Chapter XV: Introduction (14)

But there are still more wonderful facts related. Mr. Kalm remarks, that "swallows appear in the Jerseys about the beginning of April; that, on their first arrival, they are wet, because they have just emerged from the sea or lakes, at the bottom of which they had remained, in a torpid state, during the whole winter." Other naturalists have asserted, that swallows pass the winter immersed under the ice, at the bottom of lakes, or beneath the waters of the sea. Olaus Magnus, archbishop of Upsal, seems to have been the first who adopted this opinion. He informs us, that "swallows are found in great clusters at the bottoms of the northern lakes, with mouth to mouth, wing to wing, foot to foot, and that in autumn they creep down the reeds to their subaqueous retreats." In other instances, Mr. Pennant remarks, the good archbishop did not want credulity. But the submersion of the swallows under water does not rest upon his testimony alone. Klein asserts the same; and gives the following account of the manner of their retiring, which he had from some countrymen:

"They asserted, that the swallows sometimes assembled in numbers on a reed, till it broke, and sunk them to the bottom; that their immersion was preceded by a kind of dirge, which lasted more than a quarter of an hour; that others united, laid hold of a straw with their bills, and plunged down in society; that others, by clinging together with their feet, formed a large mass, and in this manner committed themselves to the deep." Bishop Pontoppidan asserts, that clusters of swallows, in their torpid winter state, have sometimes been found by fishermen, among reeds and bushes in lakes; and he charges Mr. Edwards with having, in his Natural History of Birds, groundlessly contradicted this incontestable truth. And Mr. Heerkens, a celebrated Dutch naturalist, in a poem on the birds of Friesland, speaks in positive terms of the torpid state, and submersion, of the swallows:

"Ere winter his somnif'rous power exerts,
Six dreary months the swallow-tribes are seen
In various haunts conceal'd; in rocks, and caves,
And structures rude, by cold benumb'd, asleep;
Bill within bill inserted, clust'ring thick:
Or solitary some, of mate bereft.
But, wonderful to tell! some lie immers'd,
Inanimate, beneath the frigid waves,
As if a species of the finny kinds."

Mr. Heerkens, after reciting many instances, and producing in his notes many authorities, of swallows having been found in a torpid state, proceeds, in his poem, to describe, very minutely, their ascent out of the water. The drowsy birds appear on the shore, as if unconscious still of life. Some inhale the soft breeze, like one of the finny tribe exiled from its stream. Some begin to adjust their dishevelled wings.--Others, almost revived, essay, with busy bill, to assist their aged companions. All, at length, restored to the unrestrained use of their wings, range, in numerous flights, the aërial way.

Two reasons have, been adduced to prove this supposed submersion of swallows impossible. "In the first place, (says Mr. Smellie,) no land animal can exist so long without some degree of respiration. The otter, the seal, and water fowls of all kinds, when confined under the ice, or entangled in nets, soon perish; yet it is well known, that animals of this kind can remain much longer under water than those who are destitute of that peculiar structure of the heart, which is necessary for any considerable residence beneath that penetrating element."

Mr. John Hunter, in a letter to Mr. Pennant, informs us, "that he had dissected many swallows, but found nothing in them different from other birds, as to the organs of respiration; that all those animals which he had dissected, of the class that sleep during the winter, such as lizards, frogs, &c. had a very different conformation as to those organs; that all those animals, he believes, do breathe in their torpid state, and, as far as his experience reaches, he knows they do; and that, therefore, he esteems it a very wild opinion, that terrestrial animals can remain any long time under water without drowning." Another argument against their submersion arises from the specific gravity of the animals themselves. Of all birds, the swallow tribes are perhaps the lightest. Their plumage, and the comparative smallness of their weight, indicates that Nature destined them to be almost perpetually on the wing, in quest of food. From this specific lightness, the submersion of swallows, and their continuing for months underwater, amount to a physical impossibility. Even water fowls, when they wish to dive, are obliged to rise and plunge with considerable exertion, in order to overcome the resistance of the water. Klein's idea of swallows employing reeds and straws as means of submersion, is rather ludicrous; for these light substances, instead of being proper instruments for assisting them to reach the bottom, would infallibly contribute to support them on the surface, and prevent the very object of their intention. Besides, admitting the possibility of their reaching the bottom of lakes and seas, and supposing they could exist for several months without respiration, what would be the consequence? The whole would soon be devoured by otters, seals, and fishes, of various kinds. Nature is always anxious for the preservation of its species. But if the swallow tribes were destined to remain torpid during the winter months, at the bottom of lakes and seas, she would act in opposition to her own intentions; for, in a season or two, the whole genus would be annihilated.

