That queens occasionally live to such an age as to become incapable of laying worker eggs, is now a well established fact. The seminal reservoir sometimes becomes exhausted, before the queen dies of old age, and as it is never replenished, (see p. [44],) she can only lay unimpregnated eggs, or such as produce drones instead of workers. This is an additional confirmation of the theory first propounded by Dzierzon. I am indebted to Mr. Wagner for the following facts. "In the Bienenzeitung, for August, 1852, Count Stosch gives us the case of a colony examined by himself, with the aid of an experienced Apiarian, on the 14th of April, previous. The worker-brood was then found to be healthy. In May following, the bees worked industriously, and built new comb. Soon afterwards they ceased to build, and appeared dispirited; and when, in the beginning of June, he examined the colony again, he found plenty of drone brood in worker cells! The queen appeared weak and languid. He confined her in a queen cage, and left her in the hive. The bees clustered around the cage; but next morning the queen was found to be dead. Here we seem to have the commencement, progress and termination of super-annuation, all in the space of five or six weeks."
In the Spring of the year, as soon as the bees begin to fly, if their motions are carefully watched, the Apiarian may even in the common hives, generally ascertain from their actions, whether they are in possession of a fertile queen. If they are seen to bring in bee-bread with great eagerness, it follows, as a matter of course, that they have brood, and are anxious to obtain fresh food for its nourishment. If any hive does not industriously gather pollen, or accept the rye flour upon which the others are feasting, then there is an almost absolute certainty either that it has not a queen, or that she is not fertile, or that the hive is seriously infested with worms, or that it is on the very verge of starvation. An experienced eye will decide upon the queenlessness, (to use the German term,) of a hive, from the restless appearance of the bees. At this period of the year when they first realize the magnitude of their loss, and before they have become in a manner either reconciled to it, or indifferent to their fate, they roam in an inquiring manner, in and out of the hive, and over its outside as well as inside, and plainly manifest that something calamitous has befallen them. Often those that return from the fields, instead of entering the hive with that dispatchful haste so characteristic of a bee returning well stored to a prosperous home, linger about the entrance with an idle and very dissatisfied appearance, and the colony is restless, long after the other stocks are quiet. Their home, like that of the man who is cursed rather than blessed in his domestic relations, is a melancholy place: and they only enter it with reluctant and slow-moving steps!
If I could address a friendly word of advice to every married woman, I would say, "Do all that you can to make your husband's home a place of attraction. When absent from it, let his heart glow at the very thought of returning to its dear enjoyments; and let his countenance involuntarily put on a more cheerful look, and his joy-quickened steps proclaim, as he is approaching, that he feels in his "heart of hearts," that "there is no place like home." Let her whom he has chosen as a wife and companion, be the happy and honored Queen in his cheerful habitation: let her be the center and soul about which his best affections shall ever revolve. I know that there are brutes in the guise of men, upon whom all the winning attractions of a prudent, virtuous wife, make little or no impression. Alas that it should be so! but who can tell how many, even of the most hopeless cases, have been saved for two worlds, by a union with a virtuous woman, in whose "tongue was the law of kindness," and of whom it could be said, "the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her," for "she will do him good and not evil, all the days of her life."
Said a man of large experience, "I scarcely know a woman who has an intemperate husband, who did not either marry a man whose habits were already bad, or who did not drive her husband to evil courses, (often when such a calamitous result was the furthest possible from her thoughts or wishes,) by making him feel that he had no happy home." Think of it, ye who find that home is not full of dear delights, as well to yourselves, as to your affectionate husbands! Try how much virtue there may be in winning words and happy smiles, and the cheerful discharge of household duties, and prove the utmost possible efficacy of love and faith and prayer, before those words of fearful agony are extorted from your despairing lips,
"Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world;"
when amid tears and sighs of inexpressible agony, you settle down into the heart-breaking conviction that you can have no home until you have passed into that habitation not fashioned by human hands, or inhabited by human hearts!
Is there any husband who can resist all the sweet attractions of a lovely wife? who does not set a priceless value upon the very gem of his life?
"If such there be, go mark him well;
High though his titles, proud his fame,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
The wretch, concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung."—Scott.
I trust my readers, remembering my profession, will pardon this long digression to which I felt myself irresistibly impelled.
When the bees commence their work in the Spring, they give, as previously stated, reliable evidence either that all is well, or that ruin lurks within. In the common hives however, it is not always easy to decide upon their real condition. The queenless ones do not, in all cases, disclose their misfortune, any more than all unhappy husbands or wives see fit to proclaim the full extent of their domestic wretchedness: there is a vast amount of seeming even in the little world of the bee-hive. One great advantage in my mode of construction is that I am never obliged to leave anything to vague conjecture; but I can, in a few moments, open the interior, and know precisely what is the real condition of the bees.