The Common Objects of the Country

On the same plate, fig. 4 a, is shown the caterpillar of this moth, a creature conspicuous from the tufts of beautifully-coloured hair which are set on its body like camel-hair brushes.

The caterpillar spins for itself a silken nest wherein to pass its pupa state, and in general there is nothing remarkable about the nest. But I have one in my collection of insect habitations that is very curious.

I had caught, killed, and pinned out a large dragon-fly, and placed it in a cardboard box for a time. Some days afterwards, a palmer-worm had been captured, and was imprisoned in the same box. I was not aware that such a circumstance had happened, and so did not open the box for a week or two, when I expected to find the dragon-fly quite dry and ready for the cabinet.

When, however, the box was opened, a curious state of matters was disclosed. The caterpillar had not only spun its cocoon, but had shredded up the dragon-fly’s wings, and woven them into the substance of its cell. The glittering particles of the wing have a curious effect as they sparkle among the silver fibres.

On plate D, fig. 3 a, is represented a creature whose sole claim to admiration is its domestic virtue, for elegance or beauty it has none. It hardly seems possible, but it is the fact, that this clumsy creature is the female Vapourer Moth, the male being represented immediately below fig. 3.

Why the two sexes should be so entirely different in aspect, it is not easy to understand. The female has only the smallest imaginable apologies for wings, and during her whole lifetime never leaves her home, seeming to despise earth as she cannot attain air.

This moth is not obliged to form laboriously a warm habitation for her eggs, for she places them in a silken web which she occupied in her pupal state, and from which she never travels.

Curiously enough, her eggs are not placed within the hollow of the cocoon as might be supposed, but are scattered irregularly and apparently at random over its surface. Even there, though, they are warm enough, for the cocoon itself is generally placed in a sheltered spot, so that the eggs are guarded from the undue influence of the elements, and at the same time protected from too rapid changes of temperature.

In the hot summer months, the leaves of trees are crowded with insects of various kinds, which fly out in alarm when the branches are sharply struck. Oak trees are especially insect-haunted, and mostly by one species of moth, a figure which is given on plate B, fig. 1.

This little moth is a pretty object to the eyes, but a terrible destructive creature when in its caterpillar state, compensating for its diminutive size by its collective numbers. The caterpillar is one of those called “Leaf-Rollers,” because they roll up the leaves on which they feed, and take up their habitation within.

There are many kinds of leaf-rollers, each employing a different mode of rolling the leaf, but in all cases the leaf is held in position by the silken threads spun by the caterpillar.

Some use three or four leaves to make one habitation, by binding them together by their edges. Some take a single leaf, and, fastening silken cords to its edges, gradually contract them, until the edges are brought together and there held. Some, not so ambitious in their tastes, content themselves with a portion of a leaf, snipping out the parts that they require and rolling it round.

The insect before us, however, requires an entire leaf for its habitation, and there lies in tolerable security from enemies. There are plenty of birds about the trees, and they know well enough that within the circled leaves little caterpillars reside. But they do not find that they can always make a meal on the caterpillars, and for the following reason.

The curled leaf is like a tube open on both ends, the caterpillar lying snugly in the interior. So, when the bird puts its beak into one end of the tube, the caterpillar tumbles out at the other, and lets itself drop to the distance of some feet, supporting itself by a silken thread that it spins.

The bird finds that its prey has escaped, and not having sufficient inductive reason to trace the silken thread and so find the caterpillar, goes off to try its fortune elsewhere. The danger being over, the caterpillar ascends its silken ladder, and quietly regains possession of its home.

Myriads of these rolled leaves may be found on the oak trees, and the caterpillars may be driven out in numbers by a sharp jar given to a branch. It is quite amusing to see the simultaneous descent of some hundred caterpillars, each swaying in the breeze at the end of the line, and occasionally dropping another foot or so, as if dissatisfied with its position.

Each caterpillar consumes about three or four leaves in the whole of its existence, and literally eats itself out of house and home. But when it has eaten one house, it only has to walk a few steps to find the materials of another, and in a very short time it is newly lodged and boarded.

