gion upwards of 15,0007. annually. That religion which so far overcomes the selfishness of the human heart must be Divine.”—Pp. 513-516.

In conclusion, we hope this valuable work will be extensively circulated and read. It abounds in facts and remarks "highly suggestive," as the phrase is. That the author may be spared to finish the task he has undertaken, and to return in safety to his native land, is the earnest prayer of all who feel an interest in the progress of geographical discovery, or in the success of Christian missions.

ART. IV.-1. Observations on the Natural History of Bees. By FRANCIS HUBER. Cupar. 1840.

2. The Honey Bee; its Natural History, Physiology, and Management. By EDWARD BEVAN, M.D. Fifth Edition. London. 1838.

3. A Practical Treatise on the Hive and Honey Bee. By L. L. LANGSTROTH. Third Edition. New York. 1863. By M. QUINBY.

4. Mysteries of Bee-keeping Explained. Ninth Edition. New York. 1865.

5. On a True Parthenogenesis in Moths and Bees. By CARL THEODORE VON SIEBOLD. Translated by WM. S. DALLAS, F.L.S. London. 1857.

6. My Bee Book. By WM. CHARLES COTTON, M.A. London. 1842.

7. Humanity to Honey Bees. By THOMAS NUTT. Wisbeach. 1835.

8. The Practical Bee-master. By J. KEYS. London. 1780. 9. The Ancient Bee-master's Farewell. By J. KEYS. 1796. 10. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London for the Year 1792. Observations on Bees. By JOHN HUNTER, F.R.S.

11. The English Bee-keeper. By A COUNTRY CURATE. London. 1851.

12. The Apiary; or Bees, Bee-hives, and Bee Culture. By ALFRED NEIGHBOUR. London. 1865.

13. The Italian Alp-Bee; or, The Gold Mine of Husbandry. By H. C. HERMANN. London: Neighbour. 1860. 14. Bee-keeping for the Many. Fifth Edition. London. 15. Journal of Horticulture. 1859 to 1865.

PERHAPS there is no common object of the country" more familiar than a bee-hive. The mere name calls up the image of some rustic cottage, the walls half-hidden by climbing roses, the little garden fragrant with clove-pinks and lavender, and the air musical with the hum of bees. No one can have kept these little creatures for any length of time without placing them first on his list of favourites, and speaking of them with enthusiasm. There is so much of interest in their proceedings, and something so marvellous in the results which they accomplish, and there is so much still to be learned, notwithstanding that for centuries they have been closely observed,

and made the subjects of almost endless experiments. Even for those who adhere to the old plan of bee-keeping, and do not care to meddle and manipulate, the row of familiar domeshaped hives will create abundant interest, and the more so if their owner happens to be a man of taste and refinement. "Did any one," asks Leigh Hunt, "ever sufficiently admire the entire elegance of the habits and pursuits of bees, their extraction of nothing but the quintessence of the flowers; their preference of those that have the finest and least adulterated odour; their avoidance of everything squalid; their eager ejection or exclusion of it from the hive, as in the instance of the carcases of intruders, which, if they cannot drag away, they cover up and entomb; their love of clear, quiet, and delicate neighbourhoods, thymy places with brooks; their singularly clean management of so liquid and adhesive a thing as honey, from which they issue forth to their work as if they had had nothing to do with it; their combination with honey-making of the elegant manufacture of wax, of which they make their apartments, and which is used by mankind for none but patrician or other choice purposes; their orderly policy, their delight in sunshine, their attention to one another, and their apparent indifference to anything purely regarding themselves apart from the common good?" There are, however, more solid grounds for our admiration, and to these we intend to apply ourselves in the following paper.

