Insect Architecture

Consequently, the texture of the cocoon was of a rather singular nature. The silken threads had been fused together so as to form a translucent cocoon, looking as if it had been made of gelatine, and being nearly equally transparent, the chrysalis being plainly visible through its walls. The cocoon was thin and elastic, as if it had been made of very thin horn; and it was so tightly fixed to the mantelpiece as well as to the tumbler, that it could not be removed without damage. The moth suffered no injury from the privation which the larva had to undergo.

The cocoons of the puss-moth are to be found upon the trunks of trees, but they are so rough, and so greatly resembling the bark, with which, indeed, their walls are strengthened, that an inexperienced eye would fail to detect them. Even when they have been pointed out to a novice in practical entomology, he has failed to find them again whenever his eye has been taken off their rugged outlines.]

A question will here suggest itself to the curious inquirer, how the moth, which is not, like the caterpillar, furnished with mandibles for gnawing, can find its way through so hard a wall. To resolve this question, it is asserted by recent naturalists (see Kirby and Spence, vol. iii. p. 15) that the moth is furnished with a peculiar acid for dissolving itself a passage. We have a specimen of the case of a puss-moth, in which, notwithstanding its strength, one of the ichneumons had contrived to deposit its eggs. In the beginning of summer, when we expected the moth to appear, and felt anxious to observe the recorded effects of the acid, we were astonished to find a large orange cuckoo-fly make its escape; while another, which attempted to follow, stuck by the way and died. On detaching the cell from the box, we found several others, which had not been able to get out, and had died in their cocoons. (J. R.)

Among the carpenter-grubs may be mentioned that of the purple capricorn-beetle (Callidium violaceum), of which the Rev. Mr. Kirby has given an interesting account in the fifth volume of the ‘Linnæan Transactions.’ This insect feeds principally on fir timber which has been felled some time without having had the bark stripped off; but it is often found on other wood. Though occasionally taken in this kingdom, it is supposed not to have been originally a native. The circumstance of this destructive little animal attacking only such timber as had not been stripped of its bark ought to be attended to by all persons who have any concern in this article; for the bark is a temptation not only to this, but to various other insects; and much of the injury done in timber might be prevented, if the trees were all barked as soon as they were felled. The female is furnished, at the posterior extremity of her body, with a flat retractile tube, which she inserts between the bark and the wood, to the depth of about a quarter of an inch, and there deposits a single egg. By stripping off the bark, it is easy to trace the whole progress of the grub, from the spot where it is hatched, to that where it attains its full size. It first proceeds in a serpentine direction, filling the space which it leaves with its excrement, resembling sawdust, and so stopping all ingress to enemies from without. When it has arrived at its utmost dimensions, it does not confine itself to one direction, but works in a kind of labyrinth, eating backwards and forwards, which gives the wood under the bark a very irregular surface: by this means its paths are rendered of considerable width. The bed of its paths exhibits, when closely examined, a curious appearance, occasioned by the gnawings of its jaws, which excavate an infinity of little ramified canals. When the insect is about to assume its chrysalis state, it bores down obliquely into the solid wood, to the depth sometimes of three inches, and seldom if ever less than two, forming holes nearly semi-cylindrical, and of exactly the form of the grub which inhabits them. At first sight one would wonder how so small and seemingly so weak an animal could have strength to excavate so deep a mine; but when we examine its jaws, our wonder ceases. These are large, thick, and solid sections of a cone divided longitudinally, which, in the act of chewing, apply to each other the whole of their interior plane surface, so that they grind the insect’s food like a pair of millstones. Some of the grubs are hatched in October; and it is supposed that about the beginning of March they assume their chrysalis state. At the place in the bark opposite to the hole from whence they descended into the wood, the perfect insects gnaw their way out, which generally takes place betwixt the middle of May and the middle of June. These insects are supposed only to fly in the night, but during the day they may generally be found resting on the wood from which they were disclosed. The grubs are destitute of feet, pale, folded, somewhat hairy, convex above, and divided into thirteen segments. Their head is large and convex.[BP]

