General Remarks
Every bee-keeper should be a book-keeper; that is, so far as to have a permanent record of the events of the apiary and the fortunes of his bees. A book similar to a tradesman’s journal would be very suitable for the purpose. In it he should note down the date of the first swarm of the season especially, and those of the other swarms also; and in autumn, the quantity of honey taken from each hive should be entered, with remarks on the probable size of the various stocks. These particulars will not only be interesting for the bee-keeper to turn to in winter, but will be of practical service in enabling him to know the exact age and probable strength of each stock. The bee-book may also be contrived to show the total amount of honey that the bees have produced for their owner, and the net money profit of the apiary. A simple and clear account like this—provided, by the bye, that it does show a satisfactory balance—will be very useful for inducing cottagers and farm-labourers to start bee-keeping. Nothing like ocular demonstration for this class. The “humane” apiarian will reason with them in vain, until he shows them a monster “skep” of honey, and mentions the price that it will fetch in the market When convinced that the depriving system will pay, the cottager will gladly adopt it.
A writer in the Quarterly Review gives the following good advice:—“Don’t bore the cottager with long lectures; don’t heap upon him many little books; but give him a hive of the best construction, show him the management, and then buy his honey; buy all he brings, even though you should have to give the surplus to some gardenless widow. But only buy such as comes from an improved hive—and you cannot easily be deceived in this,—one which preserves the bees and betters the honey. Then, when you pay him, you may read to him, if you will, the wise rules of old Butler, exempli gratiâ:—
“‘If thou wilt have the favour of thy bees that they sting thee not, thou must not be unchaste or uncleanly; thou must not come among them with a stinking breath, caused either though eating of leeks, onions, or garlic, or by any other means, the noisomeness whereof is corrected by a cup of beer; thou must not be given to surfeiting or drunkenness; thou must not come puffing or blowing unto them, neither hastily stir among them, nor violently defend thyself when they seem to threaten thee; but, softly moving by, thy hand before thy face, gently put them by; and, lastly, thou must be no stranger to them. In a word (or rather in five words), be chaste, sweet, sober, quiet, familiar; so they will love thee and know thee from all others.’”
Allusion having been made to the profit that may be gained by the judicious management of bees, we will illustrate that point by relating an anecdote of a certain French curé.28 It is one which may be suggestive to some of the rural clergy in this country, who might almost as easily keep an apiary as they do a garden or an orchard.
A good French bishop, in paying his annual visit to his clergy, was very much afflicted by the representations they made to him of their extreme poverty, which, indeed, the appearance of their houses and families corroborated. Deploring the sad state of things which had reduced them to such a condition, he arrived at the house of a curate, who, living amongst a poorer set of parishioners than any he had yet visited, would, he feared, be in a still more woful plight than the rest. Contrary, however, to his expectations, he found the appearance of this remote parsonage to be superior to those he had already visited. Everything about the house wore the aspect of comfort and plenty. The good bishop was amazed. “How is this, my friend?” said he; “you are the first pastor I have met with having a cheerful face and a plentiful board! Have you any income independent of your cure?” “Yes, sire,” said the pastor, “I have: my family would starve on the pittance I receive from the poor people that I instruct. If you will walk into the garden, I will show you the stock that yields me such excellent interest.” On going into the garden, he showed the bishop a long range of bee-hives. “There,” said he, “is the bank from which I draw an annual dividend, and it is one that never stops payment.” His harvest of honey enabled him almost to dispense with the use of sugar, leaving him a considerable quantify for disposal in the market; of the coarser portions he made a tolerable substitute for wine, and the sale of the wax nearly paid his shoemaker’s bill. Ever afterwards, when any of the clergy complained to the bishop of poverty, he would say to them, “Keep bees! keep bees!” In this succinct advice—extending it to laity as well as clergy in rural districts—we heartily join, believing that in this country a ten-fold greater number of hives might be successfully kept than are now established.
In a very practical sense, the oft-repeated lines of Gray are strictly true:—
“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
An apiary in the garden of every village clergyman would afford the means of economising this unclaimed bounty of Providence.
