"What can be the necessity for subjecting sugar to the temperature of 300 degrees, and rendering it so hard that weak hives are not able to take as much as keep them alive, when the same amount of sugar made to the consistency of their natural food would enable them to live? Common sense would indicate to anyone that in artificial feeding the nearer we approach their natural food the better; but it may be that it is hard honey which this wiseacre's bees gather for him, and that the flowers in Kent give different food than those in Scotland! Let anyone observe the time a bee takes to fill itself on barley-sugar and the time from sugar Syrup, and the labour spent on the former to that of the latter, and he will soon see the difference between the two. And the only reason the writer gave, in answer to a correspondent, for giving the barley-sugar is, 'that the other clogged the feet and smeared the wings of the bees.' Now, everyone must be aware that a few straws in the dish prevents this. Again, he says that 'the only vice among bees is their passionate liking for rum and strong ale; but the tee-totallers would fairly reply that they never care about either unless it is pressed upon them.' And I say they would reply truly, for I maintain that the bees will not touch either rum or ale unless they are saturated with sugar or honey. But why be at the expense of the one or the other, when they will take it made with pure water before either?"
He must be in the habit of bolting his oatmeal pottage, or he never would have inferred that sipping its food in ten minutes is more conducive to the health and digestion of the bee than sipping it in half an hour. His remarks on ale and rum are merely a translation of the nonsense spoken by his original. But, in common with his co-partners in criticism, he thinks the Bee-master's sole design in writing the letters in The Times was to puff his forthcoming work on bees. This mean and contemptible charge is best met by the simple and truthful answer, that the Bee-master had no more idea of writing a book on bees than of describing Mount Radnor or Yester Gardens. His purpose to do so arose from the urgent request of literally hundreds of correspondents.
On my suggestion as to the purpose and object of two thousand drones or male bees being produced, when there is only one perfect female—the queen—the writer observes:—
"In one of his letters in answer to correspondents, 'Why there are so many drones in a hive, and only one princess?' he confesses it a hard problem. But one part seems to him very clear—'When the queen's countless eggs come to be hatched, the temperature of the hive must be raised to 85° or 95°. The fat, round, and lazy drones are really the fuel. They accordingly give out great heat.' Had the writer really known anything about bees, he could never have made such a statement. If the drones are the fuel to keep up the heat, why is it that they are never found in the hives till May or June—in this part of the country, at least—after thousands of bees have been hatched? If they were the fuel, surely one would expect them to be the first eggs which were laid by the queen, according to his theory; but a queen will begin laying workers' eggs in January, and yet lay no drone eggs till May, just when the warm weather commences. Now, if they were required for heat, naturally Ave would expect them to be found before May, and they commence killing them in August, when the cold weather begins."
Now, the fact is, it is in May and June that drones are wanted to keep up the heat. Half the bees are out at work, the means of maintaining the temperature are therefore diminished. The drones remain at home, unless during the noonday heat, when they take an airing, and can best be spared.
My first letter to The Times was a report of the prospects of the honey harvest, as follows:—
I have ten stock-hives. I never destroy or kill my bees. I look on the system of the sulphur match as barbarous and unprofitable. I leave each family on an average not less than twenty-five pounds of honey for their winter stores, and the surplus only I take away. Should any hive swarm, which I can generally prevent, and the remaining stock be therefore deficient in provision for the winter, I feed them in the course of the early spring with barley-sugar. This and other little attentions endear the bee-master to his bees, as they are very susceptible of gratitude and have long memories.
A hive is very like a church: when, in May, it increases rapidly in numbers and the temperature rises inside, you either increase their accommodation in area or in height, or you will have a secession. Should a secession take place, bees set an example ecclesiastics might copy. The new church never falls out with the old one. Side by side they work in perfect harmony, believing there is plenty of food for both. The only incidental mischief-maker is the wasp; whether he be prelate or presbyter I cannot say, but I know well he is a thief and intruder, and after a fight, the bees, who in this matter are rigid non-intrusionists, eject, maim, or kill him—and he deserves it. Queen Victoria's Court is modelled on the apiarian queen's. You may see the queen-bee, by means of my glass windows, going her rounds and giving orders, with her royal ladies, who never turn their backs on her majesty. The exceptional instance occurred on one occasion when it became necessary to give a rather sickly establishment rum and sugar, of which they drank to excess and got drunk. As long as the stimulus lasted, the monarchy became a fierce democracy, and queen and subjects were confounded in the mélée.