"What can be the necessity for subjecting sugar to the temperature of
300 degrees, and rendering it so hard that weak hives are not able to
take as much as keep them alive, when the same amount of sugar made
to the consistency of their natural food would enable them to live?
Common sense would indicate to anyone that in artificial feeding the
nearer we approach their natural food the better; but it may be that
it is hard honey which this wiseacre's bees gather for him, and that
the flowers in Kent give different food than those in Scotland! Let
anyone observe the time a bee takes to fill itself on barley-sugar and
the time from sugar Syrup, and the labour spent on the former to that
of the latter, and he will soon see the difference between the two.
And the only reason the writer gave, in answer to a correspondent,
for giving the barley-sugar is, 'that the other clogged the feet and
smeared the wings of the bees.' Now, everyone must be aware that a few
straws in the dish prevents this. Again, he says that 'the only vice
among bees is their passionate liking for rum and strong ale; but the
tee-totallers would fairly reply that they never care about either
unless it is pressed upon them.' And I say they would reply truly, for
I maintain that the bees will not touch either rum or ale unless they
are saturated with sugar or honey. But why be at the expense of the
one or the other, when they will take it made with pure water before
either?"
* * * * *
He must be in the habit of bolting his oatmeal pottage, or he never would
have inferred that sipping its food in ten minutes is more conducive to
the health and digestion of the bee than sipping it in half an hour. His
remarks on ale and rum are merely a translation of the nonsense spoken by
his original. But, in common with his co-partners in criticism, he thinks
the Bee-master's sole design in writing the letters in _The Times_ was
to puff his forthcoming work on bees. This mean and contemptible charge
is best met by the simple and truthful answer, that the Bee-master had
no more idea of writing a book on bees than of describing Mount Radnor
or Yester Gardens. His purpose to do so arose from the urgent request of
literally hundreds of correspondents.
On my suggestion as to the purpose and object of two thousand drones or
male bees being produced, when there is only one perfect female--the
queen--the writer observes:--
"In one of his letters in answer to correspondents, 'Why there are
so many drones in a hive, and only one princess?' he confesses it a
hard problem. But one part seems to him very clear--'When the queen's
countless eggs come to be hatched, the temperature of the hive must
be raised to 85° or 95°. The fat, round, and lazy drones are really
the fuel. They accordingly give out great heat.' Had the writer really
known anything about bees, he could never have made such a statement.
If the drones are the fuel to keep up the heat, why is it that they
are never found in the hives till May or June--in this part of the
country, at least--after thousands of bees have been hatched? If they
were the fuel, surely one would expect them to be the first eggs which
were laid by the queen, according to his theory; but a queen will
begin laying workers' eggs in January, and yet lay no drone eggs till
May, just when the warm weather commences. Now, if they were required
for heat, naturally Ave would expect them to be found before May, and
they commence killing them in August, when the cold weather begins."
Now, the fact is, it is in May and June that drones are wanted to keep
up the heat. Half the bees are out at work, the means of maintaining the
temperature are therefore diminished. The drones remain at home, unless
during the noonday heat, when they take an airing, and can best be spared.
* * * * *
My first letter to _The Times_ was a report of the prospects of the honey
harvest, as follows:--
I have ten stock-hives. I never destroy or kill my bees. I look on the
system of the sulphur match as barbarous and unprofitable. I leave
each family on an average not less than twenty-five pounds of honey
for their winter stores, and the surplus only I take away. Should any
hive swarm, which I can generally prevent, and the remaining stock
be therefore deficient in provision for the winter, I feed them in
the course of the early spring with barley-sugar. This and other
little attentions endear the bee-master to his bees, as they are very
susceptible of gratitude and have long memories.
A hive is very like a church: when, in May, it increases rapidly in
numbers and the temperature rises inside, you either increase their
accommodation in area or in height, or you will have a secession.
Should a secession take place, bees set an example ecclesiastics might
copy. The new church never falls out with the old one. Side by side
they work in perfect harmony, believing there is plenty of food for
both. The only incidental mischief-maker is the wasp; whether he be
prelate or presbyter I cannot say, but I know well he is a thief and
intruder, and after a fight, the bees, who in this matter are rigid
non-intrusionists, eject, maim, or kill him--and he deserves it.
Queen Victoria's Court is modelled on the apiarian queen's. You may
see the queen-bee, by means of my glass windows, going her rounds and
giving orders, with her royal ladies, who never turn their backs on
her majesty. The exceptional instance occurred on one occasion when it
became necessary to give a rather sickly establishment rum and sugar,
of which they drank to excess and got drunk. As long as the stimulus
lasted, the monarchy became a fierce democracy, and queen and subjects
were confounded in the _mélée_.
