SWAianNG AND HIVING. 
113 
in circles continually 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, rushmg impetu¬ 
ously to the entrance, pour forth m one steady stream. 
Not a bee looks behhid, but each pushes straight ahead, 
as though flying “ for dear life,” or urged on by some in¬ 
visible power, in its headlong eareer. 
Often, the queen does not come out until many have 
left; and she is frequently so heavy, fi-om the number of 
eggs in her ovaries, that she falls to the ground, ineapable 
of rising with her colony into the air. The bees soon 
miss her, and a very interesting scene may now be wit¬ 
nessed. 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 thickly with anxious explorers, as with drops of 
rain after a cojiious shower. If she cannot be found, they 
commonly return to the old hive, in from five to fifteen 
minutes, though they occasioiually attempt to enter a 
strange one, or to unite with another swarm. 
The ringing of bells, and beating of kettles and frying- 
pans, is probably not a whit more etficacious, than the 
hideous noises of some sav.age tribes, who, imagining that 
the sun, in an eclipse, has been swallowed by iui enormous 
dragon, resort to such means to compel his snakeship to 
disgorge their favorite luminary. 
Many who have never practised “ 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 jfleasant writer in the London 
Quarterly Review, who discourses as follows: 
“ Some fine, warm mori\ing in May or June, the whole 
atmosphere seems alive with thousands of bees, whirling 
