The population of the hive becoming so dense that there is no longer room for the free and unrestrained circulation of the ordinary processes of the community, and so hot from the inconvenient accumulation of such numbers,—for they extend sometimes to as many as fifty thousand,—instinct prompts a portion of the community to migrate. This disposition is further promoted by the progressive, or completed development of some of the young queens. The inveterate and internecine animosity of these—anticipated rivalry, suggesting, it is surmised, the murderous desire, but being prevented from its indulgence by the defensive guardianship of several of the workers—urges the old queen to abandon at this conjuncture her royal metropolis. The inclination to do so, it would appear, is already foreseen by a very large body of her subjects, for if her departure be delayed by her successor’s protracted incapacity for undertaking the sovereign rule, the intending emigrants, having already abandoned all the labours of their old domicile preparatory to their issuing forth, will cluster in groups about the bee board until she is ready to emerge. This condition will sometimes last a day or two, and thence of course all is confusion both within and without the hive, for her subjects have suspended their labours and she has suspended her egg-laying, and roams wildly about within, striving, whenever she approaches a royal cell, or a fully developed young queen, to attack the latter, and destroy her by stinging her to death, or, to tear the former to pieces to get at the imago within, which indicates its apprehension by a shrill piping sound. But she is forcibly dragged back from this apicidal purpose by the working bees which surround each, and who now intermit their usual deference to prevent this destruction, and bite her and drag her back. The future queen of the abdicated throne having, during this turmoil, returned from her wedding tour, and being still protected from slaughterous aggression, the old queen indignantly issues forth. This exodus takes place usually on a brilliant and warm day, between twelve and three,—accordingly during the hottest hours. This is the first swarm of the year, and if the season be very genial it will take place in May. In this migration she is accompanied by all her most faithful lieges, which comprise, to the honour of beehood, by very much the largest majority of the inhabitants, to the number usually, in a well-stocked hive, of several thousands,—say from ten to twenty, depending on the population of the hive.