HANDLING. 109 



the duration of the life of a working bee is only about six weeks. 

 We know the length of time required for the most docile of wild 

 animals to become acquainted with their keeper ; and the pugna- 

 cious nature of the whole race of bees does not except them from 

 the catalogue of the untameable. Nevertheless, the handling of 

 generation after generation of bees, and the breeding from queens 

 of known docility, is telling upon the retaliatory disposition of the 

 bees. That, combined with our increasing knowledge of bee-life, 

 is no doubt having its effect upon their disposition. 



I tried chloroform once in my early days, acting on the advice 

 of a chemist. Do not ask me to give my experience. I would 

 rather not. Smoke from the bee-bellows does not act in any way 

 upon their nerves, other than compelling them to gorge themselves 

 with honey. 



From the movement and the tones emitted by the bees, the 

 bee-master knows by experience when he can handle them suc- 

 cessfully. Again, bees have a language that can be interpreted 

 by a practical bee-keeper as easily as the language of the poultry- 

 yard is understood by the hen-wife. What poultry-farmer does 

 no*- know the call of a Ben when danger is nigh, or when she is 

 looking for a nest, or when she has laid an egg, or when she ^'s 

 about to sit, or when she has chickens, or when she has found a 

 tit-bit for them, etc., etc. So bees have a language that is as 

 distinct to the practical ear of a bee-master as the calls of the 

 X'arm-yard are to the ears of a farmer. 



The joyous, natural note of bees when they are flying from 

 flower to flower, there are very few who cannot recognise it. By 

 that same note the bee-keeper knows when his pets are returning 

 home that they are peaceful and happy. When that note changes 

 sharp and shrill, it is the war cry ; then he retires if he has dis- 

 cretion. If, when he has blown a little smoke in amongst his 

 bees, there is a dull, heavy sound, he knows it to be the cry of 

 defeat, lie knows, too, their cry of distress at the loss of their 

 queen, and the ecstatic cry of joy when she is returned. Try 

 it with a swarm of bees that is queenless, and without brood, by 

 putting in a frame of brood-comb containing young brood and eggs 

 — at once they change their note to one of joy. What a melodious 

 note they give forth when rising on the wing to swarm ; how it 

 changes when they have found a suitable place whereon to alight ; 

 then the rallying call to the fugitives as they cluster in thousands 

 one upon the other, and how that cry gradually subsides as the 