This reasoning is very ingenious, but, on the other hand, the facts related above are very stubborn; and the celebrated Buffon does not hesitate to yield to the force of such strong and concurrent evidence. He had procured some chimney-swallows, and kept them some time in an icehouse, in order to ascertain whether they were of the torpid kind, and he thus relates the result of his experiments. "None of them fell into the torpid state; the greater part died, and not one of them revived by being moved into the warmth of the sun. Those that had not long suffered the cold of the icehouse, had all their movements, and went out briskly. From these experiments I thought I might conclude, that this species of the swallow was not liable to that state of torpor and insensibility, which supposes, notwithstanding, and very necessarily, the fact of their remaining at the bottom of the water during the winter. Having had recourse, moreover, to the most creditable travellers, I found them agreed as to the passage of swallows over the Mediterranean. And Mr. Adamson has positively assured me, that during the long stay he made in Senegal, he observed the long-tailed swallow, the same with the chimney-swallow we are now speaking of, arrive constantly in Senegal about the time it leaves France, and as constantly leave Senegal in the spring. It cannot, therefore, be doubted, that this species of the swallow passes from Europe into Africa in the autumn, and from Africa to Europe in the spring; of consequence, it neither sleeps nor hides itself in holes, nor plunges into the water on the approach of winter. There is, besides, another well authenticated fact, which comes in proof here, and shews that this swallow is not reduced to a torpid state by cold, which it can bear to a certain degree, (and if that degree is exceeded, it dies,) for if we observe these birds towards the end of the warm season, we shall see them, a little before their departure, flying together in families, the father, the mother, and the young brood. Afterwards several families unite, and form themselves into flocks, more or less numerous in proportion as the time of their departure draws near. At last they go all together, three or four days before the end of September, or about the beginning of October. Still, however, some remain, and do not set off till a week, a fortnight, or three weeks after the rest: and some too there are which do not go at all, but stay and perish under the first rigours of the cold. These swallows that delay their flight, or never undertake it, are such as find their young too weak to follow them; such as have had the misfortune to have their nests destroyed after laying, and have been obliged to rebuild them a second or a third time. They stay for the love of their little ones, and choose rather to endure the rigour of the season, than to abandon their offspring. Thus they remain some time after the rest for the purpose of taking their young with them; and if they are unable to carry them off in the end, they perish with them.

"These facts then plainly demonstrate (concludes Mr. Buffon) that the chimney-swallows pass successively and alternately from our climate to another that is warmer; that they spend their summer here, and their winter there; and of consequence never fall into a state of insensibility. But, on the other hand, what have we to oppose to the precise testimony of those, who, on the approach of winter, have seen these swallows in troops throw themselves into the water; nay, not only this, but have seen them taken out in nests from beneath the ice? What answer shall we make to those who have beheld them in the torpid state, and seen them gradually recover motion and life, when they were brought into the warmth, and moved cautiously towards a fire? I know but of one means of reconciling these facts: we must suppose that the sleeping and travelling swallow are of different species, though the difference, for want of attention, has not been observed."

Thus this great philosopher concurs with Mr. Pennant, in his solution, already mentioned, of the difficulty, by supposing two species--the migrating, and the sleeping swallow. With respect to the principal objects of this wonderful instinct, that teaches such various kinds of the feathered race to migrate to different countries, it is obvious, from what has already been said, that they are governed by their food, temperature of air, and convenient situations for breeding.

We shall now give an account of the CURIOUS METHOD OF BIRD-CATCHING IN THE FARO ISLES.--The manner of bird-catching in the Faro Islands, is exceedingly strange and hazardous. Necessity compels man to wonderful attempts. The cliffs which contain the objects of their search, are often two hundred fathoms in height, and are attempted both from above and below. In the first case, the fowlers provide themselves with a rope eighty or a hundred fathoms in length. The fowler fastening one end about his waist, and between his legs, recommends himself to the protection of the Almighty, and is lowered down by six others, who place a piece of timber on the margin of the rock, to preserve the rope from wearing against the sharp edge. They have, besides, a small line fastened to the body of the adventurer, by which he gives signals, that they may lower or raise him, or shift him from place to place. The last operation is attended with great danger, by the loosening of the stones, which often fall on his head, and would infallibly destroy him, were he not protected by a strong thick cap; but even this is found unequal to save him against the weight of the larger fragments of rock. The dexterity of the fowlers is amazing; they will place their feet against the front of the precipice, and dart themselves some fathoms from it; with a cool eye survey the places where the birds nestle, and again shoot into their haunts. In some places the birds lodge in deep recesses. The fowler will alight there, disengage himself from the rope, fix it to a stone, and at his leisure collect the booty, fasten it to his girdle, and resume his pendulous seat. At times he will again spring from the rock, and in that attitude, with a fowling-net placed on a staff, catch the old birds that are flying to and from their retreats. When he has finished his dreadful employ, he gives a signal to his friends above, who pull him up, and share his hard-earned profit. The feathers are preserved for exportation: the flesh is partly eaten fresh, but the greater part is dried for winter's provision.

