that our little favourites should occasionally be liable to disorders of this sort which puzzle even experienced bee-keepers? In the hope of allaying unnecessary alarm, we would just add that foul brood is not a very general complaint, and, so far as our observation extends, has been most fatal in large experimental apiaries, where extensive propagation has necessarily had to be pushed forward. With the experience and advice already gained, this disorder may now be said to be considerably deprived of its terrors.
We find several other complaints described at more or less length by Von Berlepsch, but to which a very brief allusion will here suffice. One he speaks of under the self-explaining title of "thirst-need," as to which he rightly remarks that it will be the bee-keeper's own fault or inexperience if his bees are ever allowed to suffer from it. Then there is "mad sickness," which consists in tumbling about as if intoxicated, and which Dzierzon says he meets with nearly every year, and conjectures to arise from partaking of poisoned honey—he suspects the honey to be naturally poisonous, since he observes this complaint almost regularly at the time when the mountain ash is in bloom. The next is "wing lameness," which the Baron' conjectures may be the real disorder just spoken of as madness. Lastly we have the "thread fungus," which is a growth found by Leuckart and Dönhoff in the stomach and intestines of several bees, and which they pronounce contagious. Our author does also include among the "sicknesses" of bees such irregularities as rising against and murdering their queen; but one would think that this was rather a political disorder, or else a case for a commission of lunacy.
The apparent fungus growths seen occasionally on the heads and bodies of bees have been found to be nothing more than the effect of smearing with the gummy pollen of orchids, or with other glutinous vegetable juices, on which afterwards ordinary pollen has collected and thus caused the appearance of tufts or patches.
Bees have few worse enemies than wasps in autumn. The most effectual method of checking their invasion of hives is to have as narrow an entrance as the bees can do with. If a stock is not very weak in numbers the bees will be well able to guard a small aperture, and can repel the attacks of these insidious and merciless robbers. On this account the entrance to our cottage hive, as described at page 114, may be used.
The bee-keeper is interested in preventing the increase of wasps; it is therefore a good practice for him to set a price on queen wasps in the spring, the death of one of them at that time being equivalent to the destruction of a whole nest.
Should nests be found in the neighbourhood of an apiary, their annihilation must be accomplished either by blowing them up with gunpowder—an operation well understood by most country lads—or any other effectual method. The late Mr. Payne recommended that a small quantity of gas tar should be put into the mouth of a wasps' nest, and if then covered with earth, the total destruction of the wasps will be accomplished without further trouble. But to use blazing straw for the purpose is always dangerous in country districts. We have lately heard of a very ingenious and successful mode of entrapping and killing wasps. Place some sugar or strongly sweetened compound on the ground in a garden, and place over it a square hand-glass, wedged up an inch or so all round. On this glass, which should have an opening at the apex, lodge another, but a sound one. The wasps, attracted by the sweets, will soon crowd under the lower glass, and, when they have well feasted, will ascend into the upper, one; there, between the two, they soon become scorched and perish by the heat of the sun shining on the outer glass.
Some seasons are very productive for the increase of these prime pests of the apiary, and when this is the case many hives severely suffer by their depredations. When once wasps in any number have gained an entrance into a hive, the bees can seldom eject them, and the invaders generally remain until they have freely regaled themselves from the luscious store. They not only consume the honey, but cause a good deal of worry to the legitimate inhabitants of the hive, as well as killing the foremost defenders of it. Wasps being much superior in strength, it requires at least three bees to master one of them.
Having suffered loss in our own apiary from the attacks of wasps, we feel it desirable to give a detailed account of our troubles from that cause. An Italian stock was besieged and worried by wasps to such an extent that in September the bees deserted it in a body. Fortunately it happened that they chose a time for their departure just as we visited the apiary. An unusual turmoil was heard in the hive, such as is experienced at the time of swarming, and on immediately examining the entrance we observed that the bees were quitting in tumultuous haste. The usual methods that induce bees to settle were tried—amongst others that of throwing sand up into the air, so that it should fall down amongst the bees on the wing; but they were dispersed in disorder, and their flight extended over three adjacent gardens. We only discovered the clustered bees by diligent search, as the sequel will show. Permission being asked of our next-door neighbour, we searched his garden to see if our bees had alighted there; but found that they had passed over. Making a similar application to the owner of the garden adjoining, we entered, having a straw hive in hand, but no bees were there. After looking diligently all round, and climbing the wall, thereby gaining a view of the third garden, we perceived in it unmistakable signs of an unwonted commotion. The occupiers of the house were intently looking at a particular part of the garden, and there was a dust-pan and a key, with which the master had been "tanging the bees," to induce them to settle. We quickly made for the proper entrance to the garden, and soon discovered our little wanderers clustered to a large flower-vase. After brushing them into the hive, and leaving it propped up with a stick, in order that the stray ones might join, we returned home for an hour or so, to give them time to settle. Judge of our vexation when, on returning to fetch the hive home, we found that the refractory creatures had again taken flight, and that all the work was to do over again. The wasps were not to blame for this second flight of the Italians; we judged that the swarm had been disturbed by visits from a colony of bees that we discovered were living the life of outlaws under the roof of an adjoining house. Although much disheartened and perplexed, we at once renewed our search, and, upon enquiry, found that the missing bees had taken a southerly course across the turnpike road, and it was therefore necessary to ask permission to search the gardens of the houses opposite. From one of these we observed, on looking through the hedge, that the inhabitants of the next house were on the qui vive. On enquiring whether they had seen a colony of bees, the wary old dame replied that she "had no bees but her own," but added that "they were very much excited." Having asked permission to go through the hedge to look at her bees, we soon discovered our Italians on the top of the old lady's bee-house. There was no difficulty in identifying our own bees; their yellow rings were as good as a private mark. Quickly hiving the swarm, we took them home, and replaced them in the hive they had quitted. It was almost destitute of honey; but by liberal feeding, and lessening the entrance so that only one bee at a time could find ingress or egress, we succeeded in inducing them to rest in their old home. Thus nearly half a day's exertion was needed to save a fine colony, which would otherwise have been utterly lost by the power of the relentless wasps.
