Part 9
Let me also beg all that value their lives to examine well every apple, pear, and peach they eat; for these venomous insects may be seen this year ensconced under the skin, and if admitted within the mouth they will sting the throat, and, as in several recent cases, the sufferers will die. Do not conclude I am uncharitable; I am not so. It is no charity to connive at theft and murder. I am satisfied that killing wasps is no murder. Had Peter the Hermit or Walter the Penniless lived in my garden, and witnessed these wicked vagabonds trying every hive, worrying my bees and stealing my honey, they would have preached a crusade against wasps. In one respect they are unfortunate; they have no queen, no subordination or reverence for law and order. They are genuine Red Republicans--Marats and Robespierres, and richly deserve the worst they get.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
A Bee-Master.
Tunbridge Wells.
The Bee-master's Sermon.
_To the Editor of "The Times."_
Sir,--The object of my letters has been to open up to the cottager a means of revenue very agreeable, but very much neglected or mismanaged. I have directed your attention to bee-keeping, not as a fancy pursuit, or as an interesting entomological investigation, but as a practical and real work. Hence I have not discussed a variety of toys used as bee-hives, very pretty and very tasteful to the eye of a sentimental aparian, but so bothering to the bees that they wish such houses were at the bottom of the sea. Simplicity of structure, directness of use, and availableness for deprivation of honey, and yet preservation of the honey-makers, ought to be the guiding law. Bees don't like to be paid too many, too obsequious, or too patronising attentions. I want, however, in this closing letter to turn my largest hive into a pulpit, and to preach a short apiarian homily to English cottagers, which I know they will read, and hope they will "mark, learn, and inwardly digest."
1. They may carry from the hive to the cottage-hearth a lesson of industry. During work the bees are so intensely absorbed in their duty, that they ignore every distracting and diverging object and interest. They have learnt well a text their masters would do well to copy: "Not slothful in business." There is no getting on in this world of ours without hard work. It is not work and plenty of it that kills people, but worry.
2. Bees teach a lesson of loyalty. They are monarchical by conviction and in practice. They love a queen, whose sovereignty is motherhood, and whose service is perfect freedom. They detest your republics, and democracies, and radicalism in all its phases.
3. Bees are immensely attached to their homes. They are "keepers at home." No mother of a family gets on by gadding about and gossiping from house to house.
4. Bees are models of cleanliness. The care with which they remove filth of all kinds is something remarkable. They plainly believe what many Christians say, "cleanliness is nearest to godliness." The cottager cannot in this matter do better than follow the example of these admirable sanitary philosophers.
5. Bees set a beautiful example of Christian sympathy. I have seen a wounded bee, accidentally hurt, carried out from the hive and laid tenderly on the bee-board in the warm sunshine. One bee would lick the sufferer with his tongue from head to foot; another would roll him over and over in the sunshine; and at sunset they would carry him in to his sick bed. I do not complain of want of such sympathy among the poor. I have seen much of it in the homes of the most destitute, and witnessed personal attentions and sacrifices and services in a district surrounding Brewer's-court ragged schools, which have never been exceeded, if equalled, in the houses of the great.
6. Bees are very fond of fresh air. A hive is one of the best ventilated homes; and I have some doubt about the wisdom or success of the various arrangements made by some bee-masters for increasing the ventilation of their hives. In a hot and sultry day I have seen successive lines of bees take up their position at the mouth of the hive, and, joining the tips of their wings, work these fanners for ten minutes, and then retire and let the second parallel line come to the front and continue the same process. This example is not efficiently followed in city or cottage. People who are most careful about what they eat and drink and put into their stomachs, are utterly careless what they allow to enter their lungs. Now, the truth is, it is easier to poison a man through his lungs than through his stomach. My bees would die in a London bed-room in twelve hours.
7. Bees are very early risers. The first ray of sunshine is their matin bell, and by seven o'clock P.M. they are most of them at home. People that live long and are healthy differ in many of their habits, but generally agree in being early risers. Early light has sanitary as well as photographic influences, which post-meridian light is a stranger to. "Early to bed and early up" is an admirable maxim--an axiom among bees, and it should be a habit among rational men.
