THE PASTORAL BE1S. 



life. Yet day after day the drones go forth, 

 ing the mazes of the air in hopes of meeting her 

 whom to meet is death. The queen only leaves the 

 . hive once, except when she leads away the swarm, 

 and as she makes no appointment with the male, but 

 wanders here and there, drones enough are provided 

 to meet all the contingencies of the case. 



One advantage, at least, results from this system of 

 things : there is no incontinence among the males in 

 this republic ! 



Toward the close of the season, say in July or 

 August, the fiat goes forth that the drones must die ; 

 there is no further use for them. Then the poor 

 creatures, how they are huddled and hustled about, 

 trying to hide in corners and by-ways. There is no 

 loud, defiant humming now, but abject fear seizes 

 them. They cower like hunted criminals. I have 

 seen a dozen or more of them wedge themselves into 

 a small space between the glass and the comb, where 

 the bees could not get hold of them, or where they 

 seemed to be overlooked in the general slaughter. 

 They will also crawl outside and hide under the edges 

 of the hive. But sooner or later they are all killed 

 or kicked out. The drone makes no resistance, ex- 

 cept to pull back and try to get away 3 but (putting 

 yourself in his place) with one bee a-hold of your col- 

 lar or the hair of your head, and another a-hold of each 

 arm or leg, and still another feeling for your waist- 

 bands with his sting, the odds are greatly against you.^ 



It is a singular fact, also, that the queen is made, 

 a 



