The Swarm 
population, will abandon the maternal city 
at the prescribed hour. They will not 
leave at a moment of despair; or desert, 
with sudden and wild resolve, a home laid 
waste by famine, disease, or war. No; the 
exile has long been planned, and the favour- 
able hour patiently awaited. Were the hive 
poor, had it suffered from pillage or storm, 
had misfortune befallen the royal family, 
the bees would not forsake it. They leave 
it only when it has attained the apogee of 
its prosperity; at a time when, after the 
arduous labours of the spring, the immense 
palace of wax has its 120,000 well-arranged 
cells overflowing with new honey, and with 
the many-coloured flour, known as “ bees’ 
bread,” on which nymphs and larve are fed. 
Never is the hive more beautiful than on 
the eve of its heroic renouncement, in its 
unrivalled hour of fullest abundance and 
joy; serene, for all its apparent excitement 
and feverishness. Let us endeavour to pic- 
ture it to ourselves—not as it appears to 
the bees, for we cannot tell in what magical, 
formidable fashion things may be reflected 
in the 6 or 7000 facets of their lateral] 
39 