The only vice among bees is their passionate liking for rum and strong
ale. But the teetotaller would fairly reply, that they never care
about either unless it is pressed upon them.
My bees at present have begun the massacre of the drones. These are
a sort of Benedictine monks, who, like Brother Ignatius, prefer
enjoyment to hard work. They are round, fat, and lazy, making much
noise, and eating of stores to which they do not contribute.... But
you want to hear about the harvest?
In one square box there are forty pounds of honey, and in a
corresponding super rapidly filling up, there is likely to be for me
as much more.
In three Scotch or Ayrshire octagonal hives, which I have found to
answer best of any, the three supers are in two almost full; and in
one there is at least forty pounds weight in the super, and over the
super is a bell-glass with seven or eight pounds additional.
In one of Neighbours' very beautiful straw hives I have two
bell-glasses almost full, and a month ago I removed from this hive a
very beautiful glass of honey.
In one of Pettitt's lateral hives, the bees passed through the
subterranean archway a month ago, and have nearly filled this
compartment. On this, also, I have placed a super bell-glass, which is
beautifully stored.
From a common cottage straw hive I removed a bell-glass super three
weeks ago weighing eighteen pounds.
This season I shall have nearly two hundred pounds weight of surplus
honey, and yet leave in each hive more than enough to last the
producers till April, 1865. Why should not cottagers cultivate bees?
There is nothing to pay for pasture, very little labour is required,
and that labour amusing, in taking care of them, and for very early
virgin honey there may be had one shilling and sixpence or two
shillings and sixpence a pound. The poor cottager might thus easily
pay his rent. If landlords could only convince them that the old
system of burning the bees in order to get the stock honey--which
is at best inferior--is not only cruel but unprofitable, they would
do an essential service. The poor peasant would have an interesting
amusement after his day's work, and a contribution towards his rent on
the year's end.
* * * * *
Bees and Bee-hives.
_To the Editor of "The Times."_
Sir,--Since my letter appeared in your columns on "the Honey Harvest,"
I have received from yourself various communications from rectors,
vicars, curates, &c., who feel a very great interest in bee-keeping
as a social and commercial question. I have also received letters
addressed to me as "_The Times_ Bee-master," which the postman,
guided by some remarkable instinct, has placed in my hands. Most
of these letters invite confidential and personal communication on
this subject, and record a variety of questions, difficulties, and
perplexities which have injured or arrested the apiarian enterprises
of the writers. I prefer to answer some of their inquiries through
your columns, believing that the interest and importance of all
that tends to benefit the cottager will ever find a place or a
defence in _The Times_. The most urgent questions in the letters of
my correspondents refer to the hives I employ, and which I briefly
described in my letter. The first I mentioned is the Scotch or
Ayrshire octagonal hive. It is made of thoroughly seasoned deal, in
the form of a hexagon, about eight inches in height, and sixteen
inches diameter. On the top is a series of parallel slits, extending
from front to back, which I open or shut by a series of corresponding
deal slides. On receiving a swarm in April or May, I introduce the
slides, and thereby close up the top of the box. On finding--as in
fine weather I am sure to find in three or four weeks--that the box is
full, I place on the top another hexagonal box, in all respects the
same in size and shape, and draw out the slides, and thereby introduce
the bees to the vacant upper chamber. As each box has a window, I
am thus able to ascertain progress. When this upper box is filled
with honey, I may place on the top of it another precisely the same,
drawing out the slides on the top of the second box, and introducing
the bees to a third story But usually I prefer, for the sake of the
beauty of it, a bell-glass, greater or less as the season may suggest.
I have found this hive by far the most successful. It seems the bees,
who construct their cells in the form of hexagons, prefer the house
in which they work to be very much of the same shape. A cottager may
very easily make these boxes in the long winter evenings. The second
kind of hive I alluded to is made of straw, and may be purchased at
Neighbours', in Holborn. The greatest disadvantage is its expense,
costing, as it does, thirty shillings. But it is so well made that
it will last very long. I have had one in constant use during ten
years, and it is still as good as when it was bought. Its top is
flat, with three longitudinal apertures, closed till full with zinc
slides. About the end of May, in a good year, I draw out the slides,
after placing over each a good-sized bell-glass; and in July I have
often had in each glass seven or eight pounds of honey. The reason
of the failure of this hive is the coldness of the glass, which
Neighbours' additional super straw hive or cover does not mend. But
if my correspondents will get a piece of thick Scotch plaid made like
a nightcap, and case each glass with this, they will find the bees use
it as readily as a wood or straw hive, and there will be no moisture
from condensation of the bees' breath inside.
