CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.—(Continued.)
Wild Bees.
The Clothier Bee.—The Carpenter Bee.—The Mason Bee.—The Upholsterer Bee.—The Leaf-cutter Bee.—Curious Account of an Idiot Boy and Bees.—Mr. Wildman’s Curious Exhibitions of Bees explained.
The Clothier Bee.
Learn each small people’s genius, policies,
The ants’ republic, and the realm of bees;
How those in common all their wealth bestow
And anarchy without confusion know;
And these for ever, though a monarch reign,
Their separate cells and properties maintain.
Mark what unvary’d laws preserve each state,
Laws, wise as Nature, and as fixt as Fate.
Pope.
The following curious account of wild bees is principally abridged from Kirby and Spence’s very interesting work on entomology.
The clothier bee is a lively and gay insect. It does not excavate holes for their reception, but places them in the cavities of old trees, or of any other object that suits its purpose. Sir Thomas Cullum discovered the nest of one in the inside of the lock of a garden gate, in which Mr. Kirby also since twice found them. It should seem, however, that such situations would be too cold for the grubs without a coating of some non-conducting substance. The parent bee, therefore, after having constructed the cells, laid an egg in each, and filled them with a store of suitable food, plasters them with a covering of vermiform masses, apparently composed of honey and pollen; and having done this, aware (long before Count Rumford’s experiments) what materials conduct heat most slowly, she attacks the woolly leaves of Stachy’s lanata, Agrostemma coronaria, and similar plants, and with her mandibles industriously scrapes off the wool, which with her fore legs she rolls into a little ball, and carries to her nest. This wool she sticks upon the plaster that covers her cells, and thus closely envelopes them with a warm coating of down, impervious to every change of temperature.
The Carpenter Bee.—A numerous family of wild bees may properly be compared to carpenters, boring with incredible labour, out of the solid wood, long cylindrical tubes, and dividing them into various cells. Amongst these, one of the most remarkable is the Apis violacea, L. (Xylacopa, Latr.) a large species, a native of southern Europe, distinguished by beautiful wings of a deep violet colour, and found commonly in gardens, in the upright putrescent espaliers, or vine props, of which, and occasionally in the garden seats, doors, and window-shutters, she makes her nest. In the beginning of spring, after repeated and careful surveys, she fixes upon a piece of wood suitable for her purpose, and with her strong mandibles begins the process of boring. First proceeding obliquely downwards, she soon points her course in a direction parallel with the sides of the wood, and at length with unwearied exertion forms a cylindrical hole or tunnel not less than twelve or fifteen inches long, and half an inch broad. Sometimes, where the diameter will admit of it, three or four of these pipes, nearly parallel with each other, are bored in the same piece. Herculean as this task (which is the labour of several days) appears, it is but a small part of what our industrious bee cheerfully undertakes. As yet she has completed, but the shell of the destined habitation of her offspring; each of which, to the number of ten or twelve, will require a separate and distinct apartment. In excavating her tunnel, she has detached a large quantity of fibres, which lie on the ground like a heap of saw-dust. This material supplies all her wants. Having deposited an egg at the bottom of the cylinder, along with the requisite store of pollen and honey, she next, at the height of about three-quarters of an inch, (which is the depth of each cell,) constructs of particles of the saw-dust glued together, and also to the sides of the tunnel, what may be called an annular stage or scaffolding. When this is sufficiently hardened, its interior edge affords support for a second ring of the same materials, and thus the ceiling is gradually formed of these concentric circles, till there remains only a small orifice in its centre, which is also closed with a circular mass of agglutinated particles of saw-dust. When this partition, which serves as the ceiling of the first cell, and the flooring of the second, is finished, it is about the thickness of a crown piece, and exhibits the appearance of as many concentric circles as the animal has made pauses in her labour. One cell being finished, she proceeds to another, which she furnishes and completes in the same manner, and so on, until she has divided her whole tunnel into ten or twelve apartments.