An amusing, instance of the fondness of bears for honey is related by a Muscovite ambassador to Rome, in the “Feminine Monarchie; written out of Experience by Charles Butler. Printed in the Year 1609,”—a quaint, but sensible work:—
“A neighbour of mine (saith he), in searching in the woods for honey, slipped down into a great hollow tree, and there sunk into a lake of honey up to the breast; where—when he had stuck fast two days, calling and crying out in vain for help, because nobody in the meanwhile, came nigh that solitary place—at length, when he was out of all hope of life, he was strangely delivered by the means of a great bear, which, coming thither about the same business that he did, and smelling the honey, stirred with his striving, clambered up to the top of the tree, and then began to lower himself down backwards into it. The man bethinking himself, and knowing that the worst was but death—which in that place he was sure of—beclipt the bear fast with both his hands about the loins, and withal made an outcry as loud as he could. The bear being thus suddenly affrighted, what with the handling and what with the noise, made-up again with all speed possible. The man held, and the bear pulled, until, with main force, he had drawn him out of the mire; and then being let go, away he trots, more afeared than hurt, leaving the smeared swain in joyful fear.”
Bees may be very inexpensively and profitably kept in the cottager’s hive (see page 80), which will be found a very productive one. It is true that it has not the appliances of windows and bell-glasses; for the cottager is not supposed so much to care for his hives as a source of amusement; his object in bee-keeping is simply the profit it may bring. For those of our readers who wish to have united the facility, of observing the bees with that of the plentiful production of honey, we would especially recommend the improved cottage hive, described at page 69. If inclined to go to a little further expense, the hives described at pages 51, 62, 77, and 84, all afford constant opportunity for inspection of the bees, and allow of their working freely in the most natural manner. The Stewarton hive (page 109) is also a favourite with those who give the preference to honey, stored in boxes, although the opportunities for observation are not so great as with some others.
There are few hobbies which cost so little outlay as the keeping of bees! Once the “plant” of hives is purchased, there is little, if any, additional expense, and always a probability of a fair return. If honey be obtainable, the bees will find it; they work for nothing, and provide themselves, with sustenance, requiring only a very little labour from their keepers, and that labour of a pleasing and instructive, kind.
To the advanced and skilful apiarian we would especially commend the use of the bar and frame hives. With these, as we have attempted to show, the bee-keeper has a full command over his hives and bees. Many mistakes, it is true, have been made by uninitiated bee-keepers in using the more elaborate hives. Being struck with the remarkable facilities afforded by these superior hives for the extraction of any one comb, and, perhaps, fascinated with their easy sway over so highly-organized a community, these new-fangled bee-keepers have acquired a habit of perpetually and incautiously meddling with the bees. The inevitable results in such cases are, distress to the bees, impoverishment of the stocks, and loss and vexation to the over-zealous apiarian. All these things may be avoided, if it is remembered that there are first steps in bee-keeping, as well as in chemistry, croquet, or cricket. In bee-keeping, as in floriculture, it is a great point to know when to “let well alone.” There is no florist, however anxious for a prize, who would be continually pulling up his plants to see how their roots were growing. Doubtless, the full control which the bars and frames afford over the inmost recesses of the hives is a great temptation to the bee-keeper; but if he yields too readily to it, he will imperil his chance of profit and deprive himself of that continuous source of interest which a judicious apiarian always enjoys.
Many persons who are well-informed on most subjects are extraordinarily ignorant of the natural history of bees and the economy of the bee-hive. Perhaps we might venture to suggest that more pains should be taken at schools, or by parents, to inform young persons on this, in connexion with kindred subjects. As an amusing illustration of the ignorance referred to, we transcribe an order we received a short time since from a seminary in the north of England. The young gentleman thus writes:—“Master —— presents his compliments to Messrs. Neighbour, and begs they will send him a swarm of bees; he encloses six postage stamps, and hopes they will send him a good swarm.” This embryo naturalist was evidently of a mercantile turn, and had a mind to buy in the cheapest market, for in a postscript he adds:—“Please let it be fourpence, if you can!” We need scarcely say that, in reply, we endeavoured to enlighten our juvenile correspondent as to what constituted a swarm of bees, and returned the stamps, with our thanks.