It would not be easy to find a more striking example of ingenuity than occurs in a small caterpillar which may be found in May, on the oak, and is supposed by Kirby and Spence to be that of the Pyralis strigulalis. It is of a whitish-yellow colour, tinged with a shade of carnation, and studded with tufts of red hairs on each segment, and two brown spots behind the head. It has fourteen feet, and the upper part of its body is much flatter than is common in caterpillars. When this ingenious little insect begins to form its cell, it selects a smooth young branch of the oak, near an offgoing of the branchlets whose angle may afford it some protection. It then measures out, with its body for a rule, the space destined for its structure, the basement of which is of a triangular form, with the apex at the lower end. The building itself is composed of small, rectangular, strap-shaped pieces of the outer bark of the branch cut out from the immediate vicinity; the insect indeed never travels further for materials than the length of its own body. Upon the two longest sides of the triangular base it builds uniform walls, also of a triangular shape, and both gradually diverging from each other as they increase in height. These are formed with so much mathematical precision, that they fit exactly when they are afterwards brought into contact. As soon as the little architect has completed these walls, which resemble very much the feathers of an arrow, it proceeds to draw them together in a manner similar to that which the leaf-rolling caterpillars employ in constructing their abodes, by pulling them with silken cords till they bend and converge. Even when the two longest sides are thus joined, there is an opening left at the upper end, which is united in a similar manner. When the whole is finished, it requires close inspection to distinguish it from the branch, being formed of the same materials, and having consequently the same colour and gloss. Concealment, indeed, may be supposed, with some justice, to be the final object of the insect in producing this appearance, the same principle being extensively exemplified in numerous other instances.

CHAPTER XI.

EARTH-MASON CATERPILLARS.

Many species of caterpillars are not only skilful in concealing themselves in their cocoons, but also in the concealment of the cocoon itself; so that even when that is large, as in the instance of the death’s-head hawk-moth (Acherontia atropos), it is almost impossible to find it. We allude to the numerous class of caterpillars which, previous to their changing into the pupa state, bury themselves in the earth. This circumstance would not be surprising, were it confined to those which are but too well known in gardens, from their feeding upon and destroying the roots of lettuce, chicory, and other plants, as they pass a considerable portion of their lives under ground; nor is it surprising that those which retire under ground during the day, and come abroad to feed in the night, should form their cocoons where they have been in the habit of concealing themselves. But it is very singular and unexpected, that caterpillars which pass the whole of their life on plants and even on trees, should afterwards bury themselves in the earth. Yet, the fact is, that perhaps a greater number make their cocoons under than above ground, particularly those which are not clothed with hair.

Some of those caterpillars which go into the ground previous to their change make no cocoon at all, but are contented with a rude masonry of earth as a nest for their pupæ: into the details of their operations it will not be so necessary for us to go, as into those which exhibit more ingenuity and care. When one of the latter is dug up it has the appearance of nothing more than a small clod of earth, of a roundish or oblong shape, but, generally, by no means uniform. The interior, however, when it is laid open, always exhibits a cavity, smooth, polished, and regular, in which the cocoon or the chrysalis lies secure (Fig. B, p. 221). The polish of the interior is precisely such as might be given to soft earth by moistening and kneading it with great care. But beside this, it is usually lined with a tapestry of silk, more or less thick, though this cannot always be discovered without the aid of a magnifying glass. This species of caterpillars, as soon as they have completed their growth, go into the earth, scoop out, as the cossus does in wood, a hollow cell of an oblong form, and line it with pellets of earth, from the size of a grain of sand to that of a pea—united, by silk or gluten, into a fabric more or less compact, according to the species, but all of them fitted for protecting the inhabitant, during its winter sleep, against cold and moisture.

One of the examples of this occurs in the ghost-moth (Hepialus humuli), which, before it retires into the earth, feeds upon the roots of the hop or the burdock. Like other insects which construct cells under ground, it lines the cemented earthen walls of its cell with a smooth tapestry of silk, as closely woven as the web of the house-spider.

Inaccurate observers have inferred that these earthen structures were formed by a very rude and unskilful process—the caterpillar, according to them, doing nothing more than roll itself round, while the mould adhered to the gluey perspiration with which they describe its body to be covered. This is a process as far from the truth as Aristotle’s account of the spider spinning its web from wool taken from its body. Did the caterpillar do nothing more than roll itself in the earth, the cavity would be a long tube fitted exactly to its body (Fig. c): it is essentially different.