Such a laborious undertaking as the constructing and furnishing these cells, cannot be the work of one, or even of two days. Considering that every cell requires a store of honey and pollen, not to be collected but with long toil, and that a considerable interval must be spent in agglutinating the floors of each, it will be very obvious that the last egg in the last cell must be laid many days after the first. We are certain, therefore, that the first egg will become a grub, and consequently a perfect bee, many days before the last. What then becomes of it? It is impossible that it should make its escape through eleven superincumbent cells, without destroying the immature tenants; and it seems equally impossible that it should remain patiently in confinement below them until they are all disclosed. This dilemma our heaven-taught architect has provided against. With forethought, never enough to be admired, she has not constructed her tunnel with one opening only, but at the farther end has pierced another orifice, a kind of back door, through which the insects produced by the first-laid eggs successively emerge into day. In fact, all the young bees, even the uppermost, go out by this road; for, by an exquisite instinct, each grub, when about to become a pupa, places itself in its cell, with its head downwards, and thus is necessitated, when arrived at its last state, to pierce its cell in this direction.
We shall now describe The Mason-Bee.—There is a family of wild bees which carry on the trade of masons, building their solid houses solely of artificial stone. The first step of the mother bee, Apis mururia, Oliv. (Anthophara, F. Megachile, Latr.) is to fix upon a proper situation for the future mansion of her offspring. For this she usually selects an angle, sheltered by any projection, on the south side of a stone wall. Her next care is to provide materials for the structure. The chief of these is sand, which she carefully selects, grain by grain, from such as contain some mixture of earth; these grains she glues together with her viscid saliva into masses the size of small shot,[10] and transports by means of her jaws to the site of her castle. With a number of these masses, which are the artificial stone of which her building is to be composed, united by a cement preferable to ours, she first forms the basis or foundation of the whole. Next she raises the walls of a cell, which is an inch long and half an inch broad, and, before its orifice is closed, in form resembles a thimble. This, after depositing an egg, and a supply of honey and pollen, she covers in, and then proceeds to the erection of a second, which she finishes in the same manner, until the whole number, which varies from four to eight, is completed. The vacuities between the cells, which are not placed in any regular order, some being parallel to the wall, others being perpendicular to it, and others inclined to it at different angles, this laborious architect fills up with the same material of which the cells are composed, and then bestows upon the whole group a common covering of coarser grains of sand. The form of the whole nest, which, when finished, is a solid mass of stone, so hard as not to be easily penetrated with the blade of a knife, is an irregular oblong, of the same colour as the sand, and, to a casual observer, more resembling a splash of mud than an artificial structure. These bees sometimes are more economical of their labour, and repair old nests, for the possession of which they have very desperate combats. One would have supposed that the inhabitants of a castle so fortified might defy the attack of an insect marauder. Yet an ichneumon, and a beetle (Clerius apiarius, F.) both contrive to introduce their eggs into the cells, and the larvÆ proceeding from them devour their inhabitants.—Reaum. vi. 57, 58. Mon. Ap. Angl. i. 179.
Other bees of the same family use different materials in the construction of their nests. Some employ fine earth made into a kind of mortar made with gluten. Another, (A. coerulescens, L.) as we learn from De Geer, forms its nest of argillaceous earth, mixed with chalk, upon stone walls, and sometimes probably builds in chalk-pits. Apis bicornis, L. selects the hollows of large stones for the site of its dwelling; whilst others prefer the holes in wood.
