Chapter XVI: Introduction (15)

First, "A swarm is always led off by a single queen, either the sovereign of the parent hive, or one recently brought into existence. If, at the return of spring, we examine a hive well peopled, and governed by a fertile queen, we shall see her lay a prodigious number of male eggs in the course of May, and the workers will choose that moment for constructing several royal cells." This laying of male eggs in May, M. Huber calls the great laying; and he remarks, that no queen ever has a great laying till she be eleven months old. It is only after finishing this laying, that she is able to undertake the journey implied in leading a swarm; for, previously to this, "_latum trahit alvum_," which unfits her for flying. There appears to be a secret relation between the production of the male eggs, and the construction of royal cells. The great laying commonly lasts thirty days; and regularly, on the twentieth or twenty-first, several royal cells are founded.

Secondly, "When the larvæ hatched from the eggs laid by the queen in the royal cells are ready to transform to nymphs, this queen leaves the hive, conducting a swarm along with her; and the first swarm that proceeds from the hive is uniformly conducted by the old queen." M. Huber remarks, that it was necessary that instinct should impel the old queen to lead forth the first swarm: for, that she being the strongest, would never have failed to have overthrown the younger competitors for the throne. An old queen, as has already been said, never quits a hive at the head of a swarm, till she has finished her laying of male eggs; but this is of importance, not merely that she may be lighter and fitter for flight, but that she may be ready to begin with the laying of workers' eggs in her new habitation, workers being the bees first needed, in order to secure the continuance and prosperity of the newly-founded commonwealth.

Thirdly, "After the old queen has conducted the first swarm from the hive, the remaining bees take particular care of the royal cells, and prevent the young queens, successively hatched, from leaving them, unless at an interval of several days between each." Under this head he introduces a number of general remarks, some of which may prove useful. "A swarm (he observes) is never seen unless in a fine day, or, to speak more correctly, at a time of the day when the sun shines, and the air is calm. Sometimes we have observed all the precursors of swarming, disorder and agitation: but a cloud passed before the sun, and tranquillity was restored; the bees thought no more of swarming. An hour afterwards, the sun having again appeared, the tumult was renewed; it rapidly augmented, and the swarm departed." A certain degree of tumult commences as soon as the young queens are hatched, and begin to traverse the hive: the agitation soon pervades the whole bees; and such a ferment soon rages, that M. Huber has often observed the thermometer in the hive to rise suddenly from about 92° to above 104°: this suffocating heat he considers as one of the means employed by nature for urging the bees to go off in swarms. In warm weather, one strong hive has been known to send off four swarms in eighteen days.

The cause of the bees, which has been so eloquently and pathetically pleaded by the Poet of the Seasons, is supported by M. Huber, on a principle more intelligible, perhaps, and more persuasive, to most country bee-masters, viz. interest. He deprecates the destruction of bees, and recommends to the cultivator to be content with a reasonable share of the wealth of the hive; arguing very justly, we believe, that a little taken from each of a number of hives, is ultimately much more profitable than a greater quantity obtained by a total destruction of a few.

We conclude our observations on this curious insect by two poetical quotations.

"Of all the race of animals, alone
The bees have common cities of their own.
Mindful of coming cold, they share the pain,
And hoard for winter's use the summer's gain.
Some o'er the public magazines preside,
And some are sent new forage to provide;
These drudge in fields abroad, and those at home
Lay deep foundations for the labour'd comb;
To pitch the waxen flooring some contrive;
Some nurse the future nation of the hive.
Their toil is common, common is their sleep;
They shake their wings when morn begins to peep:
Rush through the city gates without delay,
Nor ends their work but with declining day."

Churchill, after the following beautiful and picturesque description, introduces a sovereign, drawing from it, in a soliloquy, the most natural reflections on the momentous duties of his station.

"* * * * * *
Strength in her limbs, and on her wings dispatch,
The bee goes forth; from herb to herb she flies,
From flow'r to flow'r, and loads her lab'ring thighs
With treasur'd sweets, robbing those flow'rs, which left,
Find not themselves made poorer by the theft,
Their scents as lively, and their looks as fair,
As if the pillager had not been there.
Ne'er doth she flit on pleasure's silken wing,
Ne'er doth she loit'ring let the bloom of spring
Unrifled pass, and on the downy breast
Of some fair flow'r indulge untimely rest.
Ne'er doth she, drinking deep of those rich dews
Which chemist Night prepar'd, that faith abuse
Due to the hive, and, selfish in her toils,
To her own private use convert the spoils.
Love of the stock first call'd her forth to roam,
And to the stock she brings her honey home."

CHAP. XXIII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(_Continued._)

_The Clothier Bee.--The Carpenter Bee.--The Mason Bee.--The
Upholsterer Bee.--The Leaf-cutter Bee.--Curious Account of an Idiot
Boy and Bees.--Mr. Wildman's Curious Exhibitions of Bees explained._

WILD BEES.

THE CLOTHIER BEE.