It does not indeed require very minute observation to perceive that every grain of earth in the structure is united to the contiguous grains by threads of silk; and that consequently, instead of the whole having been done at once, it must have required very considerable time and labour. This construction is rendered more obvious by throwing one of these earthen cases into water, which dissolves the earth, but does not act on the silk which binds it together. To understand how this is performed, it may not be uninteresting to follow the little mason from the beginning of his task.

When one of those burrowing caterpillars has done feeding, it enters the earth to the depth of several inches, till it finds mould fit for its purpose. Having nowhere to throw the earth which it may dig out, the only means in its power of forming a cavity is to press it with its body; and, by turning round and round for this purpose, an oblong hollow is soon made. But were it left in this state, as Réaumur well remarks, though the vault might endure the requisite time by the viscosity of the earth alone, were no change to take place in its humidity, yet, as a great number are wanted to hold out for six, eight, and ten months, they require to be substantially built; a mere lining of silk, therefore, would not be sufficient, and it becomes necessary to have the walls bound with silk to some thickness.

When a caterpillar cannot find earth sufficiently moist to bear kneading into the requisite consistence, it has the means of moistening it with a fluid which it ejects for the purpose; and as soon as it has thus prepared a small pellet of earth, it fits it into the wall of the vault, and secures it with silk. As the little mason, however, always works on the inside of the building, it does not, at first view, appear in what manner it can procure materials for making one or two additional walls on the inside of the one first built. As the process takes place under ground, it is not easy to discover the particulars, for the caterpillars will not work in glazed boxes. The difficulty was completely overcome by M. Réaumur, in the instance of the caterpillar of the water-betony moth (Cucullia scrophulariæ, Schrank), which he permitted to construct the greater part of its underground building, and then dug it up and broke a portion off from the end, leaving about a third part of the whole to be rebuilt. Those who are unacquainted with the instinct of insects might have supposed that, being disturbed by the demolition of its walls, it would have left off work; but the stimulus of providing for the great change is so powerful, that scarcely any disturbance will interrupt a caterpillar in this species of labour.

The little builder accordingly was not long in recommencing its task for the purpose of repairing the disorder, which it accomplished in about four hours. At first it protruded its body almost entirely beyond the breach which had been made, to reconnoitre the exterior for building materials. Earth was put within its reach, of the same kind as it had previously used, and it was not long in selecting a grain adapted to its purpose, which it fitted into the wall and secured with silk. It first enlarged the outside of the wall by the larger and coarser grains, and then selected finer for the interior. But before it closed the aperture, it collected a quantity of earth on the inside, wove a pretty thick net-work tapestry of silk over the part which remained open, and into the meshes of this, by pushing and pressing, it thrust grains of earth, securing them with silk till the whole was rendered opaque; and the further operations of the insect could no longer be watched, except that it was observed to keep in motion, finishing, no doubt, the silken tapestry of the interior of its little chamber. When it was completed, M. Réaumur ascertained that the portion of the structure which had been built under his eye was equally thick and compact with the other, which had been done under ground.

The grubs of several of the numerous species of may-fly (Ephemera) excavate burrows for themselves in soft earth, on the banks of rivers and canals, under the level of the water, an operation well described by Scopoli, Swammerdam, and Réaumur. The excavations are always proportioned to the size of the inhabitant; and consequently, when it is young and small, the hole is proportionally small, though, with respect to extent, it is always at least double the length of its body. The hole, being under the level of the river, is always filled with water, so that the grub swims in its native element, and while it is secure from being preyed upon by fishes, it has its own food within easy reach. It feeds, in fact, if we may judge from its egesta, upon the slime or moistened clay with which its hole is lined.

In the bank of the stream at Lee, in Kent, we had occasion to take up an old willow stump, which, previous to its being driven into the bank, had been perforated in numerous places by the caterpillar of the goat-moth (Cossus ligniperda). From having been driven amongst the moist clay, these perforations became filled with it, and the grubs of the ephemeræ found them very suitable for their habitation: for the wood supplied a more secure protection than if their galleries had been excavated in the clay. In these holes of the wood we found several empty, and some in which were full-grown grubs. (J. R.)