The third sort of hive is Pettitt's, of Snargate, Dover. It is worked
on the lateral system, and of its kind is a perfect gem. Two boxes
are placed on one floor, with a subterranean communication between
them. On stocking the box on the right, a zinc slide is introduced,
which shuts off the communication. As soon as the box is full, the
slide is withdrawn and the communication laid open. The bees take
possession of the other box on the left, and fill it with pure honey.
When my harvest comes, I shut off the communication, and remove the
left-hand box full of honey. You will perceive that my principle of
action proceeds on the notion that the bottom box of the Ayrshire
or Scotch hive, the straw box of Neighbours', and the right-hand
box of Pettitt's, are each the sacred property of my bees, which I
feel it larceny to lessen or disturb, and that the surplus is the
tithe or portion of the bee-master. The ruinous blunder of country
bee-keepers is their taking honey from the former--honey, too, mixed
with brood and bees' bread and the films of the young grubs. In
this, the department I never touch, the queen presides with her
ladies-in-waiting; and in any one of these, if the bees have filled
the additional supers or laterals, there is abundance for all her
subjects during the winter.
In some of the letters you have been good enough to send me, the
expense of these hives is urged as a fatal objection as far as the
cottager is concerned. Let me therefore explain my last and cheapest
plan--not best, but cheapest.
Place the swarm in a common shilling straw hive. When you ascertain,
either by its weight or the busy working of the bees, that it is
full, take a square board, about a foot square; cut in the centre
of it a round hole three or four inches in diameter; place on it a
bell-glass, or what is cheaper, a smaller straw hive. Take a sharp
table-knife, and go to the hive about twelve o'clock at noon, when
most of the bees are out working; cut out the top of the straw hive,
making a round aperture of four or five inches in diameter, and place
on it the board with the bell-glass, or lesser straw super, covering
the glass with its nightcap, and you have everything you can desire.
If, in cutting the hole on the top of the stock hive, you hesitate or
lose your self-possession, the watcher bees will attack you. Decision
invariably paralyses them for the moment, and secures your safety.
These glasses or supers are removed by cutting through between the
board and the lower edge of the super with a zinc plate, on which you
carry off the super full of surplus honey, placing over the hole at
the top of the stock a flat board or an empty super. From one straw
hive treated in this way I carried off eighteen pounds of honey at
the beginning of July this year. I ought to add, that I keep my hives
of every sort under cover of wooden sheds, accessible from behind by
means of doors that let down. During the winter, I cover up the hives
in the sheds each with paper, and thereby I keep them warm. As the
spring approaches, I give the lightest an occasional half-pound of
barley-sugar. This barley-sugar I get at Kilner's, in Hanway-street,
Oxford-street, before it is mixed with scent or lemon-acid. Common
sugar is of no use. To be available to the bee, to suit a lambent
insect, it must have been exposed to a heat of 300° Fahrenheit, in
order to reduce crystallisable to uncrystallisable sugar. As I am
answering your and my correspondents, I had better add a few useful
hints.
Get acquainted with your bees; they are naturally very affectionate. I
have frequently hived swarms, filling each hand with clusters of bees,
and rarely have I received a sting. I have sat in the midst of them
for hours, and weary bees have rested on me, and have entered their
homes singing a song of thanks.
They have several bitter enemies besides the wasp. I used to see
toads frequently sitting under the landing-board, and only recently
discovered they were there "seeking whom they could devour." On one
of these ugly visitors being laid open, his maw was found filled
with bees which he had sucked into his ugly jaws. The tom-tit, also,
is a dangerous little enemy. He perches on the landing-place of the
bees on a wet day, taps with his bill, apparently inquiring after
the health of the inmates; a watcher bee comes out to reconnoitre,
and is instantly snapped up by the wicked hypocrite. The spider,
also, catches weary bees in his web; but the occasional use of a
brush disposes of this peril. The snail, attracted by the warmth,
occasionally creeps in. The bees successively attack him, but find
their stings blunted and broken by the shell, as shot is by our
iron-sides. Failing to injure or remove the intruder, they have
recourse to a plan which indicates more than instinct They cover
him up with propolis, a kind of gum which they use for stopping
up crevices; and not only does he die from want of air, but he is
prevented from giving forth offensive odour by the air-tight case or
shroud.
