Twined in dark wreaths the fascinated swarm;
Bright o'er his breast the glittering legions led.
Or with a living garland bound his head.
His dextrous hand, with firm yet hurtless hold,
Could seize the chief, known by her scales of gold,
Prune, 'mid the wondering train, her filmy wing.
Or o'er her folds the silken fetter fling."
To recur to our subject. After the days of Wildman, our own establishment in Holborn became widely known for bee hives and honey. Although we never attempted to start a London apiary at all approaching in extent that of our predecessor, we have occasionally kept bees on the house top both in Holborn and Regent Street. At both those situations, we have noticed that the bees bring "pollen" as well as honey into their hives. Last summer there was brought under our notice an illustration of the acuteness of the scent of bees, and of their diligent search for food, proving too that if sweets can be obtained even from unusual sources, the bees will find them out. A poor woman who, at the corner of an adjacent street vends "brandy balls," "toffee," "rock," and other saccharine compounds—all well known to and appreciated by most juveniles,—used to receive frequent visits from our bees. Their visits to the old dame's domain were at first rather interesting, and if the few pioneers who had the sagacity to find such a store had kept the secret only to themselves, their company would not have been objected to. Such selfish policy does not, however, accord with the social instinct of bees, and these soon informed their companions of the good fortune provided for them in an archipelago of sugar islands. Day by day the swarms of these uninvited visitors increased, until all legitimate customers were beaten off; and the old dame had to see, not only her hope of gain destroyed, but her stock of "goodies" sensibly diminishing by the thefts of these brigands of the air. She could not, or dare not attempt to, drive the intruders away, so made diligent enquiry as to where the robbers were harboured. Having traced them to our establishment in Regent Street, she came to implore of us to move the bees if possible, or she would have to move her stall, and so lose her "connection" in the "toffee" and "rock" trade. Wishing not to hinder the poor woman in gaining her livelihood, we decided on removing our bees into the country.
It is difficult to assign an exact limit to the distance that bees will go in search of honey yielding blossoms. It has been proved by various experiments that they will fly say five or six miles, if the supplies are scanty within a shorter radius; but bees well understand that first of all economies,—the saving of time, and if they can find forage near at hand, they prefer it. Hence, other things being equal, the quantity of honey stored will be in proportion to the contiguity of good pasturage. In this way it is that the systematic removal of hives, as practiced in many districts, has such a notable effect on the honey harvest.
During several years we kept bees in the Zoological Gardens, Regent's Park, and have there frequently taken full and handsome glasses of honey. The position of our apiary was on the site now occupied by the "New Monkey House." The Society promise to erect a new building for an apiary in the course of the ensuing summer. The visitors to the Gardens found considerable interest in watching the bees in our glass hives, and are now much disappointed at the absence of so entertaining an exhibition.