THE BEE-KEEPERS' REVIEW. 



and September for liis labor, or pastime, 

 whichever it may be called, and he can 

 hardlv find a pleasanter day for it than 

 one of those which An.iiust sometimes 

 brings ns in its later weeks — days that 

 give ns a fortaste of September's best, 

 bnt are fuller of blossoms than they w'ill 

 be, tlu)ugh there are not enough floweis 

 in the woods to keep the wild bees busy 

 there. 



The bee-hunter is burdened with V)ut 

 few implements in his chase. First of 

 all, a "bee-box," six inches or so in length 

 and a little less in width and height, with 

 a hinged lid, in which is set a small 

 square of glass; midwav between this and 

 the bottom is a slide dividing the box in- 

 to two compartments, the lower one hold- 

 ing a piece of honey-comb partly fdled. 

 when in use, with a thin syrup of white 

 sugar and water; then an ax, or perhajis 

 no larger tool than a jack-knife; some- 

 times a compass and a dinner-pail. So 

 equi])])ed. he takes the field, seeking his 

 small quarry along woodside meadow 

 fences, whose stakes and top rails alone 

 show above a flowery tangle of golden- 

 rod, asters and willow-herb. Carefully 

 looking over the flowers as he goes slow- 

 ly along, among the bumble-bees and 

 wasps that are gathering from them their 

 slender stores or present food his quick 

 eye discovers a honey-bee alight on the 

 upright tassel of a thistle, or sucking a 

 medicated sweet from the bitter-flower of 

 the bone-set, or working a placer of gold- 

 en-rod, or exploring a constellation of 

 asters, and stealthily slipping the open 

 box under her, he claps the cover down 

 and has her a fast prisoner. Now he 

 darkens her cell by covering the glass 

 with his hand till she has buzzed 

 away her wrath and astonishment and 

 settles on the bit of coinb which, before 

 catching her, the hunter had placed on 

 the sliile. Seeing through the skylight 

 that she is making the best of the .situa- 

 tion and is contentedly filling herself with 

 the j)lenliful fare provided, he sets the 

 box on a stump, boulder or fence (if 

 either be at hand; if not, he drives a trip- 

 le-forked stake or piles a f?w chunks for 

 the purpose I and, ojx^ning the lid, sits 

 or stands a little distance, awaiting the 

 outcoming of the bee. 



This takes place in five minutes or so, 

 when, having freighted herself, she 

 takes wing and rises a few feet, cir- 

 cles rapidly until she gets her bearings, 

 and then sails swiftly homeward. What 

 compass does she carry in her little head 

 to guide her so truly ? The hunter takes 

 no great pains to get her course this first 

 trip. He places the comb on the closed 



lid of the box, replenishes its cell from a 

 vial of syrup, lights his pipe, and dispos- 

 es himself comfortabl}- to watch the re- 

 turn of his sometime captive. The length 

 of time he has to wait for this depends 

 partly on the distance the bee has to go 

 and partly on the wealth of her swarm, 

 the members of a swarm with a scanty 

 store of hone}' working fa.sler than those 

 of a rich one. 



But soon or late .she comes humming 

 back, and, beating about a little, finds 

 the lure and settles upon it, fills herself, 

 rises, circles, and is off again. Now the 

 hunter tries his best to catch her course, 

 and it needs a (juick and ]iracticed eye to 

 to follow the brown speck as it gyrates 

 widely overhead for a moment and then 

 darts away on the "bee-line," straight 

 and swift as an arrow. 



The bee has told her people of the easily- 

 gotten nectar, and, when next returning, 

 brings a companion with her, and at eacli 

 return perhaps another, till, maybe, a 

 dozen are busy about the comb, and, as 

 each flies homeward, the hunter tries to 

 get its line of flight. Having this line 

 pretty well established, if their journeys 

 are evidently short, he follows it into the 

 wood, and perhaps has the luck of find- 

 ing the tree in a few minutes. 



If the beesare long in ccjniing and go- 

 ing, he removes the comb to the bottom 

 of the box, and, when .some of the bees 

 have settled upon it, clo.ses the lid. Then 

 he jars the box till the bees ri.se to the 

 to]), when he shuts them off' from the 

 comb by closing the slide. This is to 

 prevent them from besmearing themselves 

 with the syrup while "moved np the 

 line," which is now to be done. 



The bee-hunter strikes into the woods 

 at a smart pace, but carefully keepitig 

 his course and nursing his box tenderly 

 under his arm. So going for twentv, thir- 

 t}', forty or more rods, but not too far, in 

 some convenient little opening or clear- 

 ing, if he comes to it, he "sets up" again 

 and lets the bees on the comb, where they 

 fill themselves and go and come as before. 

 But if the box has been unwittingly car- 

 ried beyond their heme, somehow the 

 bees fail to find it again, as they do if 

 it is set very near the tree on the side it 

 was approached on. In the last case thej- 

 probably overfly it, but both failures sewn 

 strange in such wise little folk. 



"Cross-lining" is done by setting np at 

 some little distance from the line already 

 established, and getting a new one. 

 Like other mortals the bee-hunter has 

 his disappointments, as when the bees 

 that he has lined through the woods and 

 across fields for a whole day, perhaps, or 