The architecture of the grub of a pretty genus of beetles, known to entomologists by the name of Cincindela, is peculiarly interesting. It was first made known by the eminent French naturalists, Geoffroy, Desmarest, and Latreille. This grub, which may be met with during spring, and also in summer and autumn, in sandy places, is long, cylindric, soft whitish, and furnished with six scaly brown feet. The head is of a square form, with six or eight eyes, and very large in proportion to the body. They have strong jaws, and on the eighth joint of the body there are two fleshy tubercles, thickly clothed with reddish hairs, and armed with a recurved horny spine, the whole giving to the grub the form of the letter Z.

With their jaws and feet they dig into the earth to the depth of eighteen inches, forming a cylindrical cavity of greater diameter than their body, and furnished with a perpendicular entrance. In constructing this, the grub first clears away the particles of earth and sand by placing them on its broad trapezoidal head, and carrying the load in this manner beyond the area of the excavation. When it gets deeper down, it climbs gradually up to the surface with similar loads by means of the tubercles on its back, above described. This process is a work of considerable time and difficulty, and in carrying its loads the insect has often to rest by the way to recover strength for a renewed exertion. Not unfrequently, it finds the soil so ill adapted to its operations, that it abandons the task altogether, and begins anew in another situation. When it has succeeded in forming a complete den, it fixes itself at the entrance by the hooks of its tubercles, which are admirably adapted for the purpose, forming a fulcrum or support, while the broad plate on the top of the head exactly fits the aperture of the excavation, and is on a level with the soil. In this position the grub remains immovable, with jaws expanded, and ready to seize and devour every insect which may wander within its reach, particularly the smaller beetles; and its voracity is so great, that it does not spare even its own species. It precipitates its prey into the excavation, and in case of danger it retires to the bottom of its den, a circumstance which renders it not a little difficult to discover the grub. The method adopted by the French naturalists was to introduce a straw or pliant twig into the hole, while they dug away, by degrees and with great care, the earth around it, and usually found the grub at the bottom of the cell, resting in a zig-zag position like one of the caterpillars of the geometric moths.

When it is about to undergo its transformation into a pupa, it carefully closes the mouth of the den, and retires to the bottom in security.

It does not appear that the grub of the genus Cincindela uses the excavation just described for the purpose of a trap or pitfall, any further than that it can more effectually secure its prey by tumbling them down into it; but there are other species of grubs which construct pitfalls for the express purpose of traps. Among these is the larva of a fly (Rhagio vermileo), not unlike the common flesh maggot. The den which it constructs is in the form of a funnel, the sides of which are composed of sand or loose earth. It forms this pitfall of considerable depth, by throwing out the earth obliquely on all sides; and when its trap is finished, it stretches itself along the bottom, remaining stiff and motionless, like a piece of wood. The last segment of the body is bent at an angle with the rest, so as to form a strong point of support in the struggles which it must often have to encounter with vigorous prey. The instant that an insect tumbles into the pitfall, the grub pounces upon it, writhes itself round it like a serpent, transfixes it with its jaws, and sucks its juices at its ease. Should the prey by any chance escape, the grub hurls up jets of sand and earth, with astonishing rapidity and force, and not unfrequently succeeds in again precipitating it to the bottom of its trap.

The Ant-Lion.

The observations of the continental naturalists have made known to us a pitfall constructed by an insect, the details of whose operations are exceedingly curious; we refer to the grub of the ant-lion (Myrmeleon formicarius), which, though marked by Dr. Turton and Mr. Stewart as British, has not (at least of late years) been found in this country. As it is not, however, uncommon in France and Switzerland, it is probable it may yet be discovered in some spot hitherto unexplored, and if so, it will well reward the search of the curious.

The ant-lion grub being of a grey colour, and having its body composed of rings, is not unlike a wood-louse (Oniscus), though it is larger, more triangular, has only six legs, and most formidable jaws, in form of a reaping-hook, or a pair of calliper compasses. These jaws, however, are not for masticating, but are perforated and tubular, for the purpose of sucking the juices of ants, upon which it feeds. Vallisnieri was therefore mistaken, as Réaumur well remarks, when he supposed that he had discovered its mouth. Its habits require that it should walk backwards, and this is the only species of locomotion which it can perform. Even this sort of motion it executes very slowly; and were it not for the ingenuity of its stratagems, it would fare but sparingly, since its chief food consists of ants, whose activity and swiftness of foot would otherwise render it impossible for it to make a single capture. Nature, however, in this, as in nearly every other case, has given a compensating power to the individual animal, to balance its privations. The ant-lion is slow, but it is extremely sagacious; it cannot follow its prey, but it can entrap it.