Learn each small people's genius, policies,
The ants' republic, and the realm of bees;
How those in common all their wealth bestow
And anarchy without confusion know;
And these for ever, though a monarch reign,
Their separate cells and properties maintain.
Mark what unvary'd laws preserve each state,
Laws, wise as Nature, and as fixt as Fate.
_Pope._

The following curious account of wild bees is principally abridged from Kirby and Spence's very interesting work on entomology.

The clothier bee is a lively and gay insect. It does not excavate holes for their reception, but places them in the cavities of old trees, or of any other object that suits its purpose. Sir Thomas Cullum discovered the nest of one in the inside of the lock of a garden gate, in which Mr. Kirby also since twice found them. It should seem, however, that such situations would be too cold for the grubs without a coating of some non-conducting substance. The parent bee, therefore, after having constructed the cells, laid an egg in each, and filled them with a store of suitable food, plasters them with a covering of vermiform masses, apparently composed of honey and pollen; and having done this, aware (long before Count Rumford's experiments) what materials conduct heat most slowly, she attacks the woolly leaves of Stachy's lanata, Agrostemma coronaria, and similar plants, and with her mandibles industriously scrapes off the wool, which with her fore legs she rolls into a little ball, and carries to her nest. This wool she sticks upon the plaster that covers her cells, and thus closely envelopes them with a warm coating of down, impervious to every change of temperature.

THE CARPENTER BEE.--A numerous family of wild bees may properly be compared to carpenters, boring with incredible labour, out of the solid wood, long cylindrical tubes, and dividing them into various cells. Amongst these, one of the most remarkable is the Apis violacea, L. (Xylacopa, Latr.) a large species, a native of southern Europe, distinguished by beautiful wings of a deep violet colour, and found commonly in gardens, in the upright putrescent espaliers, or vine props, of which, and occasionally in the garden seats, doors, and window-shutters, she makes her nest. In the beginning of spring, after repeated and careful surveys, she fixes upon a piece of wood suitable for her purpose, and with her strong mandibles begins the process of boring. First proceeding obliquely downwards, she soon points her course in a direction parallel with the sides of the wood, and at length with unwearied exertion forms a cylindrical hole or tunnel not less than twelve or fifteen inches long, and half an inch broad. Sometimes, where the diameter will admit of it, three or four of these pipes, nearly parallel with each other, are bored in the same piece. Herculean as this task (which is the labour of several days) appears, it is but a small part of what our industrious bee cheerfully undertakes. As yet she has completed, but the shell of the destined habitation of her offspring; each of which, to the number of ten or twelve, will require a separate and distinct apartment. In excavating her tunnel, she has detached a large quantity of fibres, which lie on the ground like a heap of saw-dust. This material supplies all her wants. Having deposited an egg at the bottom of the cylinder, along with the requisite store of pollen and honey, she next, at the height of about three-quarters of an inch, (which is the depth of each cell,) constructs of particles of the saw-dust glued together, and also to the sides of the tunnel, what may be called an annular stage or scaffolding. When this is sufficiently hardened, its interior edge affords support for a second ring of the same materials, and thus the ceiling is gradually formed of these concentric circles, till there remains only a small orifice in its centre, which is also closed with a circular mass of agglutinated particles of saw-dust. When this partition, which serves as the ceiling of the first cell, and the flooring of the second, is finished, it is about the thickness of a crown piece, and exhibits the appearance of as many concentric circles as the animal has made pauses in her labour. One cell being finished, she proceeds to another, which she furnishes and completes in the same manner, and so on, until she has divided her whole tunnel into ten or twelve apartments.

Such a laborious undertaking as the constructing and furnishing these cells, cannot be the work of one, or even of two days. Considering that every cell requires a store of honey and pollen, not to be collected but with long toil, and that a considerable interval must be spent in agglutinating the floors of each, it will be very obvious that the last egg in the last cell must be laid many days after the first. We are certain, therefore, that the first egg will become a grub, and consequently a perfect bee, many days before the last. What then becomes of it? It is impossible that it should make its escape through eleven superincumbent cells, without destroying the immature tenants; and it seems equally impossible that it should remain patiently in confinement below them until they are all disclosed. This dilemma our heaven-taught architect has provided against. With forethought, never enough to be admired, she has not constructed her tunnel with one opening only, but at the farther end has pierced another orifice, a kind of back door, through which the insects produced by the first-laid eggs successively emerge into day. In fact, all the young bees, even the uppermost, go out by this road; for, by an exquisite instinct, each grub, when about to become a pupa, places itself in its cell, with its head downwards, and thus is necessitated, when arrived at its last state, to pierce its cell in this direction.

