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cocks. The walls of these dwellings are so solid that the wild cattle climb upon them without crushing them; and the interior contains chambers so large that a dozen men can find shelter in them. The wild cattle stand upon them when on duty as sentinels; and the hunters conceal them. selves within when waiting for their quarry.8

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A HIVE of bees consists of one female or queen, several hundreds of males or drones, and many thousand workers; and besides these three classes of bees, there is in the spring a young family growing up, requiring to be nursed and nourished till the time has come for them to swarm-that is, leave the old home and find a new one for themselves. The interior of the hive is occupied with a set of combs, which are full of little hexagonal1 cells. The walls of the cells are composed of wax, which is not collected from flowers, but exuded from the body of certain bees, that swallow honey or sugar for the purpose. When the wax-workers are producing wax they suspend themselves to each other, the claws of the fore-legs of one being hooked on to the claws of the hind-legs of another. The first use of these cells is to receive the eggs which the queen-bee deposits, and to serve as nurseries for the young ones. Another use is as store-rooms for honey. It is collected by the workers by

means of their tongues, which are used for lapping up the sweet juice or nectar of flowers. The nectar is conveyed to the stomach, and the bees on reaching the hive disgorge their treasure into the cells. Each cell as it becomes full is sealed up for future use. The busy workers seem to keep up a constant hum when on the wing, as if they were singing while at work. But really the hum is caused by the rapid vibrations of their wings you may observe whenever a bee ceases to move its wings it also ceases to hum.

No one can inspect the interior of a bee-hive without being struck with admiration. The spectator beholds a city in miniature. He sees this city divided into regular streets, these streets composed of houses, so symmetrically2 formed and so wisely planned that every inch of space is turned to account. Some of these houses serve as magazines for food, others as dwelling-houses for the common citizens, and a few, much more extensive than the rest, as palaces for the sovereign. And the whole is the work of a society of insects! And what is more surprising is the perfection with which each member of the hive performs its task without spending a moment in learning. When the working-bee has cut its way out of the cell in which it has been sealed up while in its pupa state, it begins at once to take its part in the work, as if it had spent a long apprenticeship in learning it.

Nor does instinct act blindly in these wonderful creatures, as it seems to do in most cases; but it enables them to contrive special measures to meet unexpected difficulties. When an enemy little to be dreaded sneaks into a hive of bees, the first sentinels that see it pierce it with their stings, and in the twinkling of an eye eject the corpse from their common abode. The work is not interrupted by such an event. But should the aggressor be a strong and heavy slug, another course is adopted. The whole hive is in a stir; each bee gets ready his weapon, whirls round the intruder, and pierces it with his dart. Assailed with fury

wounded on all sides, and poisoned with the venom, the invader dies. But what is to be done with the unwieldy carcase of the enemy? The little feet of all the tribe would not suffice to stir the corpse, but to let it rot where it lies would be dangerous to the health and comfort of the colony. In this emergency the wise little insects set to work to embalm the dead body. They ransack the country round for resinous matter,3 such as clings to the buds of plants, and with it they envelop the corpse, which is thus preserved from putrefaction. If instead of a soft slug, vulnerable on all sides, a snail bearing its castle on its back should enter the hive, a totally different plan is found necessary. As soon as the swarm begins to attack, the mollusc1 withdraws itself into the shell, and turns the open part downwards. The bees soon perceive that their enemy is too well fenced for them to kill, and too heavy for them to expel. They, accordingly, proceed to seal its fate by glueing it to the ground with a layer of resinous matter deposited round the edges of the shell. The enemy must then necessarily die in his castle, for all movement, all escape is henceforth impossible.

Bees are especially remarkable for making the common good of the community their sole aim. They seem to know that respect and obedience to the ruler of the hive—that is, to the queen-is essential to the general welfare of the society. She is the object of constant and universal attention; and wherever she goes is loyally greeted. It is otherwise with the drones or male bees, who are merely the fathers of the family, but do nothing towards the support of their children. Accordingly, as soon as their presence in the hive is no longer desirable, the workers set upon these idlers and sting them to death, being resolved that as they will not work they shall no longer eat. The workers are not only busy bees, but they are active in the way which tends best to the common good. Thus in summer the bees would find the heat of the hive intolerable if it were not kept well ventilated. This is effected by a party of bees, near the entrance, causing

their wings to vibrate rapidly. This hard work is kept up during the day, and in very hot weather by night also, by distinct gangs, each doing duty for about half an hour. Thus it appears that every member of the hive has its appointed duties, which it performs for the general benefit of the community.

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SPIDERS, strictly speaking, are not insects; for they do not undergo those transformations1 which distinguish insects. There are many different kinds of spiders, having different habits of life and different methods of taking their prey; but they all show the same wariness2 and perseverance in providing for themselves and their young. The greater number weave curious webs to entangle flies and other small insects. But there are some spiders which never make webs; they either hunt their victims and pounce upon them unawares, or lie in ambush3 for them in holes in the earth, in crevices of walls or trees, or even in the cup of a flower. And there is one species, named the Water Spider, that lurks for its prey near the bottom of some pool. As her name implies, she lives chiefly in the water, swimming about with great speed and dexterity. She is an admirable diver, making descents and ascents in the water with the greatest facility. Her home is the midst of water, and yet she contrives to fill it with air, and to keep her young ones dry,

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