The perfect insect is called the “Green Oak Moth”. The colour of its two upper wings is a bright apple green; and as the creature generally sits with its wings closed over its back, it harmonises so perfectly with the green oak leaves, that even an accustomed eye fails to perceive it. So numerous are these little moths, that their progeny would shortly devastate a forest, were they not subject to the attacks of another insect. This insect is a little fly of a shape something resembling that of a large gnat; and which has, as far as I know, no English name. Its scientific title is Empis. There are several species of this useful fly, one attaining some size; but the one that claims our notice just at present is the little empis, scientifically Empis Tessellata.

I well remember how much I was struck with the discovery that the empis preyed on the little oak moths, and the manner in which they did so.

One summer’s day, I was entomologising in a wood, when a curious kind of insect caught my attention. I could make nothing of it, for it was partly green, like a butterfly or moth, and partly glittering like a fly, and had passed out of reach before it could be approached. On walking to the spot whence it had come, I found many of the same creatures flying about, and apparently enjoying themselves very much.

A sweep of the net captured four or five; and then was disclosed the secret. The compound creature was, in fact, a living empis, clasping in its arms the body of an oak moth which it had killed, and into whose body its long beak was driven. I might have caught hundreds if it had been desirable. The grasp of the fly was wonderful, and if the creature had been magnified to the human size, it would have afforded the very type of a remorseless, deadly, unyielding gripe. Never did miser tighter grasp a golden coin, than the empis fastens its hold on its green prey. Never did usurer suck his client more thoroughly than the empis drains the life juices from the victim moth.

He is a terrible fellow, this empis, quiet and insignificant in aspect, with a sober brown coat, slim and genteel legs, and just a modest little tuft on the top of his head. But, woe is me for the gay and very green insect that flies within reach of this estimable individual.

The great hornet that comes rushing by is not half so dangerous, for all his sharp teeth and his terrible sting. The stag-beetle may frighten our green young friend out of his senses by his truculent aspect and gigantic stature. But better a thousand stag-beetles than one little empis. For when once the slim and genteel legs have come on the track of the little moth, it is all over with him. Claw after claw is hooked on him, gradually and surely the clasp tightens, and when once he is hopelessly captured, out comes a horrid long bill, and drains him dry. Poor green little moth!

Still continuing our research among the oak leaves, we shall find many of them marked in a very peculiar manner. A white wavy line meanders about the leaf like the course of a river, and, even as the river, increases in width as it proceeds on its course. This effect is produced by the caterpillar of one of the leaf-mining insects, tiny creatures, which live between the layers of the leaf, and eat their way about it.

Of course, the larger the creature becomes, the more food it eats, the more space it occupies, and the wider is its road; so that, although at its commencement the path is no wider than a needle-scratch, it becomes nearly the fifth of an inch wide at its termination. It is easy to trace the insect, and to find it at the widest extremity of its path, either as caterpillar or chrysalis. Often, though, the creature has escaped, and the empty case is the only relic of its being.

There are many insects which are leaf-miners in their larval state. Very many of them belong to the minutest known examples of the moth tribes, the very humming bird of the moths, and, like the humming birds, resplendent in colours beyond description. These Micro-Lepidoptera, as they are called, are so numerous, that the study of them and their habits has become quite a distinct branch of insect lore.

Some, again, are the larvæ of certain flies, while others are the larvæ of small beetles. Their tastes, too, are very comprehensive, for there are few indigenous plants whose leaves show no sign of the miner’s track, and even in the leaves of many imported plants the meandering path may be seen.

There are some plants, such as the eglantine, the dewberry, and others, that are especially the haunts of these insects, and on whose branches nearly every other leaf is marked with the winding path. I have now before me a little branch containing seven leaves, and six of them have been tunnelled, while one leaf has been occupied by two insects, each keeping to his own side.

The course which these creatures pursue is very curious. Sometimes, as in the figure on plate A, fig. 1, the caterpillar makes a decided and bold track, keeping mostly to the central portion of the leaf.