The snare which the grub of the ant-lion employs consists of a funnel-shaped excavation formed in loose sand, at the bottom of which it lies in wait for the ants that chance to stumble over the margin, and cannot, from the looseness of the walls, gain a sufficient footing to effect their escape.

By shutting up one of these grubs in a box with loose sand, it has been repeatedly observed constructing its trap of various dimensions, from one to nearly three inches in diameter, according to circumstances.

In the ‘Magazine of Natural History,’ 1838, p. 601, Mr. Westwood gives a very interesting account of the mode in which the ant-lion proceeds in the excavation of its pitfall, as witnessed by himself in specimens procured in the Parc de Belle Vue, near Paris, where, at the foot of a very high sand-bank, these pits were numerous, and of various sizes, but none exceeded an inch and a half or two inches in diameter, and two-thirds of an inch deep. "The ant-lions were of various sizes, corresponding to the size of their retreats. I brought many of them to Paris, placing several together in a box filled with sand. They, however, destroyed one another whilst shut up in these boxes; and I only succeeded in bringing three of them alive to England, one of which almost immediately afterwards (on the 23rd of July) enclosed itself in a globular cocoon of fine sand. The other two afforded me many opportunities of observing their proceedings. They were unable to walk forwards,—an anomalous circumstance, and not often met with in animals furnished with well-developed legs. It is generally backwards, working in a spiral direction, that the creature moves, pushing itself backwards and downwards at the same time, the head being carried horizontally, and the back much arched, so that the extremity of the body is forced into the sand. In this manner it proceeds backwards (to use an Hibernianism), forming little mole-hills in the sand. But it does not appear to me that this retrograde motion has anything to do with the actual formation of the cell, since, as soon as it has fixed upon a spot for its retreat, it commences throwing up the sand with the back of its head, jerking the sand either behind its back or on one or the other side. It shuts its long jaws, forming them into a kind of shovel, the sharp edges of which it thrusts laterally into the sand on each side of its head, and thereby contrives to lodge a quantity of the sand upon the head as well as the jaws. The motion is in fact something like that of the head of a goat, especially when butting sideways in play. In this manner it contrives to throw away the sand, and by degrees to make a hole entirely with its head, the fore legs not affording the slightest assistance in the operation. During this performance the head only is exposed, the insect having previously pushed itself beneath the surface of the sand; but when it has made the hole sufficiently deep, it withdraws the head also, leaving only the jaws exposed, which are spread open in a line, and laid on the sand so as to be scarcely visible. If alarmed, the insect immediately takes a step backwards, withdrawing the jaws; but when an insect falls into the hole, the jaws are instinctively and instantaneously closed, and the insect seized by the leg, wing, or body, just as it may chance to fall within the reach of the ant-lion’s jaws. If, however, the insect be not seized, but attempts to escape, no matter in what direction, the ant-lion immediately begins twisting its head about, and shovelling up the sand with the greatest agility, jerking it about on each side and backwards, but never forwards, as misrepresented in some figures, until the hole is made so much deeper, and such a disturbance caused in the sides of the hole, that the insect is almost sure to be brought down to the bottom, when it is seized by the ant-lion, which immediately endeavours to draw it beneath the sand; and if it be very boisterous, the ant-lion beats it about, holding it firmly by the jaws until it is too weak for further resistance. Hence, as the head of the ant-lion is immersed in the sand, it is evident that the accounts given in popular works of the instinct by which it throws the sand in the direction of the escaping prey are not quite correct. The act of throwing up the sand, when an insect has fallen into the pit and attempts to escape, has evidently for its chief object that of making the pit deeper and more conical, and therefore more difficult of ascent."

