remnant probably sought another tree; otherwise the bees soon died.

I have seen bees desert their hive in the spring when it was infested
with worms, or when the honey was exhausted; at such times the swarm
seems to wander aimlessly, alighting here and there, and perhaps in the
end uniting with some other colony. In case of such union, it would be
curious to know if negotiations were first opened between the parties,
and if the houseless bees are admitted at once to all the rights and
franchises of their benefactors. It would be very like the bees to have
some preliminary plan and understanding about the matter on both sides.

Bees will accommodate themselves to almost any quarters, yet no hive
seems to please them so well as a section of a hollow tree,--"gums," as
they are called in the South and West where the sweet gum grows. In
some European countries the hive is always made from the trunk of a
tree, a suitable cavity being formed by boring. The old-fashioned straw
hive is picturesque, and a great favorite with the bees also.

The life of a swarm of bees is like an active and hazardous campaign of
an army; the ranks are being continually depleted, and continually
recruited. What adventures they have by flood and field, and what
hairbreadth escapes! A strong swarm during the honey season loses, on
an average, about four or five thousand a month, or one hundred and
fifty a day. They are overwhelmed by wind and rain, caught by spiders,
benumbed by cold, crushed by cattle, drowned in rivers and ponds, and
in many nameless ways cut off or disabled. In the spring the principal
mortality is from the cold. As the sun declines they get chilled before
they can reach home. Many fall down outside the hive, unable to get in
with their burden. One may see them come utterly spent and drop
hopelessly into the grass in front of their very doors. Before they can