Sometimes it makes a confused tortuous jumble of paths, so that it is not easy to discover any definite course.

Sometimes it prefers the edges of the leaves, and skirts them with strange exactness, adapting its course to every notch, and following the outline as if it were tracing a plan.

This propensity seems to exhibit itself most strongly in the deeply cut leaves. And the shape or direction of the path seems to be as property belonging to this species of the insect which makes it; for there may be tracks of totally distinct forms, and yet the insects producing them are found to belong to the same species.

If the twigs of an ordinary thorn bush be examined during the winter months, many of them will be seen surrounded with curious little objects, called “fairy bracelets” by the vulgar, and by the learned “ova of Clisiocampa Neustria”. These are the eggs of the Lackey Moth, and are fastened round the twigs by the mother insect, a brown-coloured moth, that may be found in any number at the right time.

It is wonderful how the shape of the egg is adapted to the peculiar form into which they have to be moulded, and how perfectly they all fit together. Each egg is much wider at the top than at the bottom; and this increase of width is so accurately proportioned, that when the eggs are fitted together round a branch, the circle described by their upper surfaces corresponds precisely with that of the branch.

These eggs are left exposed to every change of the elements, and are frequently actually enveloped in a coat of ice when a frost suddenly succeeds a thaw. But they are guarded from actual contact with ice and snow by a coating of varnish which is laid over them, and which performs the double office of acting as a waterproof garment and of gluing the eggs firmly together. So tightly do they adhere to each other, that if the twig be cut off close to the bracelet the little egg circlet can be slipped off entire.

CHAPTER VIII

LAPPET MOTH—BRIMSTONE MOTH—ITS CATERPILLAR—CURRANT MOTH—CLEAR-WINGS—WHITE-PLUME MOTH—TWENTY-PLUME MOTH—ADELA—AN INSECT CINDERELLA—NAMING INSECTS—THE ATALANTA—AN INSECT CRIPPLE—PEACOCK BUTTERFLY—BLUE AND OTHER BUTTERFLIES.

LAPPET MOTH.

The accompanying cut is a good representation of a very singular creature called the “Lappet Moth”. As may be seen by the engraving, when it is settled quietly upon a leaf with folded wings, it bears a closer resemblance to a bundle of withered leaves than to any living creature. In this strange form lies its chief safety, for there are few eyes sufficiently sharp to detect an insect while hiding its character under so strange a mask.

There are several other examples of this curious resemblance between the animal and vegetable kingdoms, one or two of which will be mentioned in succeeding pages.

The name of “Lappet Moth” is hardly applicable, as it ought rather to be called the moth of the lappet caterpillar. This title is given to the creature because it is furnished with a series of fleshy protuberances along the sides, to which objects the name of lappets has been fancifully given.

It is generally supposed to be a rare moth; but I have not found much difficulty in procuring specimens either in the larval state or as moths. Both moth and caterpillar are of a large size, the caterpillar being about the length and thickness of a man’s finger. Its colour is a tolerably dark grey, but subject to some variation in tint. There is no difficulty in ascertaining this species of the creature, as it is clearly distinguished from caterpillars of a similar shape or line by two blue marks on the back of its neck, as if a fine brush filled with blue paint had been twice drawn smartly across it. The curious “lappets” too are so conspicuous that they alone would be sufficient for identification.

One of the examples of animal life simulating vegetation now comes before us in the person of the Brimstone Moth, or rather its caterpillar.

This is a very common insect, and may be recognised at once by its portrait on plate C, fig. 3.

The caterpillar is represented immediately above, fig. 3 a. This is one of the caterpillars called “Loopers,” on account of their peculiar mode of walking.

They have no legs on the middle portion of their bodies, but only the usual six little legs at the three rings nearest the head, and a few false legs by the tail; so when they want to walk, they attain their object by holding fast with their false or pro-legs as they are called, and stretching themselves forward to their fullest extent. The real legs then take their hold, and the pro-legs are drawn up to them, thus making the creature put up its back like an angry cat.

