My apology for writing a Bee-Book is as follows:--I sent _The Times_
an account of a very successful honey harvest about the end of July,
containing some observations on the treatment of bees, and the profits
that might accrue to the cottager were he to take the right and humane
way of taking honey from his hives. This communication appears to have
interested many, for in consequence of it, persons desirous of information
wrote to the Editor of _The Times_, requesting in confidence the name of
the Bee-master, in order that they might correspond with him. The Editor
declined to give it up without my consent, which I felt it expedient
to withhold. But to satisfy those who took so warm an interest in the
subject, I addressed a series of letters to _The Times_, explanatory
of some of the simplest elements of apiculture. These excited so great
interest, that I received multitudes of letters addressed to "_The Times_
Bee-master," which it was physically impossible to answer. But most of my
correspondents complained of the obscurity and complexity of bee-books in
general, and earnestly begged me to prepare a work they could understand
and translate into practice. I have attempted to do so, strengthening my
own observations by valuable extracts from the works of others. I am not,
however, insensible to the great value, wide research, and real usefulness
of the works I have carefully and long read. The first and most useful,
as well as most beautiful modern work on bees, is "My Bee-Book," by the
Rev. William Charles Cotton, M.A., student of Christ Church, Oxon. It is
profusely illustrated, and is the most genial and instructive work on bees
it has been my lot to read. I have felt so great an interest in this good
clergyman, that it often occurred to me to try to ascertain where he was
and what he was doing. My own communications to _The Times_, among many
interesting letters, brought me one signed "An Australian," which, though
long, contains amid much interesting matter some notice of the author of
"My Bee-Book." The reader will not, I am sure, complain of its length.
Sir,--It may be interesting to you, whose letters in _The Times_ have
so delighted me, to hear that my experience in _Australia_ of the
habits, instincts, and affections (if I may so apply the word) of your
little favourites is identical with your own. From early childhood I
shared my father's interest in his pets; and at one time I could have
counted upwards of ninety hives in the two apiaries which he kept for
his own amusement, and for the encouragement of those who were willing
to keep bees. Everyone was welcome to a swarm who cared to ask for
one. I may give some curious facts as to the sagacity and gratitude
of these insects. During the prevalence of the hot winds, it sometimes
happens that the delicate comb melts, and the first indication is a
stream of melted honey and smothering bees. I have been called to the
rescue, and have taken up honey and bees in my hands, placed them
in a basin of tepid water, and spread my fingers as landing-stages
until all capable of restoration have plumed their wings and buzzed
gratefully away, and so on until order and comfort was restored to the
disturbed hive. I _never_ was stung on any occasion whilst working
amongst the bees, and only twice that I remember, and then by meeting
an angry bee accidentally in the garden. The buzz of an angry bee
is quite well known to their lovers. On one occasion a swarm met my
sister, and actually began to settle on her hand and arm. She knew
their ways, and walked very slowly on (of course surrounded by bees)
until she found what she considered a comfortable bough, under which
she held her hand. The queen adopted the suggestion, and after a few
minutes' patiently standing amidst the confusion, she quietly retired,
and, as you _will_ believe, unharmed.
Of course we could not house all our swarms, so they went off to the
woods and found habitations in gum-trees hollowed out by the action of
fires through the bush. I recollect one swarm, however, belonging to
a neighbour, which preferred its old quarters, and actually built the
combs and filled them with honey _suspended_ from beneath the shelf
upon which the hives were ranged in the open air. Its ultimate fate I
do not remember.
Bees have many enemies in Australia; the greatest is probably the
sugar-ant. To protect them from these intruders, we had the hives
ranged on shelves, the supports of which stood in wide vessels of
water, alike a protection against other foes. The apiaries were
built open in front and ends, against a wall, with thatched roof and
overhanging eaves; and there was a space between the shelf on which
the hives stood and the wall, where one could sit or stand and watch
them; for most of our hives were square, made of wood, with glass
sides and wooden shutters; and the bees were so accustomed to be
looked at, that they kept their side of the glass quite clean, and
generally built a smooth surface of comb next the glass, leaving space
to move between the comb and the glass; and I have often seen the
queen, surrounded by her admiring subjects (exactly as you describe)
making her progress across the comb, each attendant bee with its head
next her majesty, fanning with its wings, and one could hear a _purr_
of satisfaction.
The antipathies of the bee are very curious. I have known one
individual who was chased perpetually round the garden, and I have
seen him obliged to rush through a hedge to escape his little
tormentors. Their feuds were sometimes most violent, and I have had to
remove a hive from one apiary to the other, a distance of half a mile,
to preserve the bees. Your plan of the super-hives is excellent. Most
of our hives were square, and all of wood. The straw hives proved a
harbour for insects, and deprived us of the pleasure of watching the
bees at work. We used large confectioners' glasses as supers, turned
upside down. They were speedily filled, and we could ensure honey
flavoured with the different blossoms, by placing the glass during the
season of the orange-blossom, or heliotrope, &c., &c.
Our chief guide in the management was a book written by the Rev. Mr.
Cotton, called "My Bee-Book;" and it may be interesting to mention,
that when in after years that gentleman accompanied the Bishop of New
Zealand to that country, via Australia, he was my father's guest. Mr.
Cotton's delight at finding his favourites so appreciated was only
equalled by our pleasure in meeting the author of "My Bee-Book;" but,
sad to say, _our_ bees conceived a dislike to their visitor; and upon
his exhibiting his fearlessness in handling bees, he was stung (much
to the amusement of some _small_ bystanders) by two wicked bees. A
relation of my own kept her bees in the verandah of her drawing-room;
and she has frequently cut out of the hive a large piece of comb,
taking care not to break it, and merely cutting through the little
connecting links of wax which support the layers of comb; and this she
could do with impunity from the super of a busy hive, simply because
she lived amongst her bees. Hoping that this letter may not have
wearied you,