8. Bees are peaceful and peacemakers. This will appear a hasty statement to all who remember that bees have stings. But a little thought will justify what I say. Bees never give way to aggressive warfare. They never attack those who do not attack their queen or their homestead. Their stings are purely defensive. This is a very curious fact, and very suggestive also. If they had no stings at all, they would be an argument for the Peace Society. But as it is, they prove that the best defence of home is a good preparation to repel the aggressor. When, therefore, Mr. Bright preaches the duty of breaking up the navy and disbanding the army, it would be the conduct of a great hornet impressing on bees the duty of extracting their stings. Were the bees such simpletons as to listen to his plausible logic, and give up their stings, they would be surrounded by swarms of wasps, who would very soon make them give up their honey. As if to teach the bees that their weapons are to be used only in the last extremity, every bee knows that the use of his sting is followed by its inevitable loss and his destruction. It sticks where it strikes, and the violence done to the bee ends always in death. While admiring Mr. Bright's love of peace, I hope every bee-keeper in England will prefer the bees' way of maintaining it. So sweet and short is a bee-master's sermon.
I think I have shown in these letters that morals, money, country, and enjoyment may all be helped a little by keeping bees; and, therefore, that I have done some good by directing attention to these "great and marvellous works" of One who still gives his care to a bee-hive and to Buckingham Palace.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
A Bee-Master.
Tunbridge Wells.
IX.--BEE-THINGS IN GENERAL.
As this work does not profess to be an entomological essay but a practical bee-master's directory, I have omitted those erudite questions about which apiarians wrangle, and unfortunately lose their temper and employ their stings.
But there are some interesting bits of instruction scattered over bee-books which it may interest the reader to lay before him. If they contribute nothing to the amount of the honey harvest, they may increase the pleasure of the bee-master in the long winter evenings.
THE INSTINCT OR INTELLIGENCE OF BEES.
Huber relates:--
"He put under a bell-glass about a dozen humble-bees, without any store of wax, along with a comb of about ten silken cocoons, so unequal in height that it was impossible the mass should stand firmly. Its unsteadiness disquieted the humble-bees extremely. Their affection for their young led them to mount upon the cocoons for the sake of imparting warmth to the inclosed little ones, but in attempting this the comb tottered so violently that the scheme was almost impracticable. To remedy this inconvenience, and to make the comb steady, they had recourse to a most ingenious expedient. Two or three bees got upon the comb, stretched themselves over its edge, and with their heads downwards fixed their fore-feet on the table upon which it stood, whilst with their hind-feet they kept it from falling. In this constrained and painful posture, fresh bees relieving their comrades when weary, did these affectionate little insects support the comb for nearly three days. At the end of this period they had prepared a sufficiency of wax, with which they built pillars that kept it in a firm position; but, by some accident afterwards, these got displaced, when they had again recourse to their former manœuvre for supplying their place; and this operation they perseveringly continued, until M. Huber, pitying their hard task, relieved them by fixing the object of their attention firmly on the table."
Lardner quotes from Kirby the following curious illustration of the habits of the clothier-bee:--
"Kirby mentions the example of nests of this kind found by himself and others, constructed in the inside of the lock of a garden-gate.
"A proceeding has been ascertained on the part of these insects in such cases, which it is extremely difficult to ascribe to mere instinct, independent of some intelligence. Wherever the nest may be constructed, the due preservation of the young requires that until they attain the perfect state, their temperature should be maintained at a certain point So long as the material surrounding their nest is a very imperfect conductor of heat, as earth or the pith of wood is, the heat developed by the insect, being confined, is sufficient to maintain its temperature at the requisite point. But if, perchance, the mother-bee select for her nest any such locality as that of the lock of the gate, the metal, being a good conductor of heat, would speedily dissipate the animal heat developed by the insect, and thus reduce its temperature to a point incompatible with the continuance of its existence. How then does the tender mother, foreseeing this, and consequently informed by some power of the physical quality peculiar to the metal surrounding the nest, provide against it? How, we may ask, would a scientific human architect prevent such an eventuality? He would seek for a suitable material which is a non-conductor of heat, and would surround the nest with it. In fact, the very thing has occurred in a like case in relation to steam-engine boilers. The economy of fuel there rendered it quite as necessary to confine the heat developed in the furnace, as it is to confine that which is developed in the natural economy of the pupa of the bee. The expedient, therefore, resorted to is to invest the boiler in a thick coating of a sort of felt, made for the purpose, which is almost a non-conductor of heat. A casing of sawdust is also used in Cornwall for a like purpose. By these expedients the escape of heat from the external surface of the boiler is prevented.
"The bee keeps its pupa warm by an expedient so exactly similar, that we must suppose that she has been guided either by her own knowledge, or by a power that commands all knowledge, in her operations. She seeks certain woolly-leaved plants, such as the _stachys lamata_ or the _agrostemma coronaria_, and with her mandibles scrapes off the wool. She rolls this into little balls, and carrying it to the nest, sticks it on the external surface by means of a plaster, composed of honey and pollen, with which she previously coats it. Thus invested, the cells become impervious to heat, and consequently all the heat developed by the little animal is confined within them.
