1872.] 



THE AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL. 



43 



elusion that the adjoining hive had made this 

 their storehouse, otherwise it would have heen 

 robbed of its contents. There were a few bees 

 at the entrance before I removed it, and after re- 

 moval I saw some running to and fro in the in- 

 side of the house, where the hive had stood. 

 But, more curious still, when I came to examine 

 the stock at the other side of the bee house, I 

 found a large sized box with a super on it, full 

 of comb and bees ; but, in addition to this, the 

 bees had built a large quantity of comb, of beau- 

 tiful quality, all about the outside, the boxes 

 being almost imbedded in it. I could have cut 

 out from thirty to forty pounds of honey, I have 

 little doubt. 



An incident somewhat analogous to the above, 

 I met with a few days previously. A cottager at 

 Charleston had a large box-hive in a bee house. 

 He had very kindly furnished the bees with a 

 large super, but had quite forgotten to open the 

 communication from the stock-box. The bees, 

 nothing daunted, constructed combs all over the 

 sides and top of the hive, up to the roof of the 

 bee house. I cut out at least fifty pounds of 

 fine comb honey, filling several large dishes. 

 Bees certainly are strange little creatures, and 

 play some singular freaks occasionally. 



Sometime ago I noticed a peculiar looking 

 pollen, which was being conveyed into my hives 

 — long, straggling pieces hanging to the hind 

 legs of the bees. At first I thought it must be 

 gathered from the ivy, but was mistaken. I 

 have reason to believe it was obtained from the 

 Evening Primrose, which had been in bloom in 

 abundance in our gardens before ivy came into 

 flower. The hees were working at the Evening 

 Primrose as late as nine o'clock, some even- 

 ings. 



A gentleman informed me that his hives were 

 blown over by the easterly gales. He believed 

 they were not much injured, but the bees were 

 dreadfully vicious, and no one dared go near 

 them for a long time afterwards. 



George Fox. 



Kingsbridge. 



Bee-hunting in Australia. 



The wild bee of Australia differs little in size 

 or appearance from our common house fly, and 

 is stingless. Most of the trees in that country 

 are hollow, and it is in the cavities of the branches 

 that the bees deposit their honey, at a considera- 

 ble distance from the ground. It is of an aro- 

 matic taste, and chiefly gathered from the leaves 

 and blossoms of the different trees that clothe 

 the whole country, from the summits of the 

 mountains to the sea-shore, with the exception 

 of occasional plains, which are of rare occur- 

 rence. By the aborigines of Australia this honey 

 is regarded as a great luxury, and it is very in- 

 teresting to note with what sagacity they con- 

 trive to indulge their taste for it— '-searching it 

 out with infallible eyesight, and with amazing 

 delicacy of touch. Their method of finding these 

 natural hives, which are not numerous, is curi- 

 ous, not only from the fact that the most minute 

 observation and the most delicate manipulations 



must have been required to enable the inventor 

 of it to succeed, but also because it displays a 

 knowledge of the natural history of the insect, 

 such as I can venture to say, a large portion of 

 the civilized world does not possess. 



From the absence in many parts of the bush 

 of Australia of flowers, the little native bee may 

 be seen busily working on the bark of the 

 trees, and unlike the bee of this country, which 

 is ever on the move from flower to flower, it 

 seems to be unconscious of danger. This may 

 arise from the vastness of the solitude in Austra- 

 lia, which are seldom or ever disturbed, except 

 by a passing tribe, or by its own wild denizens, 

 which are far from numerous. The bee is 

 therefore easily approached, and the bright, 

 clear atmosphere of the climate is peculiarly 

 favorable to the pursuit. 



A party of two or three natives, armed with a 

 tomahawk, sally forth into the bush, having pre- 

 viously provided themselves with the soft, white 

 down from the breast of some bird, which is 

 very light in texture, and at the same time very 

 bluffy. With that wonderful quickness of sight 

 which practice has rendered perfect, they descry 

 the little brownish, leaden colored insect on the 

 bark, and rolling up an end of the down feather 

 to the finest possible point between their fingers, 

 they dip it in the gummy substance, which a 

 peculiar sort of herb exudes when the stem is 

 broken, they cautiously approach the bee, and 

 with great delicacy of touch, place the gummed 

 point under the hind legs of the bee. It at once 

 adheres. Then comes the result for which all 

 this preparation had been made. The bee, feel- 

 ing the additional weight, fancies he has done 

 his task and is laden with honey, and flies off 

 from the tree on his homeward journey, at not a 

 great distance from the ground. The small 

 white feather is now all that can be discerned, 

 and the hunt at once commences. Running on 

 afoot amid broken branches and stony ground, 

 requires, one w T ould think, the aid of one's eye- 

 sight ; but with the native Australians it is not 

 so. Without for a moment taking their eyes off 

 the object, they follow it, sometimes the distance 

 of half a mile, and rarely, if ever, fail in marking 

 the very branch where they saw the little bit of 

 white down disappear at the entrance of the 

 hive. Here there is a halt, the prize is found, 

 and they sit down to regain their breath, before 

 ascending the tree, and to light a pipe, which old 

 and young, men, women and children, are 

 extremely partial. 



When the rest and smoke are over, with one 

 arm round the tree, and the tomahawk in the 

 other, the blackmail notches in the bark, and 

 placing the big toe in the notches of this hastily 

 constructed stair, ascends till he comes to where 

 the branches commence. Then putting the 

 handle of the tomahawk between his teeth, he 

 climbs with the ease and agility of a monkey, 

 till he reaches the branch where last he saw the 

 white down disappear. He then carefully sounds 

 the branches with the back of his tomahawk, 

 till the dull sound as distinct from the hollow 

 sound, tells him where the hive is. A hole is 

 then cut, and he puts his hand in and takes the 

 honey out. If alone, the savage eats of the honey 