It is by the action of the hinder pair of its legs that the ant-lion drags itself backwards, the other four pair being extended trailing after it, and leaving an impression on the surface of the fine sand over which it has passed; and when burrowing its way beneath the surface of the sand, it proceeds by short steps backwards. A portion of sand at each step is thrown on the head, owing to the hump-like form of the back: this is immediately jerked away, the body at the same time advancing another step in its backward and spiral motion. Where it rests, a little hillock of sand is raised by the body of the ant-lion underneath; while its jaws emerge and spread flat on the surface. It now probably commences its pitfall, the mode of excavating which we have given in detail. From the spiral course described by the ant-lion in its backward progress appears to have arisen the idea of its tracing out a circle as the outline of its pitfall—as would an architect or engineer; but whence sprang the often-repeated statement, that the ant-lion loads its head with sand by means of one of its legs, that nearest the centre of the circle, we cannot conjecture. Nor do we know how, as it works entirely buried with the exception of the head, the ant-lion can act when it meets with a stone or other obstacle, as M. Bonnet states he has repeatedly witnessed. He observes that if the stone be small, it can manage to jerk it out in the same manner as the sand; but when it is two or three times larger and heavier than its own body, it must have recourse to other means of removal. The larger stones it usually leaves till the last; and when it has removed all the sand which it intends, it then proceeds to try what it can do with the less manageable obstacles. For this purpose it crawls backwards to the place where a stone may be, and thrusting its tail under it, is at great pains to get it properly balanced on its back, by an alternate motion of the rings composing its body. When it has succeeded in adjusting the stone, it crawls up the side of the pit with great care, and deposits its burthen on the outside of the circle. Should the stone happen to be round, the balance can be kept only with the greatest difficulty, as it has to travel with its load upon a slope of loose sand, which is ready to give way at every step; and often when the insect has carried it to the very brink, it rolls off its back and tumbles down to the bottom of the pit. This accident, so far from discouraging the ant-lion, only stimulates it to more persevering efforts. Bonnet observed it renew these attempts to dislodge a stone five or six times. It is only when it finds it utterly impossible to succeed, that it abandons the design and commences another pit in a fresh situation. When it succeeds in getting a stone beyond the line of its circle, it is not contented with letting it rest there; but, to prevent it from again rolling in, it goes on to push it to a considerable distance. We maybe pardoned for pausing before we give full credence to these details.

The ant-lion feeds only on the blood or juice of insects; and as soon as it has extracted these, it tosses the dry carcase out of its den.

When it is about to change into a pupa, it proceeds in nearly the same manner as the caterpillar of the water-betony moth (Cucullia scrophulariæ). It first builds a case of sand, the particles of which are secured by threads of silk, and then tapestries the whole with a silken web. Within this it undergoes its transformation into a pupa, and in due time it emerges in form of a four-winged fly, closely resembling the dragon-flies (Libellulæ), vulgarly and erroneously called horse-stingers.

The instance of the ant-lion naturally leads us to consider the design of the Author of Nature in so nicely adjusting, in all animals, the means of destruction and of escape. As the larger quadrupeds of prey are provided with a most ingenious machinery for preying on the weaker, so are those furnished with the most admirable powers of evading their destroyers.

In the economy of insects, we constantly observe that the means of defence, not only of the individual creatures, but of their larvæ and pupæ, against the attacks of other insects, and of birds, is proportioned, in the ingenuity of their arrangements, to the weakness of the insect employing them. Those species which multiply the quickest have the greatest number of enemies. Bradley, an English naturalist, has calculated that two sparrows carry, in the course of a week, above three thousand caterpillars to the young in their nests. But though this is, probably, much beyond the truth, it is certain that there is a great and constant destruction of individuals going forward; and yet the species is never destroyed. In this way a balance is kept up, by which one portion of animated nature cannot usurp the means of life and enjoyment which the world offers to another portion. In all matters relating to reproduction, Nature is prodigal in her arrangements. Insects have more stages to pass through before they attain their perfect growth than other creatures. The continuation of the species is, therefore, in many cases, provided for by a much larger number of eggs being deposited than ever become fertile. How many larvæ are produced, in comparison with the number which pass into the pupa state; and how many pupæ perish before they become perfect insects! Every garden is covered with caterpillars; and yet how few moths and butterflies, comparatively, are seen, even in the most sunny season? Insects which lay few eggs are, commonly, most remarkable in their contrivances for their preservation. The dangers to which insect life is exposed are manifold; and therefore are the contrivances for its preservation of the most perfect kind, and invariably adapted to the peculiar habits of each tribe. The same wisdom determines the food of every species of insect; and thus some are found to delight in the rose-tree, and some in the oak. Had it been otherwise, the balance of vegetable life would not have been preserved. It is for this reason that the contrivances which an insect employs for obtaining its food are curious, in proportion to the natural difficulties of its structure. The ant-lion is carnivorous, but he has not the quickness of the spider, nor can he spread a net over a large surface, and issue from his citadel to seize a victim which he has caught in his out-works. He is therefore taught to dig a trap, where he sits like the unwieldy giants of fable, waiting for some feeble one to cross his path. How laborious and patient are his operations—how uncertain the chances of success! Yet he never shrinks from them, because his instinct tells him that by these contrivances alone can he preserve his own existence, and continue that of his species.

