I IO 



HARDWICKE'S SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



MY GARDEN PETS. 



By E. II. Robertson. 



Part II. 



STRING-TIME is particularly disastrous to my 

 pets. Tempted by the bright sunshine they 

 roam to distant pastures, to provide for the wants 

 of a daily increasing family. After a night's rest 

 and refreshment, they issue forth full of energy, 

 and without impedimenta, but return later in the 

 day tired and heavily laden, to be cut down on 

 the very threshold of home, by the cruel, biting 

 wind, thousands of the weary labourers being thus 

 sometimes lost. To a lover of bees it is dis- 

 tressing to see the ground strewn with their chilled 

 carcases, and, as I never pass a chilled bee without 

 making an effort to warm him into life, I gather mine 

 into a bell glass, which, inverted over a stand, I 

 place before afire. I may have collected but a score, 

 perhaps it contains 500 or 600. Soon the inert mass 

 shows signs of vitality — here and there a tiny leg or 

 antenna quivers, a silvery wing shimmers in the 

 flickering firelight, a few moments later and sundry 

 pollen-laden little fellows may be seen brushing their 

 coats and wings, and loudly buzzing, as they scamper 

 up and down the side of their prison, in search of 

 some means of escape, and soon nearly all are astir. 

 Turning the glass mouth upwards in the open air, the 

 thoroughly resuscitated fly off to their hives, a few 

 not yet fully recovered, after a short flight, descend- 

 ing to the ground, to be returned to the glass, re- 

 warmed, and fed with honey until fully restored. 

 Sometimes every bee may thus be brought back to 

 life, but more frequently a small proportion (say 

 from five to twenty per cent.) are not to be so easily 

 restored ; they are almost invariably the old and worn 

 out, quickly recognised by their black, hairless 

 bodies, whose slender thread of life has been severed 

 1 iy the north wind's keen edge. If apparently drowned 

 bees be placed upon a blotting pad, and thus treated, 

 the genial warmth will almost certainly revive 

 them. 



To a person not familiar with bees the statement 

 that the sounds emitted by them are as varied, and 

 as expressive of fear, anger, pain, &c, as are those of 

 human and other animals, may seem incredible ; it is, 

 nevertheless, strictly and literally true, and the ear 

 of the experienced apiarian, or observant naturalist, 

 soon learns to distinguish them. There is not a 

 greater difference between the soft purr of the con- 

 tented puss, and her threatening growl when tearing 

 her prey, her pleading ''mew," and her diabolic 

 caterwauling, or unearthly sleep-disturbing yell, than 

 there is between the droning hum of the tired 

 homing bee, and the fierce threatening buzz which 

 warns the intruder to decamp. 



The crisp whirr with which the active little fellow 

 -prings from the threshold of his hive into the regions 



of light cannot pass unnoticed, and the delightsome 

 hum which expresses his happiness, as he circles and 

 shoots to and fro, when the cloud-dispelling sun 

 cheers him into activity, is pleasant indeed to him 

 who loves such rural sounds. His pathetic cry oi 

 distress, too, when unable to extricate himself from 

 the cruel grip of a spider, or has been accidentally 

 squeezed beneath some weight, calls for the ready 

 help of him whose ear is alive to the cry of pain. 

 This diversity of cries alone should teach the novice 

 when to avoid proximity to bees' quarters ; but as 

 there is an art in seeing, so is there in hearing, and 

 some there are who never learn, and if they have 

 anything to do with bees they soon pay the penalty 

 of their ignorance. 



Dear reader, have you ever witnessed the contortions 

 of a terror-stricken bee observer ? If not I can pro- 

 mise you an entertaining sight, and even if you be an 

 unfortunate wight upon whose liver that most baleful 

 of all subtle malignancies— the east wind — has laid 

 its firmest hold, it will most assuredly provoke your 

 mirth. It always reminds me of the mechanical 

 figures which the cockney void of taste erects upon a 

 post or staff in his small garden. The figure gyrates 

 upon a pivot, and every breath of wind sets in rapid 

 motion, windmill fashion, two fin-like appendages, 

 that are supposed, by a wide stretch of the imagina- 

 tion, to resemble arms. See but the terrified one as 

 he wildly smites the air in his futile efforts to beat 

 down his puny foe, and the inanimate figure will 

 present itself to the mind's eye. His ludicrous antics 

 can have but one effect. The bee, perfectly innocent 

 of mischief, naturally enough believes itself to be the 

 object of unprovoked attack, and, resentful, makes 

 short work of his enemy, and if the latter escape scot 

 free his escape is due either to the thickness of his 

 garments, or, more probably, to the hastiness of his 

 retreat. It may be stated that, as a rule, bees never 

 sting when roaming, nor even close to their homes, 

 unless irritated by the recent plunder of their store, 

 or disturbed by the passing and repassing of any 

 person in front of their hives. 



Perhaps there is nothing that more readily excites 

 a bee to anger than the latter. The term vicious, so 

 often applied to bees and wasps by the ignorant, is a 

 senseless misnomer, and although there is probably 

 as great a diversity of disposition to be found in any 

 one bee community as amongst the individuals of 

 other races, they are most certainly not aggressive, 

 and the notion that they sting of malice prepense is 

 an absurd one. Even a stranger may, with impunity, 

 stand before a hive when bees are returning home 

 heavily laden, and although his garments may be 

 thickly studded with the weary little labourers, not 

 one will molest him, nay, if the tip of the finger be 

 presented, the tired insect will almost invariably 

 accept the proffered aid. Let the stranger, however, 

 beware lest some watchful sentinel dashes at some 

 unprotected part of his Larson. 