We now proceed to The Upholsterer-Bee.—Such may those be denominated which line the holes excavated in the earth for the reception of their young, with an elegant coating of flowers or of leaves. Amongst the most interesting of these is Apis Papaveris, (Megachile, Latr., Anthophora, F.) a species whose manners have been admirably described by Reaumur. This little bee, as though fascinated with the colour most attractive to our eyes, invariably chooses for the hangings of her apartments the most brilliant scarlet, selecting for its material the petals of the wild poppy, which she dexterously cuts into the proper form. Her first process is to excavate in some pathway a burrow, cylindrical at the entrance, but swelled out below, to the depth of about three inches. Having polished the walls of this little apartment, she next flies to a neighbouring field, cuts out oval portions of the flowers of poppies, seizes them between her legs, and returns with them to her cell; and though separated from the wrinkled petal of a half-expanded flower, she knows how to straighten their folds, and, if too large, to fit them for her purpose by cutting off the superfluous parts. Beginning at the bottom, she overlays the walls of her mansion with this brilliant tapestry, extending it also on the surface of the ground round the margin of the orifice. The bottom is rendered warm by three or four coats, and the sides have never less than two. The little upholsterer, having completed the hangings of her apartment, next fills it with pollen and honey to the height of about half an inch; then, after committing an egg to it, she wraps over the poppy lining, so that even the roof may leave this material; and lastly, closes its mouth with a small hillock of earth.—Reaum. 6. 139 to 148. The great depth of the cell, compared with the space which the single egg and the accompanying food deposited in it occupy, deserves particular notice. This is not more than half an inch at the bottom, the remaining two inches and a half being subsequently filled with earth.
The Leaf-cutter Bee.—There is a species of wild bee, that cover the walls of their cells with coatings of sober-coloured materials, generally selecting for their hangings the leaves of trees, especially of the rose, whence they have been known by the name of the leaf-cutter bees. They differ also from A. Papaveris in excavating longer burrows, and filling them with several thimble-shaped cells, composed of portions of leaves so curiously convoluted, that, if we were ignorant in what school they have been taught to construct them, we should never credit their being the work of an insect. Their entertaining history, so long ago as 1670, attracted the attention of our countrymen, Ray, Lister, Willoughby, and Sir Edw. King; but we are indebted for the most complete account of the procedure, to Reaumur.
The mother bee first excavates a cylindrical hole eight or ten inches long, in a horizontal direction, either in the ground or in the trunk of a rotten willow-tree, or occasionally in other decaying wood. This cavity she fills with six or seven cells, wholly composed of portions of leaf in the shape of a thimble, the convex end of one closely fitting into the open end of another. Her first process is to form the exterior coating, which is composed of three or four pieces, of larger dimensions than the rest, and of an oval form. The second coating is formed of portions of equal size, narrow at one end, but gradually widening towards the other, where the width equals half the length. One side of these pieces is the serrate margin of the leaf from which it was taken, which, as the pieces are made to lap one over the other, is kept on the outside, and that which has been cut within. The little animal now forms a third coating of similar materials, the middle of which, as the most skilful workman would do in similar circumstances, she places over the margins of those that form the first tube, thus covering and strengthening the junctures. Repeating the same process, she gives a fourth and sometimes a fifth coating to her nest, taking care, at the closed end or narrow extremity of the cell, to bend the leaves so as to form a convex termination. Having thus finished a cell, her next business is to fill it, to within half a line of the orifice, with a rose-coloured conserve, composed of honey and pollen, usually collected from the flowers of thistles; and then having deposited her egg, she closes the orifice with three pieces of leaf so exactly circular, that a pair of compasses could not define their margin with more truth, and coinciding so precisely with the walls of the cell, as to be retained in their situation merely by the nicety of their adaptation. After this covering is fitted in, there remains still a concavity, which receives the convex end of the succeeding cell; and in this manner the indefatigable little animal proceeds until she has completed the six or seven cells composing her cylinder.