The most attentive bee-master occasionally gets stung. I have
discovered a cure not found in the pharmacopœia. Press a watch-key
hard on the place after removing the sting--this prevents the poison
from spreading; then apply moist snuff or tobacco, rubbing it well in,
and in five minutes all pain is gone. This is a never-failing remedy.
I have entered into these details, because from the correspondence
you have sent me, and from letters that have reached me, it is
evident that a great interest has been excited by my communication,
and because it is of great social importance. Many a poor curate and
ill-paid vicar, and many a cottager with time to spare and his rent
to pay, may thus add to their income. My bees feed over an area of
six miles, improving every flower they touch, and robbing nobody.
Tunbridge Wells is one of the best bee-districts in England, and this
alone is evidence of its being a healthy district. Bees never get on
in unhealthy places.
Apologising for this long communication, I am, &c.,
A Bee-master.
Tunbridge Wells, July 27.
* * * * *
Bees and Bee-hives,
_To the Editor of "The Times!"_
Sir,--The letters that reach me addressed to "_The Times_ Bee-master"
are legion. I can now form some idea of the weight of the load that
must press on your shoulders every day; but I confess I had no notion
of the extent of the interest that these letters prove to exist in
apiarian culture. I select such difficulties from the letters before
me as I have not disposed of, and these I would endeavour to overcome.
A very often repeated question is--What is the best way of hiving bees
or securing a swarm? Let me at once state that the old and inveterate
habit in Kent of beating a kettle, striking the tongs with the poker,
and raising similar discordant sounds, is utterly absurd. They do not
affect the bees. In swarming, the old queen abdicates and heads the
swarm, and a young queen mounts the throne in the hive. The outgoing
queen, followed by five thousand or six thousand bees, either _ex
proprio motu_, or guided by pioneer scouts, selects a rose-bush, or a
cozy opening in a laurel-hedge, and all her subjects hang on, forming
a cluster of bees as large as the largest bunch of grapes. As soon as
they have nearly all settled, take your empty hive or bee-box, which
must be thoroughly dean, as bees hate dirt and slovenliness; turn
the hive or box bottom upwards, hold it in your left hand under the
cluster of bees, lay hold of the branch on which the bees hang with
your right hand, and shake down the swarm into your empty hive. Place
the hive bottom downward on a bee-board laid on the grass close by,
raise up the edge by inserting a wedge or stone about two inches in
size, and cover the top of the hive with a cloth or a few branches to
keep off the sun heat. If the queen is inside, which is usually the
case, the bees will steadily enter and remain. If by your awkwardness
you have left her in the hedge with her ladies-in-waiting, the bees
will return to the hedge, and you will have all to begin anew. As soon
as they are comfortably housed, carry the hive to the shed under which
it is to stand, and do not look at it or touch it for three days.
You need not be afraid of stings unless you rudely and violently
meddle with the queen. If you thus interfere with her, the watcher
bees will sound the alarm, and a thousand stings, like swords, will be
unsheathed; but, otherwise, they are so absorbed with her majesty that
they do not fly at a prudent and fearless bee-master.
A very important inquiry, repeated in several letters, is, on removing
the super, whether of glass or straw, how are the bees to be
expelled, that the honey alone may thus be secured?
All the plans of tapping, beating, and smoking are bad. Tobacco-smoke,
and smokers generally, bees have a mortal hatred to. Bees have
other personal antipathies, but the horrid scent of a tobacco-pipe
in a visitor's pocket either induces them disdainfully to shun all
acquaintance, or provokes them to make an attack.
Your best way of removing a super full of honey, with bees, of course,
in the spaces not full of comb, is to carry it about one hundred
yards away from the hive. Wedge up the glass on one side from the
zinc plate on which you have carried it, and the bees will leave in
the course of an hour or two, and fly home. They very soon discover
their separation from their queen, and under this feeling they lose
all courage, and give up defending the very property they would have
died fighting for when connected with the parent hive. The exceptional
case is where there may be, what is very rare in a super, a portion
of young brood--always in such cases drone-brood. This they refuse to
desert. They do not attack, but, as if placed sentries by their queen,
they insist on continuing at their post. The only course in such a
case is to cut out the brood cells and put them away, as they are not
likely to be wanted, and the bees will then return to the stock hive,
report, I suppose, and receive future orders. In removing a super in
August, when the bee ceases to accumulate in Kent, you must take care
not to do so on the windward side of your hives, as the scent of honey
will bring your visitors from every hive, who will rob you of all.