We shall now describe THE MASON-BEE.--There is a family of wild bees which carry on the trade of masons, building their solid houses solely of artificial stone. The first step of the mother bee, _Apis mururia, Oliv._ (_Anthophara, F. Megachile, Latr._) is to fix upon a proper situation for the future mansion of her offspring. For this she usually selects an angle, sheltered by any projection, on the south side of a stone wall. Her next care is to provide materials for the structure. The chief of these is sand, which she carefully selects, grain by grain, from such as contain some mixture of earth; these grains she glues together with her viscid saliva into masses the size of small shot,[10] and transports by means of her jaws to the site of her castle. With a number of these masses, which are the artificial stone of which her building is to be composed, united by a cement preferable to ours, she first forms the basis or foundation of the whole. Next she raises the walls of a cell, which is an inch long and half an inch broad, and, before its orifice is closed, in form resembles a thimble. This, after depositing an egg, and a supply of honey and pollen, she covers in, and then proceeds to the erection of a second, which she finishes in the same manner, until the whole number, which varies from four to eight, is completed. The vacuities between the cells, which are not placed in any regular order, some being parallel to the wall, others being perpendicular to it, and others inclined to it at different angles, this laborious architect fills up with the same material of which the cells are composed, and then bestows upon the whole group a common covering of coarser grains of sand. The form of the whole nest, which, when finished, is a solid mass of stone, so hard as not to be easily penetrated with the blade of a knife, is an irregular oblong, of the same colour as the sand, and, to a casual observer, more resembling a splash of mud than an artificial structure. These bees sometimes are more economical of their labour, and repair old nests, for the possession of which they have very desperate combats. One would have supposed that the inhabitants of a castle so fortified might defy the attack of an insect marauder. Yet an ichneumon, and a beetle (_Clerius apiarius, F._) both contrive to introduce their eggs into the cells, and the larvæ proceeding from them devour their inhabitants.--_Reaum._ vi. 57, 58. _Mon. Ap. Angl._ i. 179.

Other bees of the same family use different materials in the construction of their nests. Some employ fine earth made into a kind of mortar made with gluten. Another, (_A. coerulescens, L._) as we learn from De Geer, forms its nest of argillaceous earth, mixed with chalk, upon stone walls, and sometimes probably builds in chalk-pits. _Apis bicornis, L._ selects the hollows of large stones for the site of its dwelling; whilst others prefer the holes in wood.

We now proceed to THE UPHOLSTERER-BEE.--Such may those be denominated which line the holes excavated in the earth for the reception of their young, with an elegant coating of flowers or of leaves. Amongst the most interesting of these is _Apis Papaveris_, (_Megachile, Latr., Anthophora, F._) a species whose manners have been admirably described by Reaumur. This little bee, as though fascinated with the colour most attractive to our eyes, invariably chooses for the hangings of her apartments the most brilliant scarlet, selecting for its material the petals of the wild poppy, which she dexterously cuts into the proper form. Her first process is to excavate in some pathway a burrow, cylindrical at the entrance, but swelled out below, to the depth of about three inches. Having polished the walls of this little apartment, she next flies to a neighbouring field, cuts out oval portions of the flowers of poppies, seizes them between her legs, and returns with them to her cell; and though separated from the wrinkled petal of a half-expanded flower, she knows how to straighten their folds, and, if too large, to fit them for her purpose by cutting off the superfluous parts. Beginning at the bottom, she overlays the walls of her mansion with this brilliant tapestry, extending it also on the surface of the ground round the margin of the orifice. The bottom is rendered warm by three or four coats, and the sides have never less than two. The little upholsterer, having completed the hangings of her apartment, next fills it with pollen and honey to the height of about half an inch; then, after committing an egg to it, she wraps over the poppy lining, so that even the roof may leave this material; and lastly, closes its mouth with a small hillock of earth.--_Reaum._ 6. 139 to 148. The great depth of the cell, compared with the space which the single egg and the accompanying food deposited in it occupy, deserves particular notice. This is not more than half an inch at the bottom, the remaining two inches and a half being subsequently filled with earth.

THE LEAF-CUTTER BEE.--There is a species of wild bee, that cover the walls of their cells with coatings of sober-coloured materials, generally selecting for their hangings the leaves of trees, especially of the rose, whence they have been known by the name of the leaf-cutter bees. They differ also from _A. Papaveris_ in excavating longer burrows, and filling them with several thimble-shaped cells, composed of portions of leaves so curiously convoluted, that, if we were ignorant in what school they have been taught to construct them, we should never credit their being the work of an insect. Their entertaining history, so long ago as 1670, attracted the attention of our countrymen, Ray, Lister, Willoughby, and Sir Edw. King; but we are indebted for the most complete account of the procedure, to Reaumur.