The engraving represents the situation of a bird-catcher at St. Kilda. A tale is told of one of these men who had entered such a cavern, and in the excitement produced by finding its floor all strewn over with eggs, forgot the rope and loosened his hold: in a moment it was gone, and as he turned he saw it swinging at the mouth of the cavern. In vain he tried to reach it, it was beyond his grasp; he tried again and again, but all to no purpose, while, as if in mockery of his dismay, it swung idly in the air, just passing beyond his reach. What was he to do? A projection of rock concealed him from the observation of those above, while the roar of the sea prevented their hearing his cries. If they drew up the rope and found him not there, he knew they would conclude he had lost his hold and dropped into the sea, and he would then be left to starve in the cave. The rope still kept passing backwards and forwards, as if tantalizing him with the hope of escape. Every minute now seemed an age; at length, almost wild with despair, he formed the desperate resolution to spring at the rope as it passed by him. He watched for a favorable opportunity and leaped from the cave: fortunately he was successful in catching it with a firm grasp, and was safely drawn again to the top.]

The fowling from below has also its share of danger. The party goes on the expedition in a boat; and when it has attained the base of the precipice, one of the most daring, having fastened a rope about his waist, and furnished himself with a long pole, with an iron hook at one end, either climbs or is thrust up by his companions, who place a pole under his breech, to the next footing spot he can reach. He, by means of the rope, brings up one of the boat's crew; the rest are drawn up in the same manner, and each is furnished with his rope and fowling-staff. They then continue their progress upwards in the same manner, till they arrive at the regions of the birds, and wander about the face of the cliff in search of them. They then act in pairs; one fastens himself to the end of his associate's rope, and, in places where the birds have nestled beneath his footing, he permits himself to be lowered down, depending for his security on the strength of his companion, who has to haul him up again; but it sometimes happens that the person above is overpowered by the weight, and both inevitably perish. They fling the fowl into the boat, which attends their motions, and receives the booty. They often pass seven or eight days in this tremendous employ, and lodge in the crannies which they find in the face of the precipice.

We shall close this division of our work with A CURIOUS ACCOUNT OF THE SONG OF BIRDS.--We introduce the subject by the following poetical quotations; which, we have no doubt, will interest every admirer of nature, and nature's God.

--------------------------Every copse
Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush
Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads
Of the coy choristers that lodge within,
Are prodigal of harmony.
_Thomson._

----------------------------Each bird,
Or high in air, or secret in the shade,
Rejoicing, warbles wild his grateful hymn.
_Mallet._

From branch to branch the smaller birds with song
Solace the woods, and spread their painted wings
Till even; nor then the solemn nightingale
Ceases to warble: in shadiest covert hid,
She all the night tunes her soft lays.
_Milton._

Again:--

----------------The sweet poet of the vernal groves
Melts all the night in strains of am'rous woe.
_Armstrong._

Again:--

--------When the spring renews the flow'ry field,
And warns the pregnant nightingale to build,
She seeks the safest shelter of the wood,
Where she may trust her little tuneful brood.
Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er,
Sits there, and wanders through the grove no more:
Warbling, she charms it each returning night;--
And gives the pensive mind a calm delight.
_Rowe._

The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build
Her humble nest, sits silent in the field;
But if the promise of a cloudless day,
(Aurora smiling,) bids her rise and play,
Then straight she shews 'twas not for want of voice,
Or pow'r to climb, she made so low a choice;
Singing she mounts, her airy wings are stretch'd
Tow'rds heaven, as if from heav'n her note she fetch'd.
_Waller._

--------------------Birds of sweetest song
Attune from native boughs their various lay,
And cheer the forest; those of brighter plume
With busy pinion skim the glitt'ring wave,
Or tempt the sun, ambitious to display
Their several merit.
_Shenstone._

The Song of Birds is defined, by the Hon. Daines Barrington, to be a succession of three or more different notes, which are continued without interruption, during the same interval, with a musical bar of four crotchets, in an adagio movement, or whilst a pendulum swings four seconds. It is affirmed, that the notes of birds are no more innate than language in man, and that they depend upon imitation, as far as their organs will enable them to imitate the sounds which they have frequent opportunities of hearing: and their adhering so steadily, even in a wild state, to the same song, is owing to the nestling attending only to the instruction of the parent bird, whilst they disregard the notes of all others that may be singing around them. Birds in a wild state do not usually sing above ten weeks in the year; whereas birds that have plenty of food in a cage, sing the greatest part of the year: the female of no species of birds ever sings. This is a wise provision, because her song would discover her nest. In the same manner, we may account for her inferiority of plumage. The faculty of singing is confined to the cock birds; and accordingly Mr. Hunter, in dissecting birds of several species, found the muscles of the larynx to be stronger in the nightingale than in any other bird of the same size; and in all those instances where he dissected both cock and hen, the same muscles were stronger in the cock.

