12 LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY 



The common bees will never use their sting upon 

 the queen; if she is to be disposed of, they starve 

 her to death; and the queen herself will sting no- 

 thing but royalty, — nothing but a rival queen. 



The queen, I say, is the mother bee; it is un- 

 doubtedly complimenting her to call her a queen and 

 invest her with regal authority, yet she is a superb 

 creature, and looks every inch a queen. It is an 

 event to distinguish her amid the mass of bees when 

 the swarm alights; it awakens a thrill. Before you 

 have seen a queen, you wonder if this or that bee, 

 which seems a little larger than its fellows, is not 

 she, but when you once really set eyes upon her you 

 do not doubt for a moment. You know that is the 

 queen. That long, elegant, shining, feminine-look- 

 ing creature can be none less than royalty. How 

 beautifully her body tapers, how distinguished she 

 looks, how deliberate her movements! The bees do 

 not fall down before her, but caress her and touch 

 her person. The drones, or males, are large bees, 

 too, but coarse, blunt, broad-shouldered, masculine- 

 looking. There is but one fact or incident in the 

 life of the queen that looks imperial and authorita- 

 tive: Huber relates that when the old queen is re- 

 strained in her move ments by the workers, and pre- 

 vented from destroying the young queens in their 

 cells, she assumes a peculiar attitude and utters a 

 note that strikes every bee motionless and makes 

 every head bow; while this sound lasts, not a bee 

 stirs, but all look abashed and humbled : yet whether 

 the emotion is one of fear, or reverence, or of sym- 