The mother bee first excavates a cylindrical hole eight or ten inches long, in a horizontal direction, either in the ground or in the trunk of a rotten willow-tree, or occasionally in other decaying wood. This cavity she fills with six or seven cells, wholly composed of portions of leaf in the shape of a thimble, the convex end of one closely fitting into the open end of another. Her first process is to form the exterior coating, which is composed of three or four pieces, of larger dimensions than the rest, and of an oval form. The second coating is formed 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 serrate margin of the leaf from which it was taken, which, as the pieces are made to lap one over the other, is kept on the outside, and that which has been cut within. The little animal now forms a third coating of similar materials, the middle of which, as the most skilful workman would do in similar circumstances, she places over the margins of those that form the first tube, thus covering and strengthening the junctures. Repeating 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. Having thus finished a cell, her next business is to fill it, to within half a line of the orifice, with a rose-coloured conserve, composed of honey and pollen, usually collected from the flowers of thistles; and then having deposited her egg, she closes the orifice with three pieces of leaf so exactly circular, that a pair of compasses could not define their margin with more truth, and coinciding so precisely with the walls of the cell, as to be retained in their situation merely by the nicety of their adaptation. After this covering is fitted in, there remains still a concavity, which receives the convex end of the succeeding cell; and in this manner the indefatigable little animal proceeds until she has completed the six or seven cells composing her cylinder.

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; she is not longer about it than we should be with a pair of scissors. After hovering for some moments over a rose bush, as if to reconnoitre the ground, the bee alights upon the leaf which she has selected, usually taking her station upon its edge, so that the margin passes between her legs. With her strong mandibles she cuts without intermission in a curve line, so as to detach a triangular portion. When this hangs by the last fibre, lest its weight should carry her to the ground, she balances her little wings for flight, and the very moment it parts from the leaf, flies off with it in triumph; the detached portion remaining bent between her legs in a direction perpendicular to her body. Thus without rule or compasses do these diminutive creatures mete out the materials of their work into portions of an ellipse, into ovals or circles, accurately accommodating the dimensions of the several pieces of each figure to each other. What other architect could carry impressed upon the tablet of his memory the entire idea 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? Yet this is what our little bee invariably does. So far are human art and reason excelled by the teaching of the Almighty.--_Reaum._ vi. 971-94. _Mor. Ap. Angl._ i. 157. _Apis_ c. 2.

A CURIOUS ACCOUNT OF AN IDIOT BOY, AND BEES.--Mr. White has given the following curious account of an idiot boy. From a child he shewed a strong propensity to bees. They were his food, his amusement, his sole object. In the winter he dozed away his time in his father's house, by the fire-side, in a torpid state, seldom leaving the chimney-corner: but in summer he was all alert, and in quest of his game. Hive-bees, humble-bees, and wasps, were his prey, wherever he found them. He had no apprehension from their stings, but would seize them with naked hands, and at once disarm them of their weapons, and suck their bodies for the sake of their honey-bags. Sometimes he would fill his bosom between his shirt and skin with these insects; and sometimes he endeavoured to confine them in bottles. He was very injurious to men that kept bees, for he would glide into their bee-gardens, and, sitting down before the stools, would rap with his fingers, and so take the bees as they came out. He has even been known to overturn the hives for the sake of the honey, of which he was passionately fond. Where metheglin was making, he would linger round the tubs and vessels, begging a draught of what he called bee-wine. As he ran about, he used to make a humming noise with his lips, resembling the buzzing of bees. This lad was lean and sallow, and of a cadaverous complexion; and, except in his favourite pursuit, in which he was wonderfully adroit, discovered no manner of understanding. Had his capacity been better, and directed to the same object, he had perhaps abated much of our wonder at the feats of a more modern exhibiter of bees; and we may justly say of him now,

--------------------------Thou
Had thy presiding star propitious
Shouldst Wildman be.
_White's Natural History._

We conclude this chapter with an explanation of the preceding lines.

MR. WILDMAN'S CURIOUS EXHIBITIONS OF BEES.--Mr. Wildman, by his dexterity in the management of bees, some years ago, surprised the whole kingdom. He caused swarms to light where he pleased, almost instantaneously; he ordered them to settle on his head, then removed them to his hand, and commanded them to settle on a window, table, &c. at pleasure. We subjoin the method of performing these feats, in his own words: "Long experience has taught me, that as soon as I turn up a hive, and give it some taps on the sides and bottom, the queen immediately appears, to know the cause of this alarm; but soon retires again among her people. Being accustomed to see her so often, I readily perceive her at first glance; and long practice has enabled me to seize her instantly, with a tenderness that does not in the least endanger her person. This is of the utmost importance; for the least injury done to her brings immediate destruction to the hive, if you have not a spare queen to put in her place, as I have too often experienced in my first attempts. When possessed of her, I can, without injury to her, or exciting that degree of resentment that may tempt her to sting me, slip her into my other hand, and, returning the hive to its place, hold her there, till the bees missing her, are all on wing, and in the utmost confusion. When the bees are thus distressed, I place the queen wherever I would have the bees to settle. The moment a few of them discover her, they give notice to those near them, and those to the rest; the knowledge of which becomes so general, that in a few minutes they all collect themselves round her, and are so happy in having recovered this sole support of their state, that they will long remain quiet in their situation: nay, the scent of her body is so attractive of them, that the slightest touch of her along any place or substance, will attach the bees to it, and induce them to any path she takes."--This was the only witchcraft used by Mr. Wildman, and is that alone which is practised by others, who have since made similar exhibitions.

