From branch to branch the smaller birds with song Solace the woods, and spread their painted wings Till even; nor then the solemn nightingale Ceases to warble: in shadiest covert hid, She all the night tunes her soft lays.

_Milton._

Again:--

----------------The sweet poet of the vernal groves Melts all the night in strains of am'rous woe.

_Armstrong._

Again:--

--------When the spring renews the flow'ry field, And warns the pregnant nightingale to build, She seeks the safest shelter of the wood, Where she may trust her little tuneful brood.

Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er, Sits there, and wanders through the grove no more: Warbling, she charms it each returning night;-- And gives the pensive mind a calm delight.

_Rowe._

The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, sits silent in the field; But if the promise of a cloudless day, (Aurora smiling,) bids her rise and play, Then straight she shews 'twas not for want of voice, Or pow'r to climb, she made so low a choice; Singing she mounts, her airy wings are stretch'd Tow'rds heaven, as if from heav'n her note she fetch'd.

_Waller._

--------------------Birds of sweetest song Attune from native boughs their various lay, And cheer the forest; those of brighter plume With busy pinion skim the glitt'ring wave, Or tempt the sun, ambitious to display Their several merit.

_Shenstone._

The Song of Birds is defined, by the Hon. Daines Barrington, to be a succession of three or more different notes, which are continued without interruption, during the same interval, with a musical bar of four crotchets, in an adagio movement, or whilst a pendulum swings four seconds. It is affirmed, that the notes of birds are no more innate than language in man, and that they depend upon imitation, as far as their organs will enable them to imitate the sounds which they have frequent opportunities of hearing: and their adhering so steadily, even in a wild state, to the same song, is owing to the nestling attending only to the instruction of the parent bird, whilst they disregard the notes of all others that may be singing around them. Birds in a wild state do not usually sing above ten weeks in the year; whereas birds that have plenty of food in a cage, sing the greatest part of the year: the female of no species of birds ever sings. This is a wise provision, because her song would discover her nest. In the same manner, we may account for her inferiority of plumage. The faculty of singing is confined to the c.o.c.k birds; and accordingly Mr. Hunter, in dissecting birds of several species, found the muscles of the larynx to be stronger in the nightingale than in any other bird of the same size; and in all those instances where he dissected both c.o.c.k and hen, the same muscles were stronger in the c.o.c.k.

It is an observation as ancient as the time of Pliny, that a capon does not crow. Some ascribe the singing of the c.o.c.k in the spring solely to the motive of pleasing his mate during incubation; others, who allow that it is partly for this end, believe it is partly owing to another cause, viz.

the great abundance of plants and insects in spring, which are the proper food of singing birds at that time of the year, as well as seeds. Mr.

Barrington remarks, that there is no instance of any singing bird which exceeds our blackbird in size; and this, he supposes, may arise from the difficulty of concealing itself, should it call the attention of its enemies, not only by its bulk, but by the proportionate loudness of its notes. He further observes, that some pa.s.sages of the song in a few kinds of birds correspond with the intervals of our musical scale, of which the cuckoo is a striking and known instance; but the greater part of their song cannot be reduced to a musical scale; partly because the rapidity is often so great, and it is also so uncertain when they may stop, that we cannot reduce the pa.s.sages to form a musical bar in any time whatsoever; partly also, because the pitch of most birds is considerably higher than the most shrill notes of those instruments which have the greatest compa.s.s; and princ.i.p.ally, because the intervals used by birds are commonly so minute, that we cannot judge of them from the more gross intervals into which we divide our musical octave. This writer apprehends, that all birds sing in the same key; and he found by a nightingale, as well as a robin which was educated under him, that the notes reducible to our intervals of the octave were always precisely the same. Most people, who have not attended to the notes of birds, suppose, that every species sing exactly the same notes and pa.s.sages: but this is not true; though there is a general resemblance. Thus the London bird-catchers prefer the song of the Kentish goldfinches, and Ess.e.x chaffinches; and some of the nightingale fanciers prefer a Surrey bird to those of Middles.e.x.

