The execution of a queen is not an event of common occurrence; but that of male members of the hive forms part of the ordinary routine, though coming only within the larger cycle of the year. As the summer wanes and the harvest of nectar grows perceptibly less, visions of a possible famine, and its attendant horrors, seem to arise. So heads are counted and occupations are scrutinized, when it is discovered that the only members of the community who are contributing nothing to the general well-being are the males, who are now but useless drains on the hive. None of the neighbouring hives are now likely to send forth a virgin queen to her nuptials, to which end each hive is obliged to contribute—for no hive utilizes the services of its own drones; these idle fellows, then, are “eating their heads off”—and males, too; perish the thought! While they had anything to gain from him their motto was “Feed the brute”; but now, on each, doom is pronounced. It must be admitted that a live drone at the end of summer is one of life’s failures. Notoriously unable to feed himself save upon the honey made by his sisters, and having no function in life to perform save that of mating, his very existence now is a damning witness against himself. When the mother of the hive ceases to maintain the standard of fertility set by her exacting daughters, she is put to death stealthily, as if in an excess of devotion: she is smothered under their embraces. Towards the drones now under sentence no such consideration is to be shown. When the word goes forth, the slaughter begins, and it gathers in ferocity. It begins in a massacre of the innocents—every helpless larval drone is ruthlessly dragged from its cot and thrown out of the hive to die: there is now no crime in infanticide, nor in the most gruesome massacre that is presently to follow. The drones, all unsuspecting, are to be tolerated a brief spell longer. The cool, calculating spirit of these unsexed ones seems to realize that there is even yet a remote possibility that the services of these doomed ones may be wanted. No sooner, however, does it become clear that this chance is past, than the decree of death is made absolute, and the poor drones are suddenly and viciously attacked by half a dozen frenzied spinsters at once. Each tries to bite through the base of the victim’s wings, and succeeding in this, he is speedily pushed towards the door of the hive and out into the open, whence return is impossible, so that nothing is left but death by starvation. Some of the victims will escape in the _mêlée_, but only for a brief season. Such as find their way, unmaimed, to the open air, are still faced by inevitable death. To remain out is to die of starvation or cold, to return is to fall a prey to the now infuriated guards, who, strongly reinforced, stand at the doorway of the hive to intercept and dispatch these unlucky fugitives. It will be remarked that these