CHAP. XXIV.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(_Continued._)

_The Wasp._

The laws of life, why need I call to mind,
Obey'd by insects, too, of ev'ry kind!
Of these, none uncontroll'd and lawless rove,
But to some destin'd end spontaneous move:
Led by that instinct Heav'n itself inspires,
Or so much reason as their state requires.
See all with skill acquire their daily food,
All use those arms which nature has bestow'd;
Produce their tender progeny, and feed
With care parental, while that care they need.
In these lov'd offices completely blest,
No hopes beyond them, nor vain fears molest.
_Jenyns._

For the following account of the WASP, we are indebted to Kirby and Spence; and we take this opportunity of making a general acknowledgment of our obligations to those gentlemen, for the assistance we have derived from their highly interesting treatise, in drawing up this account of the curiosities respecting insects.

Compared with hive-bees, wasps may be considered as a horde of thieves and brigands: while the bees are peaceful, honest, and industrious subjects; the wasps attack their persons, and plunder their property. Yet, with all this love of pillage and other bad propensities, they are not altogether disagreeable or unamiable; they are brisk and lively; they do not usually attack unprovoked; and their object in plundering us is not purely selfish, but is principally to provide for the support of the young brood of their colonies.

The societies of wasps, like those of ants, and other social _Hymenoptera_, consist of females, males, and workers. The females may be considered as of two sorts: first, the females, by way of eminence, are much larger than any other individuals of the community; they equal six of the workers (from which in other respects they do not materially differ) in weight, and lay both male and female eggs: then the small females, not larger than the workers, which lay only male eggs. This last description of females, which are found also both amongst the humble-bees and hive-bees, were first observed among wasps, by M. Perrot, a friend of Huber's. The large females are produced later than the workers, and make their appearance in the next spring; and whoever then destroys one of them, destroys an entire colony, of which she would be the founder.

Different from the queen-bee, the female wasp is at first an insulated being, that has had the fortune to survive the rigours of winter. When in the spring she lays the foundation of her future empire, she has not a single worker at her disposal; with her own hands and teeth she often hollows out a cave wherein she may lay the first foundations of her paper metropolis: she must herself build the first houses, and produce from her own body their first inhabitants; which in their infant state she must feed and educate, before they can assist her in her great design. At length she receives the reward of her perseverance and labour; and from being a solitary unconnected individual, in the autumn is enabled to rival the queen of the hive in the number of her children and subjects, and in the edifices which they inhabit--the number of cells in a vespiary sometimes amounting to more than sixteen thousand, almost all of which contain either an egg, a grub, or a pupa, and each cell serving for three generations in a year; which, after making every allowance for failures and other casualties, will give a population of at least thirty thousand. Even at this time, when she has so numerous an army of coadjutors, the industry of this creature does not cease, but she continues to set an example of diligence to the rest of the community. If by any accident, before the other females are hatched, the queen-mother perishes, the neuters cease their labours, lose their instincts, and die.

The number of females in a populous vespiary is considerable, amounting to several hundreds; they emerge from the pupa about the latter end of August, at the same time with the males, and fly in September and October, when they pair. Of this large number of females, very few survive the winter. Those that are so fortunate, remain torpid till the vernal sun recalls them to life and action. They then fly forth, collect provision for their young brood, and are engaged in the other labours necessary for laying the foundation of their empire; but in the summer months they are never seen out of the nest.

The male wasps are much smaller than the female, but they weigh as much as two workers. Their antennæ are longer than those of either, not, like theirs, thicker at the end, but perfectly filiform; and their abdomen is distinguished by an additional segment. Their numbers about equal those of the females, and they are produced at the same time. They are not so wholly given to pleasure and idleness as the drones of the hive. They do not, indeed, assist in building the nest, and in the care of the young brood; but they are the scavengers of the community, for they sweep the passages and streets, and carry off all the filth. They also remove the bodies of the dead, which are sometimes heavy burdens for them; in which case two unite their strength, to accomplish the work; or, if a partner be not at hand, the wasp thus employed cuts off the head of the defunct, and so effects its purpose. As they make themselves so useful, they are not, like the male bees, devoted by the workers to an universal massacre when the great end of their creation is answered; but they share the general lot of the community, and are suffered to survive till the cold cuts off them and the workers together.

The workers are the most numerous, and to us the only troublesome part of the community; upon whom devolves the main business of the nest. In the summer and autumnal months they go forth by myriads into the neighbouring country to collect provisions; and on their return to the common den, after reserving a sufficiency for the nutriment of the young brood, they divide the spoil with great impartiality; part being given to the females, part to the males, and part to those workers that have been engaged in extending and fortifying the vespiary. This division is voluntarily made, without the slightest symptom of compulsion. Several wasps assemble round each of the returning workers, and receive their respective portions. It is curious and interesting to observe their motions on this occasion. As soon as a wasp that has been filling itself with the juice of fruits arrives at the nest, it perches upon the top, and, disgorging a drop of its saccharine fluid, is attended sometimes by two at once, who share the treasure; this being thus distributed, a second, and sometimes a third drop, is produced, which falls to the lot of others.

