There are few things more mystifying to the student of bee-life than the way in which winter is passed in the hive.  Probably nineteen out of every twenty people, who take a merely theoretical interest in the subject, entertain no doubt on the matter.  Bees , they will tell you—pass the winter in a state of , just as many other insects, , and animals have been proved to do.  And, though the truth forces itself upon scientific that there is no such thing as , in the accepted sense of the word, among hive-bees, the perplexing part of the whole question is that, as far as modern observers understand it, the honey-bee ought to hibernate, even if, as a matter of fact, she does not.  
For consider what a world of trouble would be saved if, at the coming of winter, the worker-bees merely got together in a compact cluster in their warm nook, with the queen in their midst; and thenceforward slept the long cold months away, until the hot March sun struck into them with the tidings that the willows—first caterers for the year’s winged myriads—were in golden flower once more; and there was nothing to do but rouse, and take their fill.  It would revolutionise the whole aspect of bee-life, and, to all appearances, vastly for the better.  There would be no more need to labour through the summer days, laying up winter stores.  Life could become for the honey-bee what it is to most other insects—merry and .  There would be time for dancing in the sunbeams, and long under rose-leaves; and it would be enough if each little worker took home an occasional full honey-sac or two for the babies, instead of wearing out nerve and body in all that desperate to and fro.
 
Yet, for some inscrutable reason, the honey-bee elects to keep awake—uselessly awake, it seems—throughout the four months or so during which outdoor work is impossible; and to this , unprofitable end, she sacrifices all that makes such a life as hers worth the living from a human point of view.
 
Restlessness, and the Reason for It
You can, however, seldom look at wild Nature’s ways from the human standpoint without danger of too much, or, worse still, leaving some vital, though invisible thing out of the argument.  And this latter, on a little farther consideration, proves to be what we are now doing.  Prolonged study of hive-life in winter will reveal one hitherto unsuspected fact.  At this time, far from settling down into a life of sleepy inactivity, the queen-bee seems to develop a restlessness and not to be observed in her at any other season.  It is clear that the workers would lie quiet enough, if they had only themselves to consider.  They collect in a mass between the central combs of the hive, the outer members of the company just keeping in touch with the nearest honey-cells.  These cells are by the furthermost bees, and the food is distributed from tongue to tongue.  As the nearest store-cells are emptied, the whole concourse moves on, the compacted crowd of bees thus journeying over the comb at a pace which is steady yet inconceivably slow.
 
But this policy seems in no way to commend itself to the queen.  Whenever you look into the hive, even on the coldest winter’s day, she is generally alert and stirring, keeping the worker-bees about her in a constant state of wakefulness and care.  Though she has long since ceased to lay, she is always about the comb, looking apparently for empty cells wherein to lay eggs, after her summer habit.  Night or day, she seems always in this unresting state of mind, and the work of getting their queen through the winter season is evidently a continual source of worry to the members of the colony.  Altogether, the most logical inference to be from any prolonged and careful of hive-life in winter is that the queen-bee herself is the main obstacle to any system of hibernation being adopted in the hive.  This lying-by for the cold weather, however desirable and practicable it may be for the great army of workers, is obviously dead against the natural instincts of the queen.  And since, being awake, she must be watched and fed and cared for, it follows that the whole colony must wake with her, or at least as many as are necessary to keep her nourished and preserved from harm.
 
The Queen a Slave to Tradition
Those, however, who are familiar with the resourceful nature of the honey-bee might expect her to effect an ingenious compromise in these as in all other circumstances; and the facts seem to point to such a compromise.  It is not easy to be sure of anything when watching the winter cluster in a hive, for the bees lie so close that becomes at times almost .  But one thing at least is certain.  The brood-combs between which the cluster forms are not merely covered by bees.  Into every cell in the comb some bee has crept, head first, and lies there quite motionless.  This attitude is also common a............