It is an observation as ancient as the time of Pliny, that a capon does not crow. Some ascribe the singing of the cock in the spring solely to the motive of pleasing his mate during incubation; others, who allow that it is partly for this end, believe it is partly owing to another cause, viz. the great abundance of plants and insects in spring, which are the proper food of singing birds at that time of the year, as well as seeds. Mr. Barrington remarks, that there is no instance of any singing bird which exceeds our blackbird in size; and this, he supposes, may arise from the difficulty of concealing itself, should it call the attention of its enemies, not only by its bulk, but by the proportionate loudness of its notes. He further observes, that some passages of the song in a few kinds of birds correspond with the intervals of our musical scale, of which the cuckoo is a striking and known instance; but the greater part of their song cannot be reduced to a musical scale; partly because the rapidity is often so great, and it is also so uncertain when they may stop, that we cannot reduce the passages to form a musical bar in any time whatsoever; partly also, because the pitch of most birds is considerably higher than the most shrill notes of those instruments which have the greatest compass; and principally, because the intervals used by birds are commonly so minute, that we cannot judge of them from the more gross intervals into which we divide our musical octave. This writer apprehends, that all birds sing in the same key; and he found by a nightingale, as well as a robin which was educated under him, that the notes reducible to our intervals of the octave were always precisely the same. Most people, who have not attended to the notes of birds, suppose, that every species sing exactly the same notes and passages: but this is not true; though there is a general resemblance. Thus the London bird-catchers prefer the song of the Kentish goldfinches, and Essex chaffinches; and some of the nightingale fanciers prefer a Surrey bird to those of Middlesex.

Of all singing birds, the song of the nightingale has been most universally admired; and its superiority consists in the following particulars: its tone is much more mellow than that of any other bird, though, at the same time, by a proper exertion of its musical powers, it can be very brilliant. Another superiority is, its continuance of song without a pause, which is sometimes twenty seconds; and when respiration becomes necessary, it takes it with as much judgment as an opera singer. The skylark, in this particular, as well as in compass and variety, is only second to the nightingale. The nightingale also sings with judgment and taste. Mr. Barrington says, that his nightingale began softly, like the ancient orators, reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which thus had a most astonishing effect. He adds, that the notes of birds which are annually imported from Asia, Africa, and America, both singly and in concert, are not to be compared to those of European birds. He has also formed a table, to exhibit the comparative merits of the British singing birds; wherein twenty being the point of perfection, he states the nightingale at nineteen; the woodlark and skylark at eighteen; the blackcap at fourteen; the titlark, linnet, goldfinch, and robin, at twelve; with some variations respecting mellowness, sprightliness, execution, &c. for which, with the proportional differences of other birds, we refer to his work.

We cannot resist the temptation to insert the following well-known

INVITATION TO THE FEATHERED RACE.

_Written at Claverton, near Bath_

Again the balmy zephyr blows,
Fresh verdure decks the grove;
Each bird with vernal rapture glows,
And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly,
And shun the noontide heat;
My shrubs a cooling shade supply,
My groves a safe retreat.

Here freely hop from spray to spray,
Or weave the mossy nest,
Here rove and sing the live-long day,
At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool translucent rill,
That trickles down the glade,
Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,
And revel in the shade.

No schoolboy rude, to mischief prone,
E'er shows his ruddy face,
Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
In this sequester'd place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs,
Secure the linnet sings:
The goldfinch dreads no slimy snares,
To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt,
Yon distant woods among,
And round my friendly grotto chaunt
Thy sweetly plaintive song.

Let not the harmless redbreast fear,
Domestic bird, to come
And seek a sure asylum here,
With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall store of fruit preserve:
O let me thus your friendship bribe!
Come, feed without reserve.

For you these cherries I protect,
To you these plums belong;
Sweet is the fruit that you have pick'd,
But sweeter far your song.

Let then this league betwixt us made,
Our mutual int'rest guard;
Mine be the gift of fruit and shade,
Your songs be my reward.
_Graves._

CHAP. XXII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.

To their delicious task the fervent bees,
In swarming millions, tend; around, athwart,
Through the soft air the busy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and with inserted tube
Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul;
And oft, with bolder wing, they, soaring, dare
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grow,
And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.
_Thomson._

What various wonders may observers see
In a small insect--the sagacious bee!
Mark how the little untaught builders square
Their rooms, and in the dark their lodgings rear;
Nature's mechanics, they unwearied strive
And fill, with curious labyrinths, the hive.
See what bold strokes of architecture shine
Through the whole frame, what beauty, what design!
_Blackmore._

THE HONEY BEE.

This important insect has been long and justly celebrated for its wonderful polity, the neatness and precision with which it constructs its cells, and the diligence with which it provides, during the warmth of summer, a supply of food for the support of the hive during the rigours of the succeeding winter. The general history of this interesting insect has been amply detailed by various authors, as Swammerdam, Reaumur, &c. &c. Among the most elaborate accounts of later times, may be mentioned that of Mr. John Hunter, which made its appearance in the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1792; and that of M. Huber, contained in his _Nouvelles Observations sur les Abeilles_, addressed to M. Bonnet, the celebrated author of the "_Contemplations de la Nature_." The following account is drawn principally from Hunter and Huber.