Wasps, though ferocious and cruel towards their fellow-insects, are civilized and polished in their intercourse with each other, and form a community whose architectural labours will not suffer on comparison even with those of the peaceful inhabitants of a bee-hive. Like these, the great object of their industry is the erection of a structure for their beloved progeny, towards which they discover the greatest affection and tenderness, and, like bees, construct combs consisting of hexagonal cells for their reception; but the substance which they make use of is very dissimilar to the wax employed by bees, and the general plan of their city differs in many respects from that of a bee-hive. The common wasp's nest, usually situated in a cavity under ground, is of an oval figure, about sixteen or eighteen inches long, by twelve or thirteen broad. Externally, it is surrounded by a thick coating of numerous leaves of a sort of grayish paper, which do not touch each other, but have a small interval between each, so that if the rain should chance to penetrate one or two of them, its progress is speedily arrested. On removing this external covering, we perceive that the interior consists of from twelve to sixteen circular combs of different sizes, not ranged vertically, as in a bee-hive, but horizontally, so as to form so many distinct and parallel stories. Each comb is composed of a numerous assembiage of hexagonal cells, formed of the same paper-like substance as the exterior covering of the nest, and, according to a discovery of Dr. Barclay, each, as in those of bees, a distinct cell, the partition walls being double.--_Memoirs of the Wernerian Society_, ii. 260. These cells, which, as wasps do not store up any food, serve merely as the habitations of their young, are not, like those of the honey-bee, arranged in two opposite layers, but in one only, their entrance being always downwards: consequently the upper part of the comb, composed of the bases of the cells, which are not pyramidal, but slightly convex, forms a nearly level floor, on which the inhabitants can conveniently pass and repass, spaces of about half an inch high being left between each comb. Although the combs are fixed to the sides of the nest, they would not be sufficiently strong without further support. The ingenious builders, therefore, connect each comb to that below it by a number of strong cylindrical columns or pillars, having, according to the rules of architecture, their base and capital wider than the shaft, and composed of the same paper-like material used in other parts of the nest, but of a more compact substance. The middle combs are connected by a rustic colonnade of from forty to fifty of these pillars; the upper and lower combs by a smaller number.

The cells are of different sizes, corresponding to that of the three orders of individuals which compose the community; the largest for the grubs of females, the smallest for those of workers. The last always occupy an entire comb, while the cells of the males and females are often intermixed. Besides openings which are left between the walls of the combs to admit of access from one to the other, there are at the bottom of each nest two holes, by one of which the wasps uniformly enter, and through the other issue from the nest, and thus avoid all confusion or interruption of their common labours. As the nest is often a foot and a half under ground, it is requisite that a covered way should lead to its entrance. This is excavated by the wasps, who are excellent miners, and is often very long and tortuous, forming a beaten road to the subterranean city, well known to the inhabitants, though its entrance is concealed from curious eyes. The cavity itself, which contains the nest, is either the abandoned habitation of moles or field-mice, or a cavern purposely dug out by the wasps, which exert themselves with such industry as to accomplish the arduous undertaking in a few days.

When the cavity and entrance to it are completed, the next part of the process is to lay the foundations of the city to be included in it, which, contrary to the usual customs of builders, wasps begin at the top, continuing downwards. It has already been observed, that the coatings which compose the dome, are a sort of rough but thin paper, and that the rest of the nest is composed of the same substance variously applied. "Whence do the wasps derive it?" They are manufacturers of the article, and prepare it from a material even more singular than any of those which have of late been proposed for this purpose; namely, the fibres of wood. These they detach by means of their jaws from window-frames, posts, and rails, &c. and, when they have amassed a heap of the filaments, moisten the whole with a few drops of a viscid glue from their mouth, and, kneading it with their jaws into a sort of paste, or _papier mâché_, fly off with it to their nest. This ductile mass they attach to that part of the building upon which they are at work, walking backwards, and spreading it into laminæ of the requisite thinness by means of their jaws, tongue, and legs. This operation is repeated several times, until at length, by aid of fresh supplies of the material, and the combined exertions of so many workmen, the proper number of layers of paper, that are to compose the roof, is finished. This paper is as thin as the leaf you are reading; and you may form an idea of the labour which even the exterior of a wasp's nest requires, on being told that no fewer than fifteen or sixteen sheets of it are usually placed above each other, with slight intervening spaces, making the whole upwards of an inch and a half in thickness. When the dome is completed, the uppermost comb is next begun, in which, as well as all the other parts of the building, precisely the same material and the same process, with little variation, are employed. In the structure of the connecting pillars, there seems a greater quantity of glue made use of than in the rest of the work, doubtless with the view of giving them superior solidity. When the first comb is finished, the continuation of the roof or walls of the building is brought down lower; a new comb is erected; and thus the work successively proceeds until the whole is finished. As a comparatively small proportion of the society is engaged in constructing the nest, its entire completion is the work of several months: yet, though the fruit of such severe labour, it has scarcely been finished a few weeks before winter comes on, when it merely serves for the abode of a few benumbed females, and is entirely abandoned at the approach of spring, as wasps are never known to use the same nest for more than one season.