"The name of _upholsterers_ has been given by Kirby to certain species of bees, who, having excavated their nest in the earth, hang its walls with a splendid coating of flowers and leaves. One of the most interesting of these varieties is the _megachile papareris_, which has been described by Reaumur. It chooses invariably for the hangings of its apartments the most brilliant scarlet, selecting as its material the petals of the wild poppy, which the insect dexterously cuts into the proper form.
"Her first process is to excavate in some pathway a burrow cylindrical at the entrance, but enlarged as it descends, the depth being about three inches. After having polished the walls, she next flies to a neighbouring field, where she cuts out the oval parts of the poppy blossoms, and seizing them between her hind legs returns with them to her cell. Sometimes it happens that the flower from which she cuts these, being but half-blown, has a wrinkled petal. In that case she spreads out the folds, and smoothers away the wrinkles, and if she finds that the pieces are too large to fit the vacant spaces on the walls of her little room, she soon reduces them to suitable dimensions, by cutting off all the superfluous parts with her mandibles. In hanging the walls with this brilliant tapestry she begins at the bottom, and gradually ascends to the roof. She carpets in the same manner the surface of the ground round the margin of the orifice. The floor is rendered warm sometimes by three or four layers of carpeting, but never has less than two.
"Our little upholsterer having thus completed the hangings of her apartment, fills it with a mixture of pollen and honey to the height of about half an inch. She then lays an egg in it, and wraps over the poppy lining, so that even the roof may be furnished with this material. Having accomplished this, she closes the mouth of the nest.[A]
[Footnote A: Reaumur, vi. 139 to 145.]
"It is not every insect of this class which manifests the same showy taste in the colours of their furniture. The species called leaf-cutters hang their walls in the same way, not with the blossoms but the leaves of trees, and more particularly those of the rose-tree. They differ also from the upholsterer described above, in the external structure of their nests, which are formed in much longer cylindrical holes, and consist of a series of thimble-shaped cells, composed of leaves most curiously convoluted. We are indebted likewise to Reaumur for a description of the labours of these.
"The mother first excavates a cylindrical hole in a horizontal direction eight or ten inches long, either in the ground or in the trunk of a rotten tree, or any other decaying wood. She fills this hole with six or seven thimble-shaped cells, composed of cut leaves, the convex end of each fitting into the open end of the other. Her first process is to form the external coating, which is composed of three or four pieces of larger dimensions than the rest, and of an oval form. The second coating consists of portions of equal size, narrow at one end, but gradually widening towards the other, where the width equals half the length. One side of these pieces is the serrated edge of the leaf from which it was taken, which, as the pieces lap over each other, is kept on the outside, the edge which was cut being within.
"The little animal next forms a third coating of similar material, the middle of which, as the most skilful workman would do in a like case, she places over the margins of those that form the first side, thus covering and strengthening the junctions by the expedient which mechanics call a break-joint. Continuing the same process, she gives a fourth and sometimes a fifth coating to her nest, taking care at the closed end, or narrow extremity of the cell, to bend the leaves so as to form a convex termination.
"After thus completing each cell, she proceeds to fill it to within the twentieth of an inch of the orifice with a rose-coloured sweetmeat made of the pollen collected from thistle-blossoms mixed with honey. Upon this she lays her egg, and then closes the orifice with three pieces of leaf, one placed upon the other, concentrical and also so exactly circular in form, that no compasses could describe that geometrical figure with more precision. In their magnitude also they correspond with the walls of the cell with such a degree of precision, that they are retained in their situation merely by the nicety of their adaptation.
"The covering of the cell thus adapted to it being concave, corresponds exactly with the convex end of the cell which is to succeed it; and in this manner the little insect prosecutes her maternal labours until she has constructed all the cells, six or seven in number, necessary to fill the cylindrical hole.