If in this month you find it difficult to escape the robbers, carry
your super into your cottage, near a window, and expose one side of
the super to the window--the side having egress for the bees. Very
soon great numbers will fly to the window-panes, and by opening it for
a few minutes they will rush out, and robber bees will have no time to
enter.
I have been asked--Who and what is the queen, and who are those lazy
abbots I referred to as drones? The queen is nearly twice the length
of the common bee, of elegant proportions and shape. On seeing her,
you would at once pronounce her a duchess or a queen. But it is a
singular fact, and well worthy the consideration of sanitary students,
that she rises originally from the ranks, and that treatment makes
all the difference. The egg deposited seems the same as that of
the ordinary bee, but we find it always laid in a cell three times
the size of common cells. As soon as the young queen comes from
the egg, numbers of nurse bees wait on her; she receives finer and
more delicate food, more air, a warmer, larger, and nicer house,
and apparently she is the creation of circumstances. She is the
only female bee. The working-bees are neuters, really imperfectly
developed females; the queen's husband is a drone. With queenly
prerogative and dignity she selects her consort, and off they fly on a
wedding-trip, and spend the honeymoon amid sunshine and flowers. But
it is asked--Why are there so many drones in a hive, if there is only
one wife? This is a very hard problem. But one part of it seems to me
very clear. When the Queen's countless eggs come to be hatched, the
temperature of the hive must be raised to 85° or 90° Fahrenheit. The
bees must go out of doors to work. The fat, round, and lazy drones are
really the fuel. They accordingly give out heat when most wanted. Mr.
Cotton holds this view also. This year I had two stock-hives during
breeding that stood, from 10 to 4 o'clock, at 95° Fahrenheit. We thus
learn that fat old gentlemen are of use, and that Mr. Banting's system
is not always wise or expedient. There are in a good hive three or
four royal cells; consequently, three or four queens will turn up.
What follows? If the heat be great and additional room withheld, the
old queen will abdicate and head a secession--in apiarian language,
a swarm--and the next senior queen will ascend the throne. If there
be still no increase of room allowed, she, too, will secede and head
a second secession--in apiarian phrase, a caste--usually feeble,
requiring when hived to be fed, and rarely a desirable issue. But
when increased space is given, and a drawing-room is added to the
dining-room, and boudoirs to the nursery, I am asked what follows. Do
the princesses live together in harmony? My answer, from very careful
observation, reveals a sad fact--a fact I cannot suppose to have been
instituted in Paradise. If two queens turn up in a hive with plenty
of space, but related space, they fight it out till one alone lives.
So settled is this law, that the bees hound on the more timid and
cowardly of the two queens, and insist on victory with supremacy or
death. This is to me a very melancholy trait in a favourite study; but
I suppose some higher law requires it.
It has been urged as a commercial question that honey is not now of
the same importance as it was before the sugar-cane was discovered,
and that gas has superseded wax candles. I am satisfied from many
considerations, that if people would eat honey at breakfast instead
of rancid London butter and nasty greasy bacon, not only would
their health be better, but their temper would be sweeter. I find
invariably that people who like honey are persons of genial and
affectionate temper. If Mr. Cobden and Mr. Roebuck had only taken
honey at breakfast, or a very choice fragment of virgin honey at
dessert, they would never have given utterance to those vinegar and
acetic-acid speeches which did them no credit. I wish somebody would
send Mr. Spurgeon a super of good honey. Three months' diet on this
celestial food would induce him to give up those shockingly bitter and
unchristian tirades he has been lately making against the clergy of
the Church of England. The producers of honey never draw their stings
unless in defence of their homesteads, and the eaters and admirers of
honey rarely indulge in acrimonious language. I believe a great deal
of bad feeling is not moral or mental, but physical, in its origin.
If you have in a congregation, or in a school, or in a convocation,
some one who sets everybody by the ears, treat him to a little honey
at breakfast for six months, and the "thorn will blossom as the rose."
People that can't eat honey--"_hunc tu caveto_"--they can't ever fit
"a land overflowing with milk and honey."
I have not answered half the letters I have received; but because you
have been so good as to take an interest in this very interesting
subject, I intend to send you, as an expression of my thanks, a
small glass super of honey filled from heath during July. If you
do not eat honey, which I hope and, indeed, am sure is not the
fact, you can give a portion to any inmates of your great hive in
Printing-house-square who may be prone to use their stings too freely.