There is good reason for thinking, and the opinion had the sanction of the late Sir Joseph Banks, that wasps have sentinels placed at the entrances of their nests, which, if you can once seize and destroy, the remainder will not attack you. This is confirmed by an observation of Mr. Knight, in the Philosophical Transactions, (vol. 1. 2d Ed. p. 505;) that if a nest of wasps be approached without alarming the inhabitants, and all communication be suddenly cut off between those out of the nest and those within it, no provocation will induce the former to defend it and themselves. But if one escapes from within, it comes with a very different temper, and appears commissioned to avenge public wrongs, and prepared to sacrifice its life in the execution of its orders. He discovered this when quite a boy.

In October, wasps seem to become less savage and sanguinary; for even flies, of which, earlier in the summer, they are the pitiless destroyers, may be seen to enter their nests with impunity. It is then, probably, that they begin to be first affected by the approach of the cold season, when nature teaches them it is useless longer to attend to their young. They themselves all perish, except a few of the females, upon the first attack of frost.

Reaumur, from whom most of these observations are taken, put the nests of wasps under glass hives, and succeeded so effectually in reconciling these little restless creatures to them, that they carried on their various works under his eye.

CHAP. XXV.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.--(_Continued._)

_Ants--White Ants--Green Ants--Visiting Ants--The Ant-Lion._

These emmets, how little they are in our eyes!
We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies
Without our regard or concern:
Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school,
There's many a sluggard, and many a fool,
A lesson of wisdom might learn.
_Watts._

The societies of ANTS, as also of other _Hymenoptera_, differ from those of the Termites, in having inactive larvæ and pupæ, the neuter, or workers, combining in themselves both the military and civil functions. Besides the helpless larvæ and pupæ, which have no locomotive powers, these societies consist of females and workers. The office of the females, at their first exclusion distinguished by a pair of ample wings, (which however, they soon cast,) is the foundation of new colonies, and the furnishing of a constant supply of eggs, for the maintenance of the population in the old nests, as well as in the new. These are usually the least numerous part of the community.

Gould indeed says, that the males and females are nearly equal in number, p. 62; but from Huber's observations it seems to follow that the former are the most numerous, p. 96.

Upon the workers devolves, except in nascent colonies, all the work, as well as the defence of the community, of which they are the most numerous portion.

In the warm days that occur from the end of July to the beginning of September, and sometimes later, the habitations of the various species of ants may be seen to swarm with winged insects, which are the males and females, preparing to quit for ever the scene of their nativity and education. Every thing is in motion: and the silver wings, contrasted with the jet bodies which compose the animated mass, add a degree of splendour to the interesting scene. The bustle increases, till at length the males rise, as it were by a general impulse, into the air, and the females accompany them. The whole swarm alternately rises and falls with a slow movement to the height of about ten feet, the males flying obliquely with a rapid zigzag motion; and the females, though they follow the general movement of the column, appearing suspended in the air, like balloons, seemingly with no individual motion, and having their heads turned towards the wind.

Sometimes the swarms of a whole district unite their infinite myriads, and, seen at a distance, produce an effect resembling the flashing of an aurora borealis. Rising with incredible velocity in distinct columns, they soar above the clouds. Each column looks like a kind of slender net-work, and has a tremulous undulating motion, which has been observed to be produced by the regular alternate rising and falling just alluded to. The noise emitted by myriads and myriads of these creatures, does not exceed the hum of a single wasp. The slightest zephyr disperses them; and if in their progress they chance to be over your head, if you walk slowly on, they will accompany you, and regulate their motions by yours.

Captain Haverfield, R. N. gives an account of an extraordinary appearance of ants observed by him in the Medway, in the autumn of 1814, when he was first-lieutenant of the Clorinde; which is confirmed by the following letter, addressed by the surgeon of that ship, now Dr. Bromley, to Mr. Mac Leay.

"In September, 1814, being on the deck of the bulk to the Clorinde, my attention was drawn to the water by the first-lieutenant (Haverfield) observing there was something black floating down with the tide. On looking with a glass, I discovered they were insects. The boat was sent, and brought a bucket full of them on board; they proved to be a large species of ant, and extended from the upper part of Salt-pan Reach out towards the Great Nore, a distance of five or six miles. The column appeared to be in breadth eight or ten feet, and in height about six inches, which I suppose must have been from their resting one upon another." Purchas seems to have witnessed a similar phenomenon on shore. "Other sorts (of ants)," says he, "there are many, of which some become winged, and fill the air with swarms, which sometimes happens in England. On Bartholomew-day, 1613, I was in the island of Foulness, on our Essex shore, where were such clouds of these flying pismires, that we could no where flee from them, but they filled our clothes; yea, the floors of some houses where they fell were in a manner covered with a black carpet of creeping ants; which, they say, drown themselves about that time of the year in the sea."--_Pilgrimage_, 1090. These ants were winged; but whence this immense column came, was not ascertained. From the numbers here accumulated, one would think that all the ant-hills of the counties of Kent and Surrey could scarcely have furnished a sufficient number of males and females to form it.