The grasp of the pro-legs is wonderfully powerful, and in them lies the chief peculiarity of the creature. The surface of the body is of a brownish tint, just resembling that of the little twigs on which it sits; there are rings and lines on its surface that simulate the cracks and irregularities of the bark, and in one or two places it is furnished with sham thorns.

Trusting in its mask, the caterpillar grasps the twig firmly, stretches out its body to its full length, and so remains, rigid and immovable as the twigs themselves. People have been known to frighten themselves very much by taking hold of a caterpillar, thinking it to be a dead branch.

The only precaution taken by the creature is to have a thread ready spun from its mouth to the branch, so that if it should be discovered, it might drop down suddenly, and when the danger was over, climb up its rope and regain its home.

The commonest of the loopers is the well-known caterpillar of the Currant or Magpie Moth, plate E, fig. 3. This creature is remarkable from the circumstance that its colours are of the same character throughout its entire existence; the caterpillar, chrysalis, and perfect moth showing a similar rich colour and variety of tint, as seen on figs. 3 a and 3 b.

It is a curious fact that almost every stratagem of animals is used by man; whether intuitively, or whether on account of taking a hint, I cannot say.

For example, Parkyns, the Abyssinian traveller, tells an amusing tale of a party of Barea robbers, who when pursued got up a tableau vivant at a moment’s notice. One man personated a charred tree-stump, and the others converted themselves into blackened logs and stones lying about its base.

It seemed so impossible for human beings to remain so still, that a rifle-ball was sent towards the stump, and caused it to take to its heels, followed by the logs and stones.

I have heard of a similar stratagem that was put in force by a robber who was interrupted on his way into the tent by the appearance of its inmate, an officer. He was so completely deceived, that he actually hung his helmet on one of the branches, which branch was in fact the robber’s leg. The joke was almost too good, but the stump stood fast, until the officer leaned his back against it. Officer and stump came to the ground together, and the stump escaped, carrying off the helmet as a trophy. I think that he deserved it.

I conclude this chapter with a short notice of five beautiful and curious little moths.

The first of these, the “Currant Clear-wing,” is frequently mistaken for a gnat or a fly, and it is sometimes a difficult task to persuade those who are unaccustomed to insects that it can be a moth. As a general rule, the wings of moths are covered with feathers, and many are even as downy in their texture as the plumage of the owl. But there is a family of moth, called the clear-wings, whose wings are as transparent as those of bees or flies. Some of these are as large as hornets, and resemble these insects closely in general aspect.

Some fourteen or fifteen species of these curious creatures are found in England; and each of them bears so close a likeness to some other insect, that it is named accordingly. For example, the species which we are now examining is called the “gnat-like Egeria,” another is the “bee-like,” another the “hornet-like,” another the “ant-like,” and so on. Plate A, fig. 3.

The currant clear-wing may be found on the leaves of currant bushes, where it loves to rest. In 1856 I took a great number of them in one small garden, often finding two or more specimens on one currant bush.

Next come two beautiful examples of the Plume Moth, the White Plume and the Twenty Plume.

The first of these insects is very common on hedges or the skirts of copses, and comes out just about dusk, when it may be easily captured, its white wings making it very conspicuous. See Plate H, fig. 9.

The chief distinguishing point in the plume moth is that the wings are deeply cut from the point almost to the very base, and thus more resemble the wings of birds than those of insects.

In the white plume there are five of these rays or plumes, three belonging to the upper pair of wings and two to the lower.

From the peculiarly long and delicate down with which the body and wings are covered, it is no easy matter to secure the moth without damaging its aspect. The scissors-net is, perhaps, the best that can be used for their capture; for, as they always sit on leaves and grass with their wings extended, they are inclosed at once in a proper position, and cannot struggle. A sharp pinch in the thorax from the forceps, which a collector ought always to have with him, kills the creature instantly; for it holds life on very slender tenure. The slender entomological pin can then be passed through the thorax, while the net is still closed, and thus the head of the pin can be drawn through the meshes of the net when it is opened.