Of all singing birds, the song of the nightingale has been most universally admired; and its superiority consists in the following particulars: its tone is much more mellow than that of any other bird, though, at the same time, by a proper exertion of its musical powers, it can be very brilliant. Another superiority is, its continuance of song without a pause, which is sometimes twenty seconds; and when respiration becomes necessary, it takes it with as much judgment as an opera singer.

The skylark, in this particular, as well as in compa.s.s and variety, is only second to the nightingale. The nightingale also sings with judgment and taste. Mr. Barrington says, that his nightingale began softly, like the ancient orators, reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which thus had a most astonishing effect. He adds, that the notes of birds which are annually imported from Asia, Africa, and America, both singly and in concert, are not to be compared to those of European birds. He has also formed a table, to exhibit the comparative merits of the British singing birds; wherein twenty being the point of perfection, he states the nightingale at nineteen; the woodlark and skylark at eighteen; the blackcap at fourteen; the t.i.tlark, linnet, goldfinch, and robin, at twelve; with some variations respecting mellowness, sprightliness, execution, &c. for which, with the proportional differences of other birds, we refer to his work.

We cannot resist the temptation to insert the following well-known

INVITATION TO THE FEATHERED RACE.

_Written at Claverton, near Bath_

Again the balmy zephyr blows, Fresh verdure decks the grove; Each bird with vernal rapture glows, And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly, And shun the noontide heat; My shrubs a cooling shade supply, My groves a safe retreat.

Here freely hop from spray to spray, Or weave the mossy nest, Here rove and sing the live-long day, At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool translucent rill, That trickles down the glade, Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill, And revel in the shade.

No schoolboy rude, to mischief p.r.o.ne, E'er shows his ruddy face, Or tw.a.n.gs his bow, or hurls a stone, In this sequester'd place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs, Secure the linnet sings: The goldfinch dreads no slimy snares, To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt, Yon distant woods among, And round my friendly grotto chaunt Thy sweetly plaintive song.

Let not the harmless redbreast fear, Domestic bird, to come And seek a sure asylum here, With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artless tribe, Shall store of fruit preserve: O let me thus your friendship bribe!

Come, feed without reserve.

For you these cherries I protect, To you these plums belong; Sweet is the fruit that you have pick'd, But sweeter far your song.

Let then this league betwixt us made, Our mutual int'rest guard; Mine be the gift of fruit and shade, Your songs be my reward.

_Graves._

CHAP. XXII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING INSECTS.

To their delicious task the fervent bees, In swarming millions, tend; around, athwart, Through the soft air the busy nations fly, Cling to the bud, and with inserted tube Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul; And oft, with bolder wing, they, soaring, dare The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grow, And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.

_Thomson._

What various wonders may observers see In a small insect--the sagacious bee!

Mark how the little untaught builders square Their rooms, and in the dark their lodgings rear; Nature's mechanics, they unwearied strive And fill, with curious labyrinths, the hive.

See what bold strokes of architecture shine Through the whole frame, what beauty, what design!

_Blackmore._

THE HONEY BEE.

This important insect has been long and justly celebrated for its wonderful polity, the neatness and precision with which it constructs its cells, and the diligence with which it provides, during the warmth of summer, a supply of food for the support of the hive during the rigours of the succeeding winter. The general history of this interesting insect has been amply detailed by various authors, as Swammerdam, Reaumur, &c. &c.

Among the most elaborate accounts of later times, may be mentioned that of Mr. John Hunter, which made its appearance in the Philosophical Transactions for the year 1792; and that of M. Huber, contained in his _Nouvelles Observations sur les Abeilles_, addressed to M. Bonnet, the celebrated author of the "_Contemplations de la Nature_." The following account is drawn princ.i.p.ally from Hunter and Huber.