When Colonel Sir Augustus Frazer, of the Horse Artillery, was surveying, on the 6th of October, 1813, the scene of the battle of the Pyrenees, from the summit of the mountain called Pena de Aya, or Les Quatre Couronnes, he and his friends were enveloped with a swarm of ants, so numerous as entirely to intercept their view, so that they were glad to remove to another station, in order to get rid of these troublesome little creatures.

The females that escape from the injury of the elements and their various enemies, become the founders of new colonies, doing all the work that is usually done by the neuters. M. P. Huber has found incipient colonies,[11] in which were only a few workers engaged with their mother in the care of a small number of larvæ; and M. Perrot, his friend, once discovered a small nest, occupied by a solitary female, who was attending upon four pupa only. Such is the foundation and first establishment of those populous nations of ants with which we every where meet.

But though the majority of females produced in a nest probably thus desert it, all are not allowed this liberty. The prudent workers are taught by their instinct, that the existence of their community depends upon the presence of a sufficient number of females. Some, therefore, that are fecundated in or near the spot, they forcibly detain, pulling off their wings, and keeping them prisoners till they are ready to lay their eggs, or are reconciled to their fate. De Geer, in a nest of _F. rufa_, observed that the workers compelled some females that were come out of the nest to re-enter it; (vol. ii. 1071,)--and from M. P. Huber we learn, that, being seized at the moment of fecundation, they are conducted into the interior of the formicary, when they become entirely dependent upon the neuters, who, hanging pertinaciously to each leg, prevent their going out, but at the same time attend upon them with the greatest care, feeding them regularly, and conducting them where the temperature is suitable to them, but never quitting them a single moment. By degrees these females become reconciled to their condition, and lose all desire of making their escape; their abdomen enlarges, and they are no longer detained as prisoners, yet each is still attended by a body-guard, a single ant, which always accompanies her, and prevents her wants. Its station is remarkable, being mounted upon her abdomen, with its posterior legs upon the ground. These sentinels are constantly relieved; and to watch the moment when the female begins the important work of oviposition, and carry off the eggs, of which she lays four or five thousand or more in the course of the year, seems to be their principal office.

When the female is acknowledged as a mother, the workers begin to pay her a homage very similar to that which the bees render to their queen. All press round her, offer her food, conduct her by her mandibles through the difficult or steep passages of the formicary; nay, they sometimes even carry her about their city: she is then suspended upon their jaws, the ends of which are crossed; and, being coiled up like the tongue of a butterfly, she is packed so close as to incommode the carrier but little. When these set her down, others surround and caress her, one after another tapping her on the head with their antennæ.

"In whatever apartment (says Gould) a queen condescends to be present, she commands obedience and respect. A universal gladness spreads itself through the whole cell, which is expressed by particular acts of joy and exultation. They have a particular way of skipping, leaping, and standing upon their hind-legs, and prancing with the others. These frolics they make use of, both to congratulate each other when they meet, and to shew their regard for the queen: some of them walk gently over her, others dance round her; she is generally encircled with a cluster of attendants, who, if you separate them from her, soon collect themselves into a body, and inclose her in the midst." Nay, even if she dies, as if they were unwilling to believe it, they continue sometimes for months the same attentions to her, and treat her with the same courtly formality as if she were alive, and they will brush her and lick her incessantly.

That the ants, though they are mute animals, have the means of communicating to each other information of various occurrences, and use a kind of language which is mutually understood, will appear evident from the following facts.

If those at the surface of a nest are alarmed, it is wonderful in how short a time the alarm spreads through the whole nest. It runs from quarter to quarter; the greatest inquietude seems to possess the community; and they carry with all possible dispatch their treasures, the larvæ and pupæ, down to the lowest apartments. Amongst those species of ants that do not go much from home, sentinels seem to be stationed at the avenues of their city. "Disturbing once the little heaps of earth thrown up at the entrances into the nest of _F. flava_, which is of this description, (says Huber,) I was struck by observing a single ant immediately come out, as if to see what was the matter, and this three separate times."

The _F. herculanea, L._ inhabits the trunks of hollow trees on the Continent, for it has not yet been found in England, upon which they are often passing to and fro. M. Huber observed, that when he disturbed those that were at the greatest distance from the rest, they ran towards them, and, striking their head against them, communicated their cause of fear or anger that these, in their turn, conveyed in the same way the intelligence to others, till the whole colony was in a ferment, those neuters which were within the tree running out in crowds to join their companions in the defence of their habitation. The same signals that excited the courage of the neuters, produced fear in the males and females, which, as soon as the news of the danger was thus communicated to them, retreated into the tree as to an asylum.