[6] When the comb in our glass hive is new, and white, these operations can be seen more distinctly than when very old and dark.
In about six days it is sealed over with a convex waxen lid. It is now hidden from our sight for about twelve days, when it bites off the cover, and comes forth a perfect bee. The period from the egg to the perfect bee varies from twenty to twenty-four days; average about twenty-two for workers, twenty-four for drones. The temperature of the hive will vary some with the atmosphere; it is also governed by the number of bees. A low temperature probably retards the development, while a high one facilitates it. You may have seen accounts of the assiduous attentions given to the young bee when it first emerges from the cell: 'tis said they "lick it all over, feed it with honey," &c., desperately pleased with their new acquisition.
Now, if you expect to see anything of this, you must watch a little closer than I have. I have seen hundreds when biting their way out. Instead of care or notice, they often receive rather rough treatment: the workers, intent on other matters, will sometimes come in contact with one part way out the cell, with force sufficient to almost dislocate its neck; yet they do not stop to see if any harm is done, or beg pardon. The little sufferer, after this rude lesson, scrambles back as soon as possible out of the way; enlarges the prison door a little, and attempts again, with perhaps the same success: a dozen trials are often made before they succeed. When it does actually leave, it seems like a stranger in a multitude, with no friend to counsel, or mother to direct. It wanders about uncared for and unheeded, and rarely finds one sufficiently benevolent to bestow even the necessaries of life; but does sometimes. It is _generally_ forced to learn the important lesson of looking out for itself, the day it leaves the cradle. A cell containing honey is sought for, where its immediate wants are all supplied.
The time before it is ready to leave the hive for honey, I might guess would be two or three days. Others have said "it would leave _the day it left the cell_;" but I guess they guess at this point. They tell us, too, that after the bees seal over the cells containing the larvæ, "they immediately commence spinning their cocoons, which takes just about thirty-six hours." I think it very likely; but when I admit it, I cannot imagine how it was ascertained;--the faculty of looking through a mill-stone I do not possess, and it requires about the same optical penetration to look into one of these cells after it is sealed over, as it is all perfect darkness. Suppose we drive away the bees and open the cell, to give us a look at the interior: the little insect stops its labor in a moment, probably from the effect of air and light. I never could detect one in its labor. Suppose we open these cells every hour after sealing; can we tell anything about their progress by the appearance of these cocoons, or even tell when they are finished? The thickness of a dozen would not exceed common writing paper. When a subject is obscure, or difficult to ascertain, like this, why not tell us how they found out the particulars; and if they were guessed at, be honest, and say so? When the bee leaves the cell, a cocoon remains, and that is about all we _know_ about it.