And here it is curious to note to what diplomacy and elaborate stratagem man is compelled to resort in order to delude these little sagacious insects, and bend them to his will.  In their unswerving loyalty, they will accept the most unexpected events with touching courage, regarding them probably as some new and inevitable fatal caprice of nature.  And, indeed, all this diplomacy notwithstanding, in the desperate confusion that may follow one of these hazardous expedients, it is on the admirable good sense of the bee that man always, and almost empirically, relies; on the inexhaustible treasure of their marvellous laws and customs, on their love of peace and order, their devotion to the public weal, and fidelity to the future; on the adroit strength, the earnest disinterestedness, of their character, and, above all, on the untiring devotion with which they fulfil their duty.  But the enumeration of such procedures belongs rather to technical treatises on apiculture, and would take us too far.*

The stranger queen is usually brought into the hive enclosed in a little cage, with iron wires, which is hung between two combs.  The cage has a door made of wax and honey, which the workers, their anger over, proceed to gnaw, thus freeing the prisoner, whom they will often receive without any ill-will.  Mr. Simmins, manager of the great apiary at Rottingdean, has recently discovered another method of introducing a queen, which, being extremely simple and almost invariably successful, bids fair to be generally adopted by apiarists who value their art.  It is the behaviour of the queen that usually makes her introduction a matter of so great difficulty.  She is almost distracted, flies to and fro, hides, and generally comports herself as an intruder, thus arousing the suspicions of the bees, which are soon confirmed by the workers’ examination.  Mr. Simmins at first completely isolates the queen he intends to introduce, and lets her fast for half an hour.  He then lifts a corner of the inner cover of the orphaned hive, and places the strange queen on the top of one of the combs.  Her former isolation having terrified her, she is delighted to find herself in the midst of the bees; and being famished she eagerly accepts the food they offer her.  The workers, deceived by her assurance, do not examine her, but probably imagine that their old queen has returned, and welcome her joyfully.  It would seem, therefore, that, contrary to the opinion of Huber and all other investigators, the bees are not capable of recognising their queen.  In any event, the two explanations, which are both equally plausible—­though the truth may lurk, perhaps, in a third, that is not yet known to us—­only prove once again how complex and obscure is the psychology of the bee.  And from this, as from all questions that deal with life, we can draw one conclusion only:  that, till better obtain, curiosity still must rule in our heart.

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