There are three periods, observes Hunter, at which the history of the bee may commence: first, in the spring, when the queen begins to lay her eggs; in the summer, at the commencement of a new colony; or in the autumn, when they go into winter-quarters. We shall begin the particular history of the bee with the new colony, when nothing is formed. When a hive sends off a colony, it is commonly in the month of June; but that will vary according to the season, for, in a mild spring, bees sometimes swarm in the middle of May, and very often at the latter end of it. Before they come off, they commonly hang about the mouth of the hole or door of the hive for some days, as if they had not sufficient room within for such hot weather, which we believe is very much the case; for if cold or wet weather come on, they stow themselves very well, and wait for fine weather. But swarming appears to be rather an operation arising from necessity; for they do not seem to remove voluntarily, because if they have an empty space to fill, they do not swarm; therefore, by increasing the size of the hive, the swarming is prevented. This period is much longer in some than in others. For some evenings before they come off, is often heard a singular noise, a kind of ring, or sound of a small trumpet; by comparing it with the notes of a piano-forte, it seemed to be the same sound with the lower A of the treble. The swarm commonly consists of three classes; a female or females, males, and those commonly called mules, which are supposed to be of no sex, and are the labourers; the whole, about two quarts in bulk, making about six or seven thousand. It is a question that cannot easily be determined, whether this old stock sends off only young of the same season, and whether the whole of their young ones, or only a part.

As the males are entirely bred in the same season, part go off; but part must stay, and most probably it is so with the others. They commonly come off in the heat of the day, often immediately after a shower. When one goes off, they all immediately follow, and fly about, seemingly in great confusion, although there is one principle actuating the whole. They soon appear to be directed to some fixed place; such as the branch of a tree or bush, the cavities of old trees, or holes of houses leading into some hollow place; and whenever the stand is made, they immediately repair to it till they are all collected. But it would seem, in some cases, that they had not fixed upon any resting-place before they come off, or, if they had, that they were either disturbed, if it was near, or that it was at a great distance; for, after hovering some time, as if undetermined, they fly away, mount up into the air, and go off with great velocity. When they have fixed upon their future habitation, they immediately begin to make their combs for they have the materials within themselves. "I have reason," says Mr. Hunter, "to believe that they fill their crops with honey when they come away, probably from the stock in the hive. I killed several of those that came away, and found their crops full, while those that remained in the hive had their crops not near so full: some of them came away with farina on their legs, which I conceive to be rather accidental. I may just observe here, that a hive commonly sends off two, sometimes three swarms in a summer, but that the second is commonly less than the first, and the third less than the second; and this last has seldom time to provide for the winter.

"The materials of their dwelling or comb, which is the wax, is the next consideration, with the mode of forming, preparing, or disposing of it. In giving a totally new account of the wax, I shall first shew it can hardly be what it has been supposed to be. First, I shall observe that the materials, as they are found composing the comb, are not to be found in the same state (as a composition) in any vegetable, where they have been supposed to be got. The substance brought in on the legs, which is the farina of the flowers of plants, is, in common, I believe, imagined to be the materials of which the wax is made, for it is called by most, the wax: but it is the farina, for it is always of the same colour as the farina of the flower where they are gathering; and, indeed, we see them gathering it, and we also see them covered almost all over with it like a dust: nevertheless, it has been supposed to be the wax, or that the wax was extracted from it. Reaumur is of this opinion.

"I made several experiments, to see if there was such a quantity of oil in it, as would account for the quantity of wax to be formed, and to learn if it was composed of oil. I held it near the candle; it burnt, but did not smell like wax, and had the same smell when burning, as farina when it was burnt. I observed, that this substance was of different colours on different bees, but always of the same colour on both legs of the same bee; whereas a new-made comb was all of one colour. I observed, that it was gathered with more avidity for old hives, where the comb is complete, than for those hives where it was only begun, which we could hardly conceive, admitting it to be the materials of wax. Also we may observe, that at the very beginning of a hive, the bees seldom bring in any substance on their legs for two or three days, and after that, the farina gatherers begin to increase; for now some cells are formed to hold it as a store, and some eggs are laid, which, when hatched, will require this substance as food, and which will be ready when the weather is wet.

"The wax is formed by the bees themselves; it may be called an external secretion of oil, and I have found that it is formed between each scale of the under side of the belly. When I first observed this substance, in my examination of the working bee, I was at a loss to say what it was: I asked myself if it were scales forming, and whether they cast the old, as the lobster, &c. does? but it was to be found only between the scales on the lower side of the belly. On examining the bees through glass hives, while they were climbing up the glass, I could see that most of them had this substance, for it looked as if the lower or posterior edge of the scale was double, or that there were double scales; but I perceived it was loose, not attached. Finding that the substance brought in on their legs was farina, intended, as appeared from every circumstance, to be the food of the bee, and not to make wax; and not having yet perceived any thing that could give me the least idea of wax; I conceived these scales might be it, at least I thought it necessary to investigate them. I therefore took several on the point of a needle, and held them to a candle, where they melted, and immediately formed themselves into round globules; upon which I no longer doubted that this was the wax, which opinion was confirmed to me by not finding those scales but in the building season.