There are three periods, observes Hunter, at which the history of the bee may commence: first, in the spring, when the queen begins to lay her eggs; in the summer, at the commencement of a new colony; or in the autumn, when they go into winter-quarters. We shall begin the particular history of the bee with the new colony, when nothing is formed. When a hive sends off a colony, it is commonly in the month of June; but that will vary according to the season, for, in a mild spring, bees sometimes swarm in the middle of May, and very often at the latter end of it. Before they come off, they commonly hang about the mouth of the hole or door of the hive for some days, as if they had not sufficient room within for such hot weather, which we believe is very much the case; for if cold or wet weather come on, they stow themselves very well, and wait for fine weather. But swarming appears to be rather an operation arising from necessity; for they do not seem to remove voluntarily, because if they have an empty s.p.a.ce to fill, they do not swarm; therefore, by increasing the size of the hive, the swarming is prevented. This period is much longer in some than in others. For some evenings before they come off, is often heard a singular noise, a kind of ring, or sound of a small trumpet; by comparing it with the notes of a piano-forte, it seemed to be the same sound with the lower A of the treble. The swarm commonly consists of three cla.s.ses; a female or females, males, and those commonly called mules, which are supposed to be of no s.e.x, and are the labourers; the whole, about two quarts in bulk, making about six or seven thousand. It is a question that cannot easily be determined, whether this old stock sends off only young of the same season, and whether the whole of their young ones, or only a part.

As the males are entirely bred in the same season, part go off; but part must stay, and most probably it is so with the others. They commonly come off in the heat of the day, often immediately after a shower. When one goes off, they all immediately follow, and fly about, seemingly in great confusion, although there is one principle actuating the whole. They soon appear to be directed to some fixed place; such as the branch of a tree or bush, the cavities of old trees, or holes of houses leading into some hollow place; and whenever the stand is made, they immediately repair to it till they are all collected. But it would seem, in some cases, that they had not fixed upon any resting-place before they come off, or, if they had, that they were either disturbed, if it was near, or that it was at a great distance; for, after hovering some time, as if undetermined, they fly away, mount up into the air, and go off with great velocity. When they have fixed upon their future habitation, they immediately begin to make their combs for they have the materials within themselves. "I have reason," says Mr. Hunter, "to believe that they fill their crops with honey when they come away, probably from the stock in the hive. I killed several of those that came away, and found their crops full, while those that remained in the hive had their crops not near so full: some of them came away with farina on their legs, which I conceive to be rather accidental. I may just observe here, that a hive commonly sends off two, sometimes three swarms in a summer, but that the second is commonly less than the first, and the third less than the second; and this last has seldom time to provide for the winter.

"The materials of their dwelling or comb, which is the wax, is the next consideration, with the mode of forming, preparing, or disposing of it. In giving a totally new account of the wax, I shall first shew it can hardly be what it has been supposed to be. First, I shall observe that the materials, as they are found composing the comb, are not to be found in the same state (as a composition) in any vegetable, where they have been supposed to be got. The substance brought in on the legs, which is the farina of the flowers of plants, is, in common, I believe, imagined to be the materials of which the wax is made, for it is called by most, the wax: but it is the farina, for it is always of the same colour as the farina of the flower where they are gathering; and, indeed, we see them gathering it, and we also see them covered almost all over with it like a dust: nevertheless, it has been supposed to be the wax, or that the wax was extracted from it. Reaumur is of this opinion.

"I made several experiments, to see if there was such a quant.i.ty of oil in it, as would account for the quant.i.ty of wax to be formed, and to learn if it was composed of oil. I held it near the candle; it burnt, but did not smell like wax, and had the same smell when burning, as farina when it was burnt. I observed, that this substance was of different colours on different bees, but always of the same colour on both legs of the same bee; whereas a new-made comb was all of one colour. I observed, that it was gathered with more avidity for old hives, where the comb is complete, than for those hives where it was only begun, which we could hardly conceive, admitting it to be the materials of wax. Also we may observe, that at the very beginning of a hive, the bees seldom bring in any substance on their legs for two or three days, and after that, the farina gatherers begin to increase; for now some cells are formed to hold it as a store, and some eggs are laid, which, when hatched, will require this substance as food, and which will be ready when the weather is wet.

