210 NATURAL SWARMING. 
always to the hive; and they occasionally fly in and out, 
as though impatient for the important event to take place. 
At-length, a violent agitation commences in the hive; the 
bees appear almost frantic, whirling around in circles con- 
tinually enlarging, like those made by a stone thrown into 
still water, until, at last, the whole hive is in a state of the 
greatest ferment, and the bees, rushing impetuously to the 
entrance, pour forth in one steady stream. Not a bee looks 
behind, but each pushes straight ahead, as though flying 
‘*for dear life,’ or urged on by some invisible power, in 
its headlong career. 
412. Often, the queen does not come out until many 
have left; and she is sometimes so heavy, from the number 
of eggs in her ovaries, that she falls to the ground, incapa- 
ble of rising with her colony into the air (40). The bees 
soon miss her, and a very interesting scene may now be 
witnessed. Diligent search is at once made for their lost 
mother; the swarm scattering in all directions, so that the 
leaves of the adjoining trees and bushes are often covered 
almost as quickly with anxious explorers, as with drops of 
rain after a copious shower. If she cannot be found, they 
commonly return to the old hive, in from five to fifteen min- 
utes. 
413. The ringing of bells and beating of kettles and 
frying-pans to cause swarms to settle, is probably not 
a whit more efficacious, than the hideous noises of some 
savage tribes, who, imagining that the sun, in an eclipse, 
has been swallowed by an enormous dragon, resort to such 
means to compel his snakeship to disgorge their favorite 
luminary. 
Many who have never practiced ‘‘tanging,’’? have never 
had a swarm leave without settling. Still, as one of the 
‘¢ country sounds,’’ and as a relic of the olden-times, even 
the most matter-of-fact bee-man can readily excuse the 
enthusiasm of that pleasant writer in the London Quarterly 
Review, who discourses as follows : 