Much watchfulness is needed to prevent the loss of swarms, and the foregoing incident may serve to suggest the necessity of having hives so located as to be constantly within view, either from the dining-room, or of those whose duties oblige them to be near the apiary. If we had not happened to be at hand at the moment this colony started, it would have been irretrievably lost to us, as is the case with many swarms and colonies simply because the departure takes place without any one to witness.
In the season of 1865 wasps were as few as they were numerous the preceding year; their paucity was attributable either to frosts in May or to heavy rains in June, which destroyed them in their nests. In general wasps are great depredators of wall-fruit, but in the autumn before mentioned the bees occupied the wasps' foraging-ground. Perhaps never in the memory of bee-keepers did bees feast upon fruit in the same manner. Various reasons have been assigned for this unusual occurrence; some thought that as there were so few wasps the bees were unmolested, and enjoyed the saccharine matter in the fruit without let or hindrance—for bees are about as partial to the company of wasps as mice are to that of rats. Other bee-keepers remarked the sudden and early termination of the honey-gathering, and conjectured that the bees, being anxious to make up their winter store, endeavoured to bring home nectar from the fruit because the weather was unusually fine. There was one feature which is worth remarking: as far as our observation extended, the bees did not, like the wasps, break the skin of sound fruit, but were satisfied with lapping the juice of the ripe fruit that had the skin already broken.
There are some birds that are given to preying around beehives, and if their visits become too systematically troublesome, it may be worth while to take active measures for making their presence scarce in order to prevent these devourers from taking up a position near the alighting-board and pouncing upon each bee as it makes its exit. The toad is a less formidable enemy, but if one of these creatures is found beneath a hive-stand it may fairly be concluded that he is on the watch for such bees as may drop to the ground under their loads. Mice, again, will make their abode in a hive for the winter, and devour the stores when the bees are too inactive to interfere. Spiders, ants, and other insects will also have to be guarded against.
Other formidable enemies of bees are moths. These insects are creatures of the night, as the wasps are of the day, and they make their way into the hives under cover of darkness, in spite of the bee sentinels. They deposit their eggs in any crevices in or near the hive that they can find. There the warmth of the hive, or of the sheltered situation, causes the eggs speedily to hatch, and then the maggots soon work their way to the comb and larvæ food, which they greedily devour, thereby often bringing about the gradual but certain destruction of the whole community of bees. The best method of keeping moths outside the hives is to lessen the entrance, as before alluded to. Also, in the early spring, the hives should be lifted from their floor-boards, which must then be made thoroughly clean; and all crevices and corners about the hive and stand should be scraped, so as to get rid of all eggs of moths and other insects before the warm weather hatches them or enables them to do mischief The bee-moth is not so troublesome in England as it is in America and some parts of Germany; but still its encroachments should be carefully guarded against in this country, for if not it may easily increase to a very serious extent.
There are many persons, now in this noisy city pent, who frequently remember the days of childhood when, among pastures of clover or amidst flowery heath and woodlands, they listened to the cheerful hum of bees. Partly from a desire to revive these old associations, and also from a natural liking for the tendance of living creatures, such persons would be glad to keep bees if they thought it possible to do so in London or its suburbs with any chance of success. We do not wonder that many should doubt even the possibility of bees feeding themselves amidst such an "endless meal of brick;" but we can easily prove that bees, if not placed too near to smoky chimneys, are able to produce honey, both for themselves and for their masters. To make this plain we will mention some special instances of metropolitan bee-keeping.
About a century ago a Mr. Wildman kept a bee-house and honey warehouse in Holborn, near to where Middle Row lately stood. He was not only a tradesman, but was also the apiarian of his day. He kept hives of thriving bees on the roof of his house in Holborn, and many of the nobility and gentry used to mount thither in order to inspect the apiary. At that period St. Pancras was a "village two miles north-west of London," and what is now the Regent's Park was open country. It was then much easier for London bees to find their favourite forage, but Mr. Wildman believed that his hives were filled with stores from a considerable distance. Whilst enjoying his country rambles on Hampstead Heath, he had a shrewd suspicion that many of the bees he there observed gathering honey were labourers from his own apiary. In order to identify his own flock amongst the rest he hit upon a homely but very effective expedient. Having borrowed Mrs. Wildman's "dredging box," he stationed himself near the entrance of his hives, and gently dusted his bees with flour as they issued forth. He then betook himself to Hampstead, where he found his previous surmise confirmed, for there were numbers of his bees in their livery of white.
Wildman became noted for the remarkable control he obtained over his bees, many instances of which he exhibited before the public. Several of his operations with them were regarded as feats of legerdemain by the uninitiated, as when he appeared before King George III., with a swarm of bees hanging in festoons from his chin, or suspended in a cluster at arms' length. The Journal of Horticulture recently, in alluding to Wildman, gives the following particulars as to his performances:—