"The wax is formed by the bees themselves; it may be called an external secretion of oil, and I have found that it is formed between each scale of the under side of the belly. When I first observed this substance, in my examination of the working bee, I was at a loss to say what it was: I asked myself if it were scales forming, and whether they cast the old, as the lobster, &c. does? but it was to be found only between the scales on the lower side of the belly. On examining the bees through gla.s.s hives, while they were climbing up the gla.s.s, I could see that most of them had this substance, for it looked as if the lower or posterior edge of the scale was double, or that there were double scales; but I perceived it was loose, not attached. Finding that the substance brought in on their legs was farina, intended, as appeared from every circ.u.mstance, to be the food of the bee, and not to make wax; and not having yet perceived any thing that could give me the least idea of wax; I conceived these scales might be it, at least I thought it necessary to investigate them. I therefore took several on the point of a needle, and held them to a candle, where they melted, and immediately formed themselves into round globules; upon which I no longer doubted that this was the wax, which opinion was confirmed to me by not finding those scales but in the building season.

"The cells, or rather the congeries of cells, which compose the comb, may be said to form perpendicular plates, or part.i.tions, which extend from top to bottom of the cavity in which they build, and work downwards; but if the upper part of this vault to which their combs are fixed, is removed, and a dome is put over, they begin at the upper edge of the old comb, and work up into the new cavity at the top. They generally may be guided, as to the directions of their new plates, by forming ridges at top, to which they begin to attach their combs. In a long hive, if these ridges are longitudinal, their plates of comb will be longitudinal; if placed transversely, so will be the plates; and if obliquely, the plates of comb will be oblique also. Each plate consists of a double set of cells, whose bottoms form the part.i.tion between each set. The plates themselves are not very regularly arranged, not forming a regular plane where they might have done so, but are often adapted to the situation or shape of the cavity in which they are built.

"The bees do not endeavour to shape their cavity to their work, as the wasps do, nor are the cells of equal depths, also fitting them to their situation; but as the breeding cells must all be of a given depth, they reserve a sufficient number for breeding in, and they put the honey into the others, as also into the shallow ones. The attachment of the comb round the cavity is not continued, but interrupted, so as to form pa.s.sages in the middle of the plates, especially if there be a cross-stick to support the comb; these allow of bees to go across from plate to plate.

The substance which they use for attaching their combs to surrounding parts, is not the same as the common wax; it is softer and tougher, a good deal like the substance with which they cover in their chrysalis, or the humblebee surrounds her eggs. It is probably a mixture of wax with farina.

The cells are placed nearly horizontal, but not exactly so; the mouth raised a little, which probably may be to retain the honey the better: however, this rule is not strictly observed, for often they are horizontal, and towards the lower edge of a plane of comb they are often declining. The first combs that a hive forms are the smallest, and much neater than the last or lowermost. Their sides or part.i.tions, between cell and cell, are much thinner, and the hexagon is much more perfect. The wax is purer, being probably little else but wax, and it is more brittle. The lower combs are considerably larger, and contain much more wax, or perhaps, more properly, more materials; and the cells are at such distances as to allow them to be of a round figure; the wax is softer, and there is something mixed with it. I have observed that the cells are not all of equal size, some being a degree larger than others; and that the small are the first formed, and of course at the upper part, where the bees begin; and the larger are nearer the lower part of the comb, or last made: however, in hives of a particular construction, where the bees may begin to work at one end, and can work both down and towards the other end, we often find the larger cells both on the lower part of the combs, and also at the opposite end; these are formed for the males to be bred in: in the hornet and wasp combs there are larger cells for the queens to be bred in; these are also formed in the lower tier, and are the last formed.

"The first comb made in a hive is all of one colour, viz. almost white; but is not so white towards the end of the season, having then more of a yellow cast."