Much superstition has existed, and, in some quarters, still exists, among the poor respecting bees. If a death occurs in the family of the bee-owner, these superstitious folk consider it needful to make the bees aware of the bereavement by “waking” them; that is, by giving a few raps at the entrance, and audibly announcing the circumstance. If this be not done, “no luck,” say they, will come of the bees the following season. Last summer, even near the metropolis, we heard a cottager bemoaning to his neighbour “his bad luck with his bees,” when the other replied, “Ah! no wonder; you never ’waked’ your bees when your wife died; what can you expect if you omit such needful duty?” In many parts of France, as well as here, it is a custom on such occasions to put the bees into mourning, by placing black crape or some such material round the hives. Bees also receive intelligence when a marriage or a christening takes place: in these cases, the hives are draped with red cloth. In fact, it is considered an essential element of “good luck” to inform the bees of any remarkable circumstance that occurs in the family of the bee-keeper. How would these good people manage with the newly-imported foreign bees, for they can hardly be expected to have learned our “lingo”? This difficulty is, however, not “likely” to be experienced, for it is to be hoped that intelligent bee-keepers do not believe in such nonsense. Fancy a man in this nineteenth century haranguing his bees after the above-mentioned fashion! Mr. Langstroth says that “some superstitious folk in America assert that the bees sometimes take the loss of their master so much to heart as to alight upon the coffin whenever it is exposed.” A clergyman told him that he attended a funeral where, as soon as the coffin was brought from the house, the bees gathered on it so much as to excite alarm. Some years after this occurrence, being engaged in varnishing a table, the bees alighted upon it in such numbers as to convince the clergyman that love of the varnish on the outside, rather than any respect for the deceased within, was the occasion of their conduct at the funeral. Mr. Langstroth adds: “How many superstitions, believed even by intelligent persons, might be as easily explained, if it were possible to ascertain as fully all the facts connected with them?” Another infatuation is, that you should on no account part with your bees for silver money—only for gold. This is so far sensible, that it ensures a respectable price. Certain credulous bee-keepers cannot, on any account; be induced to part with their bees for money; they will barter, but not sell,—to sell bees is, in their view, to lay themselves open to evil fortune. If these apprehensions are correct, our punishment will be a severe one, for we have been great offenders in that way, and seem likely to go on sinning.
It is scarcely necessary to add that, with the increase of education, such superstitions and fancies are becoming less and less, and will soon, it is hoped, be ranked amongst the follies of bygone days.
The culture of bees would be greatly promoted if a knowledge of it were considered necessary as one of the regular qualifications of a gardener. So little time is needed to gain the skill requisite for the tendance of an apiary, that it seems only reasonable to expect it of a well-taught gardener, and he should feel a pleasure in the circumstance of its forming a part of his duties. In Germany, where a country gentleman’s table is kept constantly supplied with fresh honey, the gardeners are expected to understand the management of hives; and in Bavaria, modern bee-culture is taught in the colleges to all the horticultural students. Travellers in Switzerland will call to mind the almost invariable practice of placing new honey on the breakfast tables at hotels in that country.
Some writers on bee-culture attach much importance to the particular position in which an apiary stands, and the aspect towards which it faces. A southern, or rather a south-eastern aspect, is the one which we have already recommended. Our reason for this preference is, that we deem it very important for the bees to have the first of the morning sun. Bees are early risers, and should have every inducement given them for the maintenance of so excellent a practice. A few years since, many strong opinions were expressed in favour of a northern aspect for hives. The chief reason given for those opinions, though very plausible, appears to us to be a very partial and inadequate one. It was said that, when the hives face the south, the bees may, like the incautious swallow in the fable, be tempted to fly abroad in the transient winter sunshine, and then perish in the freezing atmosphere when a passing cloud intervenes. But it is a very easy matter, if considered needful, to screen the entrance by fixing up matting so as to intercept the rays of the sun. At our own apiary we make no alteration in winter, under the belief that the bees will take care of themselves and that they seldom venture out when the weather is unsuitable.
