OF THE YOUNG BEE.

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.

GUESS WORK.

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 larvae,
"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,