"The process which one of these bees employs in cutting the pieces of leaf that compose her nest, is worthy of attention. Nothing can be more expeditious, and she is not longer about it than one would be in cutting similar pieces with a pair of scissors. After hovering for some moments over a rose-bush, as it were to reconnoitre the ground, the bee alights upon the leaf which she has selected, usually taking her station upon its edge, so that its margin shall pass between her legs. She then cuts with her mandibles, without intermission, in such a direction as to detach from the leaf a triangular piece. When this hangs by the last fibre, lest its weight should carry her to the ground, she spreads her little wings for flight, and the very moment the connection of the part thus cut off with the leaf is broken, she carries it off in triumph to her nest, the detached portion remaining bent between her legs in a direction perpendicular to her body. Thus, without rule or compass, do these little creatures measure out the material of their work into ovals, or circles, or other pieces of suitable shapes, accurately accommodating the dimensions of the several pieces of these figures to each other. What other architect could carry impressed upon the tablet of his memory such details of the edifice which he has to erect, and, destitute of square or plumb-line, cut out his materials in their exact dimensions without making a single mistake or requiring a single subsequent correction?
"But of all the varieties of this insect, that of which the architectural and mechanical skill is transcendently the most admirable is the bee-hive. The most profound philosopher, says Kirby, equally with the most incurious of mortals, is filled with astonishment at the view of the interior of a bee-hive. He beholds there a miniature city. He sees regular streets, disposed in parallel directions, and consisting of houses constructed upon the most exact geometrical principles, and of the most symmetrical forms. These buildings are appropriated to various purposes. Some are warehouses in which provisions are stored in enormous quantities; some are the dwellings of the citizens; and a few of the most spacious and magnificent are royal palaces. He finds that the material of which this city is built is one which man with all his skill and science cannot fabricate, and that the edifices which it is employed to form are such that the most consummate engineer could not reproduce, much less originate; and yet this wondrous production of art and skill is the result of the labour of a society of insects so minute, that hundreds of thousands of them do not contain as much ponderable matter as would enter into the composition of the body of a man. _Quel abime aux yeux du sage qu'une ruche d'abeilles! Quelle sagesse profonde se cache dans cet abime! Quel philosophe osera le sonder!_ Nor has the problem thus solved by the bee yet been satisfactorily expounded by philosophers. Its mysteries have not yet been fathomed. In all ages naturalists and mathematicians have been engrossed by it, from Aristomachus of Soli and Philiscus the Thracian, already mentioned, to Swammerdam, Reaumur, Hunter, and Huber of modern times. Nevertheless, the honey-comb is still a miracle which overwhelms our faculties."
Kirby writes:--
"Besides the saving of wax effected by the form of the cells, the bees adopt another economical plan suited to the same end. They compose the bottoms and sides of wax of very great tenuity, not thicker than a sheet of writing-paper; but as walls of this thickness at the entrance would be perpetually injured by the ingress and egress of the workers, they prudently make the margin at the opening of each cell three or four times thicker than the walls. Dr. Barclay discovered, that though of such excessive tenuity, the sides and bottom of each cell are actually double, or in other words, that each cell is distinct, separate, and in some measure an independent structure, agglutinated only to the neighbouring cells; and that when the agglutinating substance is destroyed, each cell may be entirely separated from the rest. This, however, has been denied by Mr. Waterhouse, and seems inconsistent with the account given by Huber, hereafter detailed; but Mr. G. Newport asserts, that even the virgin-cells are lined with a delicate membrane."
Dr. Bevan relates of Mr. Knight, an acute and accurate apiarian:--
"On one occasion he observed from twenty to thirty bees paying daily visits to some decayed trees, about a mile distant from his garden; the bees appeared to be busily employed in examining the hollow parts, and particularly the dead knots around them, as if apprehensive of the knots admitting moisture. In about fourteen days these seeming surveyors were followed by a large swarm from his apiary, which was watched the whole way, till it alighted in one of these cavities. It was observed to journey nearly in a direct line from the apiary to the tree. On several similar occasions the bees selected that cavity which Mr. Knight thought best adapted to their use."
"Insects give proofs without number of the possession of the faculty of memory, without which it would be impossible to turn to account the results of experience. Thus, for example, each bee, on returning from its excursions, never fails to recognise its own hive, even though that hive should be surrounded by various others in all respects similar to it.
"This recognition of home is so much the more marked by traces of intelligence rather than by those of instinct, inasmuch as it depends not on any character merely connected with the hive itself, whether external or internal, but from its relation to surrounding objects; just as we are guided to our own dwellings by the recollection of the particular features of the locality and neighbourhood. Nor is this faculty in the bee inferred from mere analogies; it has been established by direct experiment and observation. A hive being removed from a locality to which its inhabitants have become familiar, they are observed, upon the next day, before leaving for their usual labours, to fly around the hive in every direction, as if to observe the surrounding objects, and obtain a general acquaintance with their new neighbourhood.
"The queen in like manner adopts the same precaution before she rises into the air, attended by her numerous admirers, for the purpose of fecundation."--_Lardner_.