If we stand beside a hive in full flight, we are struck not only with the bustle, but with the amount of systematic and downright hard work that is being done. There is not the indefinite, wayward, and leisurely manner of the house fly, for example; nor the supercilious air of that elegant dandy the wasp. There is no loitering, no hovering about the hive, but the bees who leave fly straight away, and those who return, make at once for the entrance. A close inspection shows that most of those who arrive have the two hinder legs loaded with pellets differing in colour in different individuals. In some it is light yellow, in others orange, in others again, quite brown, while a few not only carry such loads, but are dusted all over the body with powder of the same colour. So heavy are these burdens of pollen that in many cases the bee just drops on the alighting-board, and there remains so exhausted that it has to rest and gather strength before it can enter. A few drop short of the landing-place, and fall to the ground, where, if the soil be dry and not too cold, they recruit in a minute or two, and fly up to the hive; but, should the ground

be wet, or a sharp wind blowing, they are quickly benumbed, and perish. The great majority, however, make good their landing, and run forward with an important air, and an impatience of the slightest obstruction which says plainly that the queen's business requires haste. Provided the weather is warm, and the sun shining, this goes on throughout the day; two never-ending streams going out and returning. Standing with the hive in profile, the swiftness and straightness of the outward flight is as though the hive were a piece of mimic ordnance, and the bees in succession were being violently shot out of it. The action is the same in all cases. The little creature walks, or rather runs, to the entrance, and the moment that is cleared, springs right forward and away. The whirr, whirr, whirr, of these swift departures never ceases, and can be heard quite distinctly above the ordinary hum of the hive. The bustle is greatest in the beginning of summer, when the population is at its best.

In the early spring, say the middle of March, a hive will contain from 5,000 to 20,000 bees, according as it has passed ill or well through the winter. But by the end of May the population should be 40,000 or 50,000 strong, or even more. The arrivals at that time will average sixty to the minute, with an equal number of departures. The interest to the observer is, of course, much increased where the apiary is large, as all this bustle goes on at the mouth of every hive, and the throng is so great, and the individuality so distinct -each one having his own special errand-that it resembles nothing so much as Fleet Street at ten o'clock in the morning.

Besides the porters passing to and fro, there are sentinels who keep strict watch, and challenge each one who enters; and very rough usage will a stranger meet with who attempts to pass, that is to say, empty handed, for bee virtue cannot withstand a bribe, and a straggler honey-laden is welcome anywhere. There are also the ventilators, a party of whom stand in line at the entrance, and another party further within; these face each other, vibrating their wings so rapidly that the movement is almost imperceptible, the effect of which is to create a current of air through the hive powerful enough to be distinctly felt if we approach the entrance. The necessity for this work of ventilation of course is greatest in hot weather, and during the summer months it is carried on more or less energetically both night and day. The labour is so fatiguing, that every fifteen or twenty minutes those engaged in it retire, and another set take

their place. So effectually is the work done, that Huber, by a series of delicate experiments, detected scarcely any vitiation of the atmosphere even in the most crowded part of the dwelling; and not only is there a circulation of fresh air around each comb, but along every cell, and even those brood cells which are sealed over share the benefit, as the cover which appears solid to the eye is in reality porous, evidently for the free admission of air to the imprisoned chrysalis. There are in addition the nurses, whose duties will appear when we come to speak of the development of the brood; and the wax-workers, whose operations are most conspicuous after the hiving of a new colony.

It would appear sufficiently extraordinary for a population of 40,000 or 50,000 bees to find accommodation within such a confined space as a cottage hive affords, even if otherwise empty. But on looking within-supposing it to be of glass instead of straw, and that stings are a pleasant fiction-it is seen to be filled with nine or ten distinct combs, standing like partition walls from the roof to the floor, and placed so close together, that only the tip of the finger can be inserted between them. Where the bees find house-room it is not easy to say. During a great part of the year the empty cells are available, and bees may regularly be seen buried head foremost in them taking their repose. But during May, June, and July, every cell is otherwise occupied, and the only available space is the interval of half an inch or less between each comb, and a similar interval between the lower edges and the floor board. True, they cluster upon the combs as thick as mussels on a rock, so thick that nothing else is to be seen, but still space has its laws, and bees seem able to defy them.

A fragment of this empty comb is worth examining. It consists of a central wall-a thin perpendicular plate of waxwhich is the foundation for a series of cells projecting horizontally from either side of it. Though the comb is attached by its two lateral edges as well as the upper edge, that is to say not only to the roof, but to the two opposite sides of the hive, it is difficult to understand how such a fragile material can bear the strain which is put upon it. A comb when filled will weigh four or five pounds; a central comb, if complete throughout, will weigh still more; and in large supers combs have been known to weigh ten, fifteen, and even twenty pounds, and yet the material is not much thicker than tissue paper.*

* The thickness of a cell wall (single) is computed to be the th part of an inch.