"The cells, or rather the congeries of cells, which compose the comb, may be said to form perpendicular plates, or partitions, which extend from top to bottom of the cavity in which they build, and work downwards; but if the upper part of this vault to which their combs are fixed, is removed, and a dome is put over, they begin at the upper edge of the old comb, and work up into the new cavity at the top. They generally may be guided, as to the directions of their new plates, by forming ridges at top, to which they begin to attach their combs. In a long hive, if these ridges are longitudinal, their plates of comb will be longitudinal; if placed transversely, so will be the plates; and if obliquely, the plates of comb will be oblique also. Each plate consists of a double set of cells, whose bottoms form the partition between each set. The plates themselves are not very regularly arranged, not forming a regular plane where they might have done so, but are often adapted to the situation or shape of the cavity in which they are built.

"The bees do not endeavour to shape their cavity to their work, as the wasps do, nor are the cells of equal depths, also fitting them to their situation; but as the breeding cells must all be of a given depth, they reserve a sufficient number for breeding in, and they put the honey into the others, as also into the shallow ones. The attachment of the comb round the cavity is not continued, but interrupted, so as to form passages in the middle of the plates, especially if there be a cross-stick to support the comb; these allow of bees to go across from plate to plate. The substance which they use for attaching their combs to surrounding parts, is not the same as the common wax; it is softer and tougher, a good deal like the substance with which they cover in their chrysalis, or the humblebee surrounds her eggs. It is probably a mixture of wax with farina. The cells are placed nearly horizontal, but not exactly so; the mouth raised a little, which probably may be to retain the honey the better: however, this rule is not strictly observed, for often they are horizontal, and towards the lower edge of a plane of comb they are often declining. The first combs that a hive forms are the smallest, and much neater than the last or lowermost. Their sides or partitions, between cell and cell, are much thinner, and the hexagon is much more perfect. The wax is purer, being probably little else but wax, and it is more brittle. The lower combs are considerably larger, and contain much more wax, or perhaps, more properly, more materials; and the cells are at such distances as to allow them to be of a round figure; the wax is softer, and there is something mixed with it. I have observed that the cells are not all of equal size, some being a degree larger than others; and that the small are the first formed, and of course at the upper part, where the bees begin; and the larger are nearer the lower part of the comb, or last made: however, in hives of a particular construction, where the bees may begin to work at one end, and can work both down and towards the other end, we often find the larger cells both on the lower part of the combs, and also at the opposite end; these are formed for the males to be bred in: in the hornet and wasp combs there are larger cells for the queens to be bred in; these are also formed in the lower tier, and are the last formed.

"The first comb made in a hive is all of one colour, viz. almost white; but is not so white towards the end of the season, having then more of a yellow cast."

What follows is principally abridged from Huber, who in many instances is more correct than Hunter.--A hive contains three kind of bees. 1. A single queen bee, distinguishable by the great length of her body, and the proportional shortness of her wings. 2. Working-bees, female non-breeders, or, as they were formerly called, neuters, to the amount of many thousands; these are the smallest bees in the hive, and are armed with a sting. 3. Drones, or males, to the number perhaps of fifteen hundred or two thousand; these are larger than the workers, and of a dark colour; they make a great noise in flying, and have no sting. The whole labour of the community is performed by the workers: they elaborate the wax, and construct the cells; they collect the honey, and feed the brood. The drones, numerous as they are, serve no other purpose than to ensure the increase of the hive, and are regularly massacred by the workers at the beginning of autumn.

It is the office of the queen-bee to lay the eggs. These remain about three days in the cells before they are hatched. A small white worm then makes its appearance, (called indifferently, worm, larva, maggot, or grub;) this larva is fed with honey for some days, and then changes into a nymph or pupa. After passing a certain period in this state, it comes forth a perfect winged insect.

M. Huber, after noticing the propagation of this industrious race, next states the accidental discovery of the very singular and unexpected consequences which follow from retarding the impregnation of the queen-bee beyond the twentieth or twenty-first day of her life. In the natural order of things, or when impregnation is not retarded, the queen begins to lay the eggs of workers forty-six hours after, and she continues for the subsequent eleven months to lay none but these; "and it is only after this period, that a considerable and uninterrupted laying of the eggs of drones commences. When, on the contrary, impregnation is retarded after the twenty-eighth day, the queen begins, from the forty-sixth hour, to lay the eggs of drones; and she lays no other kind during her whole life." It would be tedious to detail the experiments; they were numerous, and the results uniform. "I occupied myself (says M. Huber) the remainder of 1787, and the two subsequent years, with experiments on retarded fecundation, and had constantly the same results." It is undoubted, therefore, that when the course of natural instinct is retarded beyond the twentieth day, only an imperfect generation is produced; as the queen, instead of laying the eggs of workers and of males equally, will lay those of males only.

This discovery is entirely M. Huber's own: and so difficult is it to offer any plausible explanation of the fact, that he himself has scarcely attempted it.