In this way the moth may be preserved without the least injury to its appearance, or without ruffling the vanes of one of its beautiful plumes.

Of all the plume moths this is the largest, as a fine specimen will sometimes measure more than an inch across the wings. There is a brown species, nearly as large, and quite as common; but which is often overlooked on account of its sober colouring; and as often mistaken for a common “daddy-long-legs,” to which fly it bears a close resemblance.

The Twenty-plume Moth (plate C, fig. 9) is hardly named as it deserves; for as the wings on each side are divided into twelve plumes, it ought to be named the twenty-four plume. A better title is that of the “Many-plume Moth”.

It is very much smaller than either of the preceding “plumes”; and its radiating feathers are so small and so numerous, that at a hasty glance it scarcely seems to present any remarkable structure. It must be examined with the aid of a magnifying glass before its real beauty can be distinguished.

The moth is common enough, and may be easily caught, as it has a strange liking for civilised society, and constantly enters houses. As insects generally do, it flies to the window, and scuds unceasingly up and down the panes of glass, just as if it wished to make itself as conspicuous as possible.

The last of our moths is the beautiful Long-horn, for a figure of which see plate H, fig. 4. Another Long-horn Moth, the Green Adela, is shown on plate C, fig. 10. It is nearly as common as the last-mentioned insect.

It is a horrid name, for its agricultural associations are so potent, that the idea conveyed to the mind by the term “Long-horn” is that of a huge bovine quadruped, with sleek solid sides telling of oil-cake, with horns that are long enough to spike four men at once, two on each horn, and with a ponderous tread that rivals that of the hippopotamus.

Whereas, our little moth is the epitome of every fragile, fairy-like beauty, and seems fitter for fairy tale, “once upon a time,” than for this nineteenth century. Its “horns,” as the antennæ are called, are wondrously long and slender. I have just taken measurement of one of these moths, and find that the body and head together are barely a quarter of an inch in length, while the antennæ are an inch and a quarter long. It is hardly possible to conceive any living structure more delicately slender than their antennæ. The moth delights in sunny glades, as so sunny a creature ought to do; it sits on a leaf, basking in the glaring sunbeams, while its antennæ, waving about in graceful curves, are only to be traced by the light that sparkles along them. They are as slender as the gossamer threads floating in the air, and like them only seen as lines of light. They are too delicate even for Mab’s chariot traces. The grey-coated gnat might use one of them as his whip: but it would only be for show, as beseemeth the whip of a stage-coach; for it could not hurt the tiniest atomy ever harnessed.

And yet the little Adela, for such is her scientific title, flies undauntedly among the trees, threading her way with perfect ease through the thickest foliage, her wondrous antennæ escaping all injury, and gleaming now and then as a stray sunbeam touches them.

There is nothing very striking in the Adela’s external appearance; she is just a pretty, unobtrusive, bronze-coloured little thing, from whom many an eye would turn with indifference, if not with contempt. Truly, in vain are there pearls, while the swinish nature prefers dry husks.

Place this quiet, bronze-coloured little creature under a microscope, and Cinderella herself never exhibited such a transformation. The mind of man has never conceived a robe so gorgeous as that which enwraps a small brown moth. Refulgent golden feathers cover its body and wings, sparkling gemlike points scatter light in all directions, while on the edges of each feather rainbow tints dance and quiver. It seems as if the creature wore two robes—a loose golden-feather vesture above, and the rainbow itself beneath. Each fibre of the fringe that edges the wings is a prism, and even the slender antennæ are covered with golden feathers. Words cannot describe the wondrous beauty of this creature.

Methinks a view of these earthly creatures can the better enable one to appreciate the ineffable glories of the heavenly beings. Even the earth-insect is beautiful beyond the power of words to describe—how much more so the heavenly angel!

When the study of entomology first rose to the dignity of a science, it was found necessary that each insect should be distinguished by a definite title. Formerly, it was necessary to describe the insect when speaking of it; and in consequence both cabinets and memories were overloaded with words.