With hives exposed in the open garden, it is a good practice to wind hay-bands round them in frosty weather, as such a protection enables the bees to resist the cold.
When a thaw occurs, everything, both in and out of doors, has a great deal of dampness about it. The combs of a hive are not exempt from this, so that it is advisable to have slight upward ventilation in winter. Holes the size of a pin’s head allow of the escape of a good deal of bad air, which is generated by the exhalations of the bees, as well as by the dampness before referred to. These holes, being small, do not create sufficient draught through the hives to be pernicious; if closed up by propolis, they are readily reopened with a pin. With wooden hives in winter, a bell-glass is often found to be useful; it should be placed over the hole in the crown-board, with a zinc trough to receive the condensed moisture.
In summer, bees do much towards ventilating their own stock-hives. The observant apiarian will not fail to remark how, on a warm day, several of the little creatures will stand at the entrance, with their abdomens sightly raised and their twinkling wings in rapid motion, producing a current of air inwards; while another set are engaged in like manner, driving the bad air out, so that a supply of pure oxygen is conveyed to the crowded inmates. In this fanning operation their wings vibrate with such rapidity, that their shape is as indistinct as are the spokes of a wheel when revolving in rapid centrifugal motion.
This important office entails great physical exertion on the part of the bees, and they relieve each other in detachments.
Fine colonies are sometimes destroyed by the entrance-way becoming stopped by some impediment or other, and care is requisite to keep a watch, that so fatal a catastrophe does not happen, because the bees (unless where very ample ventilation is given), excited by their imprisonment, make matters worse, by raising the temperature of their hive to such a pitch, that the combs melt from their foundations, and the bees themselves are suffocated, presenting, alas! a most woful spectacle to witness.
We give this hint because, having ourselves suffered from a similar cause when workmen have been employed in the vicinity of hives, these gentlemen, thoughtless of the welfare of the bees, but most careful of their own convenience, placed a piece of wood across, or otherwise stopped, the entrances, to prevent the bees coming out. In summer weather a very short time of confinement in a close hive suffices to complete the work of desolation; but should the bee-keeper’s attention be drawn to such a state of things, he must immediately raise the hive from its floor-board, and let the poor bees have all the air possible, leaving them thus exposed for the purpose of affording them a chance of revival. When bees are likely to incommode those whose duties temporarily oblige them to be near the entrances, it is better to move the hives a few paces (for less loss will be experienced), or else let the workmen cover their faces with net. The foregoing remarks more particularly apply to the summer season. In winter or in the spring, when the weather is cool and the bees are not so numerous, hives may be shut up even for a day or so without much ventilation, and but little harm will arise therefrom.
When we send away stocks or swarms, we are always careful to pack them so as to allow of a full current of air, in order that they may travel even in the hottest weather.
Some bee-keepers find an adapting-board convenient for placing underneath straw supers, as it facilitates their removal. These boards are made of mahogany half an inch thick, with a hole in the centre corresponding with that in the stock-hive. We do not consider it necessary to fix cross sticks in the straw stock-hives, as is frequently done; but if the apiarian prefers to have his hives so furnished, there is no serious objection to it. These observations refer to our cottager’s hive (page 80).
There is another little matter of detail that should be named here; that is, the necessity of the bee-keeper always having a common hive in readiness near the bees, so as to be able to secure any swarm which may unexpectedly start.
Here our pleasant task must close. We trust that all information has been given that is needful to enable the practical bee-keeper to begin business and the scientific apiarian to extend his observations. By way of illustrating the two characters combined, we will quote another simple idyll, by the German bee-keeper, Herr Braun, whose winter musings we have already presented to the reader:—
Notes
28 This story, in a disguised form, or, as the writer would say, an improved form, was quoted in the Cornhill Magazine some time ago. In transforming the bee-keeping curé into an English clergyman, the effect was cleverly enhanced, especially as to the dismay of the decorous English prelate in hearing that his poor brother in the Church had turned “manufacturer;” but then the vraisemblance of the story, as we have it, was destroyed.