The working-bees had been for ages considered as entirely destitute of sex; and hence, in the writings of many authors, they are denominated neuters, but from the experiments of Schirach and Huber, it seems now to be clearly ascertained, that the workers are really of the female sex.

M. Huber confirms the curious discovery of M. Schirach, that when bees are by any accident deprived of their queen, they have the power of selecting one or two grubs of workers, and of converting them into queens; and that they accomplish this by greatly enlarging the cells of those selected larvæ, by supplying them more copiously with food, and with that of a more pungent sort than is given to the common larvæ.

M. Huber gives the following curious account of the manner in which bees proceed in forming capacious cells for the workers' grubs destined to royalty.--"Bees soon become sensible of having lost their queen, and in a few hours commence the labour necessary to repair their loss. First they select the young common worms, which the requisite treatment is to convert into queens, and immediately begin with enlarging the cells where they are deposited. Their mode of proceeding is curious; and the better to illustrate it, I shall describe the labour bestowed on a single cell, which will apply to all the rest containing worms destined for queens. Having chosen a worm, they sacrifice three of the contiguous cells; next they supply it with food, and raise a cylindrical enclosure around, by which the cell becomes a perfect tube, with a rhomboidal bottom; for the parts forming the bottom are left untouched. If the bees damaged it, they would lay open three corresponding cells on the opposite surface of the comb, and consequently destroy their worms, which would be an unnecessary sacrifice, and nature has opposed it. Therefore, leaving the bottom rhomboidal, they are satisfied with raising a cylindrical tube around the worm, which, like the other cells in the comb, are horizontal. But this habitation remains suitable to the worm called to the royal state, only during the first three days of its existence: another situation is requisite for the other two days it is a worm. During that time, though so small a portion of its life, it must inhabit a cell nearly of a pyramidical figure, and hanging perpendicularly. The workers, therefore gnaw away the cells surrounding the cylindrical tube, mercilessly sacrifice their worms, and use the wax in constructing a new pyramidical tube, which they solder at right angles to the first, and work it downwards. The diameter of this pyramid decreases insensibly from the base, which is very wide, to the point. In proportion as the worm grows, the bees labour in extending the cell, and bring food, which they place before its mouth, and near its body, forming a kind of cord around it. The worm, which can move only in a spiral direction, turns incessantly to take the food before its head: it insensibly descends, and at length arrives at the orifice of the cell. Now is the time of transformation to a nymph. As any further care is unnecessary, the bees close the cell with a peculiar substance appropriated for it, and there the worm undergoes both its metamorphoses."

M. Huber relates some experiments which confirm the singular discovery of M. Riems, concerning common working bees that are capable of laying eggs,--which, we may remark, is certainly a most convincing proof of their being of the female sex. Eggs were observed to increase in number daily, in a hive in which there were no queens of the usual appearance; but small queens considerably resemble workers, and to discriminate them, required minute inspection. "My assistant," (says M. Huber,) "then offered to perform an operation that required both courage and patience, and which I could not resolve to suggest, though the same expedient had occurred to myself. He proposed to examine each bee in the hive separately, to discover whether some small queen had not insinuated herself among them, and escaped our first researches. It was necessary, therefore, to seize every one of the bees, notwithstanding their irritation, and to examine their specific character with the utmost care. This my assistant undertook, and executed with great address. Eleven days were employed in it; and, during all that time, he scarcely allowed himself any relaxation but what the relief of his eyes required. He took every bee in his hand; he attentively examined the trunk, the hind limbs, and the sting; and he found that there was not one without the characteristics of the common bee, that is, the little basket on the hind legs, the long trunk, and the straight sting."

When a supernumerary queen is produced in a hive, or is introduced into it in the course of experiment, either she or the rightful owner soon perishes. The German naturalists, Schirach and Riems, imagined that the working bees assailed the stranger, and stung her to death. Reaumur considered it as more probable, that the sceptre was made to depend on the issue of a single combat between the claimants; and this conjecture is verified by the observations of Huber. The same hostility towards rivals, and destructive vengeance against royal cells, animates all queens, whether they be virgins, or in a state of impregnation, or mothers of numerous broods. The working bees, it may here be remarked, remain quiet spectators of the destruction, by the first-hatched queen, of the remaining royal cells; they approach only to share in the plunder presented by their havock-making mistress, greedily devouring any food found at the bottom of the cells, and even sucking the fluid from the abdomen of the nymphs before they toss out the carcase.

The following fact, connected with this subject, is one of the most curious perhaps in the whole history of this wonderful insect. Whenever the workers perceive that there are two rival queens in the hive, numbers of them crowd around each; they seem to be perfectly aware of the approaching deadly conflict, and willing to prompt their Amazonian chieftains to the battle; for as often as the queens shew a disinclination to fight, or seem inclined to recede from each other, or to fly off, the bees immediately surround and detain them; but when either combatant shews a disposition to approach her antagonist, all the bees forming the clusters instantly give way, to allow her full liberty for the attack. It seems strange that those bees, who in general shew so much anxiety about the safety of their queen, should, in particular circumstances, oppose her preparations to avoid impending danger,--should seem to promote the battle, and to excite the fury of the combatants.

