THE UNBUSY BEE 181 
at-home, never-stung bee-master of neighbourly 
Proclivities. Sooner or later he will be called to 
help some maladroit in bee-craft, whose bees have 
been thoroughly vitiated by years of “ monkeying.”’ 
And then the rod will come out of pickle to a 
lively tune. Of course, a little stinging is nothing; 
but there is no doubt that, with anything over a 
dozen stings or so at a time, the most hardened and 
experienced bee-man may easily stand, for a minute 
or two at least, in danger of losing his life. 
So it happened to me once. I had gone to look 
at a neighbour’s stocks. The bees were as quiet 
as lambs until I came to the seventh hive; and then, 
with hardly a note of warning, they set upon me 
like a pack of flying bull-dogs, It is long enough 
ago now, but I can still give a pretty accurate 
account of the symptoms of acute formic-acid 
poisoning. It began with a curious pricking and 
burning over the entire inner surface of the mouth 
and throat. This rapidly spread, until my whole: 
body seemed on fire, and the target, as it were, for 
millions of red-hot darts. Then first my tongue and 
lips, and every other part of head and neck, in quick 
succession, began to swell. My eyes felt as though 
they were being driven out of my head. My 
breathing machinery seized up, and all but stopped. 
A giddy congestion of brain followed. Finally, 
sight and hearing failed, and then almost conscious- 
ness. 
I can just remember crawling away, and thrusting 
head and shoulders deep into a thick lilac bush, 
where the bees ceased to molest me. But it was a 
good hour or more before I could hold the smoker 
straight again, and get on with the next stock. 