CHAPTER XII.

CLOTHES-MOTH AND OTHER TENT-MAKING CATERPILLARS.—LEAF AND BARK MINERS.

There are at least five different species of moths similar in manners and economy, the caterpillars of which feed upon animal substances, such as furs, woollen cloths, silk, leather, and, what to the naturalist is no less vexing, upon the specimens of insects and other animals preserved in his cabinet. The moths in question are of the family named Tinea by entomologists, such as the tapestry-moth (Tinea tapetzella), the fur-moth (Tinea pellionella), the wool-moth (Tinea vestianella), the cabinet-moth (Tinea destructor, Stephens), &c.

The moths themselves are, in the winged state, small and well fitted for making their way through the most minute hole or chink, so that it is scarcely possible to exclude them by the closeness of a wardrobe or a cabinet.[BQ] If they cannot effect an entrance when a drawer is out, or a door open, they will contrive to glide through the key-hole; and if they once get in, it is no easy matter to dislodge or destroy them, for they are exceedingly agile, and escape out of sight in a moment. Moufet is of opinion that the ancients possessed an effectual method of preserving stuffs from the moth, because the robes of Servius Tullius were preserved up to the death of Sejanus, a period of more than five hundred years. On turning to Pliny to learn this secret, we find him relating that stuff laid upon a coffin will be ever after safe from moths; in the same way as a person once stung by a scorpion will never afterwards be stung by a bee, or a wasp, or a hornet! Rhasis, again, says that cantharides suspended in a house drive away moths; and he adds that they will not touch anything wrapped in a lion’s skin!—the poor little insects, says Réaumur, sarcastically, being probably in bodily fear of so terrible an animal.[BR] Such are the stories which fill the imagination even of philosophers, till real science entirely expels them.

The effluvium of camphor or turpentine, or fumigation by sulphur or chlorine, may sometimes kill them, when in the winged state, but this will have no effect upon their eggs, and seldom upon the caterpillars; for they wrap themselves up too closely to be easily reached by any agent except heat. This, when it can be conveniently applied, will be certain either to dislodge or to kill them. When the effluvium of turpentine, however, reaches the caterpillar, Bonnet says it falls into convulsions, becomes covered with livid blotches, and dies.[BS]

The mother insect takes care to deposit her eggs on or near such substances as she instinctively foreknows will be best adapted for the food of the young, taking care to distribute them so that there may be a plentiful supply and enough of room for each. We have found, for example, some of those caterpillars feeding upon the shreds of cloth used in training wall-fruit trees; but we never saw more than two caterpillars on one shred. This scattering of the eggs in many places renders the effects of the caterpillars more injurious, from their attacking many parts of a garment or a piece of stuff at the same time. (J. R.)

When one of the caterpillars of this family issues from the egg, its first care is to provide itself with a domicile, which indeed seems no less indispensable to it than food; for, like all caterpillars that feed under cover, it will not eat while it remains unprotected. Its mode of building is very similar to that which is employed by other caterpillars that make use of extraneous materials. The foundation or framework is made of silk secreted by itself, and into this it interweaves portions of the material upon which it feeds. It is said by Bingley, that "after having spun a fine coating of silk immediately around its body, it cuts the filaments of the wool or fur close by the thread of the cloth, or by the skin, with its teeth, which act in the manner of scissors, into convenient lengths, and applies the bits, one by one, with great dexterity, to the outside of its silken case."[BT] This statement, however, is erroneous, and inconsistent with the proceedings not only of the clothes-moth, but of every caterpillar that constructs a covering. None of these build from within outwards, but uniformly commence with the exterior wall, and finish by lining the interior with the finest materials. Réaumur, however, found that the newly-hatched caterpillars lived at first in a case of silk.