When a queen is removed from a hive, the bees do not immediately perceive it; they continue their labours, "watch over their young, and perform all their ordinary occupations. But, in a few hours, agitation ensues; all appears a scene of tumult in the hive. A singular humming is heard; the bees desert their young, and rush over the surface of the combs with a delirious impetuosity." They have now evidently discovered that their sovereign is gone; and the rapidity with which the bad news spreads through the hive, to the opposite side of the combs, is very remarkable. On replacing the queen in the hive, tranquillity is almost instantly restored. The bees, it is worthy of notice, recognize the individual person of their own queen. If another be palmed upon them, they seize and surround her, so that she is either suffocated, or perishes by hunger; for it is very remarkable, that the workers are never known to attack a queen bee with their stings. If, however, more than eighteen hours have elapsed before the stranger queen be introduced, she has some chance to escape: the bees at first seize and confine her, but less rigidly; and they soon begin to disperse, and at length leave her to reign over a hive, in which she was at first treated as a prisoner. If twenty-four hours have elapsed, the stranger will be well received from the first, and at once admitted to the sovereignty of the hive. In short, it appears that the bees, when deprived of their queen, are thrown into great agitation; that they wait about twenty hours, apparently in hopes of her return; but that, after this interregnum, the agitation ceases, and they set about supplying their loss by beginning to construct royal cells. It is when they are in this temper, and not sooner, that a stranger queen will be graciously received; and upon her being presented to them, the royal cells, in whatever state of forwardness they may happen to be, are instantly abandoned, and the larvæ destroyed. Reaumur must therefore have mistaken the result of his own experiments, when he asserts, that a stranger queen is instantly well received, though presented at the moment when the other is withdrawn. He had seen the bees crowding around her at the entrance of the hive, and laying their antennæ over her; and this he seems to have taken for caressing. The structure of the hives he employed prevented him from seeing further: had he used the leaf-hive, or one of similar construction, he would have perceived that the apparent caresses of the guards were only the prelude to actual imprisonment.

It is well known, that after the season of swarming, a general massacre of the drones is commenced. Several authors assert, in their writings, that the workers do not sting the drones to death, but merely harass them till they are banished from the hive and perish. M. Huber contrived a glass table, on which he placed several hives, and he was thus able to see distinctly what passed at the bottom of the hive, which is generally dark and concealed: he witnessed a real and furious massacre of the males, the workers thrusting their stings so deep into the bodies of the defenceless drones, that they were obliged to turn on themselves as on a pivot, before they could extricate them. The work of death commenced in all the hives much about the same time. It is not, however, by a blind or indiscriminating instinct, that the workers are impelled thus to sacrifice the males; for if a hive be deprived of its queen, no massacre of the males takes place in it, while the hottest persecution rages in all the surrounding hives. In this case, the males are allowed to survive the winter. Mr. Bonner had observed this fact; he supposed, however, that the workers thus tolerated the drones for the sake of the additional heat they generated in the hive; but we now see the true reason to be, that without them the new queen would not be fruitful. The drones are also suffered to exist in hives that possess fertile workers, but no proper queen; and, what is remarkable, they are likewise spared in hives governed by a queen whose fecundity has been retarded. Here, then, we perceive a counter-instinct opposed to that which would have impelled them to the usual massacre.

Upon the subject of swarming, M. Huber commences with an interesting account of the hatching of the queen bee. When the pupa is about to change into the perfect insect, the bees render the cover of the cell thinner, by gnawing away part of the wax; and with so much nicety do they perform this operation, that the cover at last becomes pellucid, owing to its extreme thinness. This must not only facilitate the exit of the fly, but, M. Huber remarks, it may possibly be useful in permitting the evaporation of the superabundant fluids of the nymph. After the transformation is complete, the young queens would, in common course, immediately emerge from their cells, as workers and drones do; but the bees always keep them prisoners for some days in their cells, supplying them in the mean time with honey for food; a small hole being made in the door of each cell, through which the confined bee extends its proboscis to receive it. The royal prisoners continually utter a kind of song, the modulations of which are said to vary. The final cause of this temporary imprisonment, it is suggested, may possibly be, that they may be able to take flight at the instant they are liberated. When a young queen at last gets out, she meets with rather an awkward reception; she is pulled, bitten, and chased, as often as she happens to approach the other royal cells in the hive. The purpose of nature here seems to be, that she should be impelled to go off with a swarm as soon as possible. A curious fact was observed on these occasions: when the queen found herself much harassed, she had only to utter a peculiar noise, (the commanding voice, we may presume, of sovereignty,) and all the bees were instantaneously constrained to submission and obedience. This is, indeed, one of the most marked instances in which the queen exerts her sovereign power.

The conclusions at which M. Huber arrives on the subject of swarms are the following:--