The process which one of these bees employs in cutting the pieces of leaf that compose her nest, is worthy of attention. Nothing can be more expeditious; she is not longer about it than we should be with a pair of scissors. After hovering for some moments over a rose bush, as if to reconnoitre the ground, the bee alights upon the leaf which she has selected, usually taking her station upon its edge, so that the margin passes between her legs. With her strong mandibles she cuts without intermission in a curve line, so as to detach a triangular portion. When this hangs by the last fibre, lest its weight should carry her to the ground, she balances her little wings for flight, and the very moment it parts from the leaf, flies off with it in triumph; the detached portion remaining bent between her legs in a direction perpendicular to her body. Thus without rule or compasses do these diminutive creatures mete out the materials of their work into portions of an ellipse, into ovals or circles, accurately accommodating the dimensions of the several pieces of each figure to each other. What other architect could carry impressed upon the tablet of his memory the entire idea of the edifice which he has to erect, and, destitute of square or plumb-line, cut out his materials in their exact dimensions without making a single mistake? Yet this is what our little bee invariably does. So far are human art and reason excelled by the teaching of the Almighty.—Reaum. vi. 971-94. Mor. Ap. Angl. i. 157. Apis c. 2.
A curious Account of an Idiot Boy, and Bees.—Mr. White has given the following curious account of an idiot boy. From a child he shewed a strong propensity to bees. They were his food, his amusement, his sole object. In the winter he dozed away his time in his father’s house, by the fire-side, in a torpid state, seldom leaving the chimney-corner: but in summer he was all alert, and in quest of his game. Hive-bees, humble-bees, and wasps, were his prey, wherever he found them. He had no apprehension from their stings, but would seize them with naked hands, and at once disarm them of their weapons, and suck their bodies for the sake of their honey-bags. Sometimes he would fill his bosom between his shirt and skin with these insects; and sometimes he endeavoured to confine them in bottles. He was very injurious to men that kept bees, for he would glide into their bee-gardens, and, sitting down before the stools, would rap with his fingers, and so take the bees as they came out. He has even been known to overturn the hives for the sake of the honey, of which he was passionately fond. Where metheglin was making, he would linger round the tubs and vessels, begging a draught of what he called bee-wine. As he ran about, he used to make a humming noise with his lips, resembling the buzzing of bees. This lad was lean and sallow, and of a cadaverous complexion; and, except in his favourite pursuit, in which he was wonderfully adroit, discovered no manner of understanding. Had his capacity been better, and directed to the same object, he had perhaps abated much of our wonder at the feats of a more modern exhibiter of bees; and we may justly say of him now,
——————————Thou
Had thy presiding star propitious
Shouldst Wildman be.
White’s Natural History.
We conclude this chapter with an explanation of the preceding lines.
Mr. Wildman’s curious Exhibitions of Bees.—Mr. Wildman, by his dexterity in the management of bees, some years ago, surprised the whole kingdom. He caused swarms to light where he pleased, almost instantaneously; he ordered them to settle on his head, then removed them to his hand, and commanded them to settle on a window, table, &c. at pleasure. We subjoin the method of performing these feats, in his own words: “Long experience has taught me, that as soon as I turn up a hive, and give it some taps on the sides and bottom, the queen immediately appears, to know the cause of this alarm; but soon retires again among her people. Being accustomed to see her so often, I readily perceive her at first glance; and long practice has enabled me to seize her instantly, with a tenderness that does not in the least endanger her person. This is of the utmost importance; for the least injury done to her brings immediate destruction to the hive, if you have not a spare queen to put in her place, as I have too often experienced in my first attempts. When possessed of her, I can, without injury to her, or exciting that degree of resentment that may tempt her to sting me, slip her into my other hand, and, returning the hive to its place, hold her there, till the bees missing her, are all on wing, and in the utmost confusion. When the bees are thus distressed, I place the queen wherever I would have the bees to settle. The moment a few of them discover her, they give notice to those near them, and those to the rest; the knowledge of which becomes so general, that in a few minutes they all collect themselves round her, and are so happy in having recovered this sole support of their state, that they will long remain quiet in their situation: nay, the scent of her body is so attractive of them, that the slightest touch of her along any place or substance, will attach the bees to it, and induce them to any path she takes.”—This was the only witchcraft used by Mr. Wildman, and is that alone which is practised by others, who have since made similar exhibitions.
