THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER. 



April, 



by a few eager enthusiasts. Then 

 after the swarm has clustered there 

 are only a limited few which inter- 

 est themselves in searching for a 

 ■home, or in preparing for the trip to 

 that home. 



Moreover, it is true that most bee- 

 instincts are short-lived. True it may 

 be that the long-lived bee is the best 

 h'oney-storer, but may it not be large- 

 ly because such bees have long-lived 

 instinct for gathering nectar? At any 

 rate, we shall find that in most colo- 

 nies each instinct of the worker as 

 she passes through life is rather 

 transient. 



Thus it sometimes happens that a 

 colony comes to a stand-still because 

 of some calamitous break in the suc- 

 cession of instincts. Such colonies 

 are said to sulk. Yet they never sulk 

 as we sulk. They simply cannot help 

 it, are in fact helpless because of the 

 lack of impulse to move. (Closely 

 akin to our own sulkiness I will 

 frankly admit, but much less sinful 

 than ours.) Break up that blockade 

 of the succession of instincts, give 

 ' some electric shock so to speak to 

 that colony, and it will once more 

 carry on its wonted activity. 



We too often blame our pets for 

 failure to do what we wish them to 

 do, whereas all the time we have fail- 

 ed to do our part and are, moreover, 

 densely ignorant of what that colony 

 is in vital need of. Long ago, fif- 

 teen years perhaps, I came to the 

 conclusion that bees never truly sulk, 

 and I think the bee-keeper who charg- 

 es bees with this deliberate act to be 

 both unjust and illogical. 



This past summer I had a most re- 

 markable case of this break in the 

 succession of instincts, and after the 

 reader is told of this he will doubt- 

 less be more in sympathy with what 

 T nave said before. 



About July 20th I vi:^;tcr! an out- 

 apiary of my let-alone-hives, here in 



Norwich. I found a colony idle 

 1 hough a fair flow was on, and saw 

 ihat a swarm was in process of evo- 

 lution. I cut out all cells, gay* r.)om 

 in front, and tried to drive the bees 

 to the tear where there we-e empty 

 frames. I knew that if I once got 

 a good cluster to form in those empty 

 frames I should stand a good show of 

 aborting that swarm and getting some 

 honey. But the bees would begin to 

 roll out as soon as I left them, and 

 as my time was limited I gave up the 

 fight. 



It was September loth when I 

 next visited this apiary, and I had 

 practically forgotten about that 

 swarm-aborting episode. As I was 

 at work upon a hive I was accosted 

 by the farmer's wife: 



"I suppose you know the bees 

 swarm'ed." 



"No, when was it?" 



"Why! Hasn't anybody told you? 

 It was six weeks ago or more. I'll 

 show them to you." 



"So you hived them. That's fine!" 



"No. They are on the tree." 



Indeed, they were there. Had 

 swarmed July 27th, and on September 

 loth formed still a respectable swarm, 

 clustered 25 feet from the ground on 

 a forked branch of a Roxbury russet. 



I took the bees down September 

 I2th. There were three small sheets 

 of comb, the largest no bigger than 

 my hand. No brood, no honey, no 

 pollen, a few eggs. Cocoon-lined 

 cells showed that about 800 young 

 bees had been reared to maturity. 



Though a fair honey flow was open- 

 ing up, this swarm was practically in- 

 active, living only from hand to 

 mouth. I hived it on combs with 

 brood in all stages, and looked for 

 it to go to work. Not so, it continu- 

 ed inactive, and it was only by re- 

 moving the queen and substituting 

 another that this swarm was induced 



