That the bee does not collect her building materials, but derives them from her own body, is a fact that has come to light only within the last hundred and fifty years or so, although several shrewd guesses at the truth are to be found in the works of the mediæval bee-masters. The wasp, who has much of the ingenuity of the honey-bee, but is doomed to exercise it in a far more humble direction, makes a six-sided cell; but her matter is collected from outside, and can only be put to comparatively simple uses, as it is incapable of bearing tensile strain. Beeswax alone, of all constructive materials in the world, seems to meet every requirement. It can be worked into plates as thin as the 1/180th part of an inch, which is the normal thickness of the cell-wall. It is indestructible to all the elements save heat. It can be rendered soft and easily workable, or allowed to harden, while still retaining its suppleness and life. It is a bad conductor of heat, and therefore conserves the heat of the hive. Vermin do not prey upon it: so far as is known there is only one creature that will eat it—a peculiar kind of moth-larva, against which, however, a strong stock can always hold its own. And then, as the raw materials for its production are secretions of the bee’s own body, the work of preparing it can be carried on when darkness or stress of weather have put an end, for the time being, to work out of doors. The first labour undertaken by a swarm, directly it has gained possession of its new quarters, is the building of combs. The apparent revulsion of feeling which succeeds the excitement of swarming soon passes off, and the energies of the whole party are at once concentrated on furnishing and victualling the new hive. The older bees commence foraging, each bee as she goes forth hovering a moment with her head towards the hive, to fix its location and appearance in her memory. By far the greater portion, however, remain at home and unite in a dense cluster for wax-making. Time is everything in these first operations of the new colony. The queen, with whom egg-laying has probably been suspended for a day past, or even longer, is overburdened with fecundity, and must be supplied with thousands of brood-cells without delay. The foragers will be coming home laden with nectar and pollen, and will need instant storage-room. Wax must be made with all possible expedition, and the young bees crowd together in the roof of the hive, with their queen snug and warm in their midst.