We have repeatedly witnessed the proceedings of these insects from the very foundation of their structures; and, at the moment of writing this, we turned out one from the carcase of an “old lady moth” (Mormo maura, Ochsenheim) in our cabinet, and placed it on a desk covered with green cloth, where it might find materials for constructing another dwelling. It wandered about for half a day before it began its operations; but it did not, as is asserted by Bonnet, and Kirby and Spence, “in moving from place to place, seem to be as much incommoded by the long hairs which surround it, as we are by walking amongst high grass,” nor, “accordingly, marching scythe in hand,” did it, “with its teeth, cut out a smooth road.”[BU] On contrary, it did not cut a single hair till it selected one for the foundation of its intended structure. This it cut very near the cloth, in order, we suppose, to have it as long as possible; and placed it on a line with its body. It then immediately cut another, and placing it parallel to the first, bound both together with a few threads of its own silk. The same process was repeated with other hairs, till the little creature had made a fabric of some thickness, and this it went on to extend till it was large enough to cover its body; which (as is usual with caterpillars) it employed as a model and measure for regulating its operations. We remarked that it made choice of longer hairs for the outside than for the parts of the interior, which it thought necessary to strengthen by fresh additions; but the chamber was ultimately finished by a fine and closely-woven tapestry of silk. We could see the progress of its work by looking into the opening at either of the ends; for at this stage of the structure the walls are quite opaque, and the insect concealed. It may be thus observed to turn round, by doubling itself and bringing its head where the tail had just been; of course, the interior is left wide enough for this purpose, and the centre, indeed, where it turns, is always wider than the extremities. (J. R.)

When the caterpillar increases in length, it takes care to add to the length of its house, by working in fresh hairs at either end; and if it be shifted to stuffs of different colours, it may be made to construct a party-coloured tissue, like a Scotch plaid. Réaumur cut off with scissors a portion at each end, to compel the insect to make up the deficiency. But the caterpillar increases in thickness as well as in length, so that, its first house becoming too narrow, it must either enlarge it, or build a new one. It prefers the former as less troublesome, and accomplishes its purpose “as dexterously,” says Bonnet, “as any tailor, and sets to work precisely as we should do, slitting the case on the two opposite sides, and then adroitly inserting between them two pieces of the requisite size. It does not, however, cut open the case from one end to the other at once; the sides would separate too far asunder, and the insect be left naked. It therefore first cuts each side about half-way down, beginning sometimes at the centre and sometimes at the end (Fig. c), and then, after having filled up the fissure, proceeds to cut the remaining half; so that, in fact, four enlargements are made, and four separate pieces inserted. The colour of the case is always the same as that of the stuff from which it is taken. Thus, if its original colour be blue, and the insect, previously to enlarging it, be put upon red cloth, the circles at the end, and two stripes down the middle, will be red.”[BV] Réaumur found that they cut these enlargements in no precise order, but sometimes continuously, and sometimes opposite each other, indifferently.

The same naturalist says he never knew one leave its old dwelling in order to build a new; though, when once ejected by force from its house, it would never enter it again, as some other species of caterpillars will do, but always preferred building another. We, on the contrary, have more than once seen them leave an old habitation. The very caterpillar, indeed, whose history we have above given, first took up its abode in a specimen of the ghost-moth (Hepialus humuli), where, finding few suitable materials for building, it had recourse to the cork of the drawer, with the chips of which it made a structure almost as warm as it would have done from wool. Whether it took offence at our disturbing it one day, or whether it did not find sufficient food in the body of the ghost-moth, we know not; but it left its cork house, and travelled about eighteen inches, selected “the old lady,” one of the largest insects in the drawer, and built a new apartment, composed partly of cork as before, and partly of bits clipt out of the moth’s wings. (J. R.)

We have seen these caterpillars form their habitations of every sort of insect, from a butterfly to a beetle; and the soft, feathery wings of moths answer their purpose very well: but when they fall in with such hard materials as the musk beetle (Cerambyx moschatus), or the large scolopendra of the West Indies, they find some difficulty in the building.