The Life of an Insect

To look at a house-fly as it performs its figure-of-eight dances in the air of our rooms, or as it buzzes against the window-pane, vainly endeavouring to dash its tender body through the firm and clear glassy wall-to mark how soon it comes into existence, and how soon its little day of life is gone-one would say it is a foolish and trifling thing to write the history of an insect's life; but any one who would thus speak must be ignorant of that which he declares to be folly and trifling.

He cannot know the miracles of skill that insects, insignificant as they seem, are capable of performing; nor the astonishing lessons of wisdom which even man may learn from these minute and short-lived beings. So long as we are ignorant of any part of God's creation, we may very probably think light of it; but when we come to inquire into the things we have formerly despised, and will give a patient attention to what we before thought beneath our notice, the tone of our remarks will greatly alter. Now, we shall find in the meanest things formed by the Divine hand inexhaustible themes for wonder and praise, and innumerable proofs that the great Almighty power which built our round world, and countless worlds besides, which fixed them with a firm decree in an appointed course, has not been less displayed even in the formation of a tiny insect, which is this hour alive, and the next lost to being.

The telescope shows us what God has created in the innumerable millions of stars and suns which every clear night look down with gentle beams upon the earth; it shows us that the earth on which we dwell, compared to the worlds by which it is surrounded, is as a grain of sand to a mighty mountain. But the microscope, on the contrary, shows us what is almost more wonderful even than this; for it shows us that though the High and Lofty One who inhabits eternity has created all these vast systems of suns and stars, yet he has not thought it beneath Him to chisel the egg of an insect or to adorn the coat of a tiny caterpillar. Well might we pause and ask as we look now through the wonder-revealing tube of the microscope and then through that of the telescope-Was it not a greater evidence of power and wisdom to create, clothe, organize, and endow with the powers of life, a little atom which we can detect only by means of a powerful microscope, than to form even a great and mighty world? For our part, then, we think an insect's history as much a display of the wisdom and infinite power of the Creator as the history of such an enormous body as is the sun, or any of the large planets belonging to our system. However humble be the object which God has seen fit to create, let not any one think it beneath him to examine. The poet Thomson has written some pretty lines which we shall venture to transcribe, which, with far greater beauty of language than we can pretend to, set before us the same train of thought:-

"Let no presuming impious railer tax

Creative wisdom, as if aught was formed

In vain, or not for admirable ends.

Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce

His works unwise, of which the smallest part

Exceeds the narrow vision of her mind?"

Animals, birds, reptiles, fish, and plants, have had their biographers, and ponderous books have been written to give us an introduction to their various families: so also have insects; although despised by many, they have been highly esteemed by a few; and if honours went by the size of books written about them, it might perhaps be shown that the insects can boast of great and closely-printed books taken up with nothing else but an account of them and their doings.

Perhaps there is another feeling about insects which ought to be mentioned beside the feeling of contempt; that is, the feeling of aversion. A great many people, ought we to write? a great many ladies and children, are ready to scream, and take to their heels if they see a poor "black beetle," racing in terror of his life for fear of them, and as both parties are equally frightened of one another it becomes very difficult to manage a reconciliation between them. At the sight of spiders some people are ready to faint away, and to see a little caterpillar creeping along with his magnificent coat of parti-coloured hairs, and with that funny gait which it is quite ludicrous to behold as he binds himself into a loop and walks after a fashion like no other earthly being, is enough to make their hair stand on end and their flesh to creep!

Death's-head Moth.

Sometimes insects are the innocent causes of alarm even to nations. Thus there is a peculiar kind of moth, upon the back of which there is very distinctly marked the appearance of what is vulgarly called a "death's head," its name being the death's-head hawk moth, represented in the adjoining cut, which was once the cause of the greatest terror to a number of persons. It was in Bretagne that a large flight of them suddenly made their appearance; at the same time a dangerous epidemic disease fell upon the inhabitants; the awful look of the poor insect, together with its strange supernatural noise, filled the ignorant people with alarm, and the disease was considered to be actually caused by the moths. Another insect, the church-yard beetle, which is of a jet black colour, is related by the great Linn?us as producing the most alarming feelings upon the minds of the superstitious and ignorant among the peasantry of Sweden.

The death-tick beetle has also a terrible reputation for frightening people. This little creature takes up its abode in decayed wood, and thus frequently makes the bed-post its dwelling-place, or ensconces itself in the wainscot of an old room. Now, when, as some entomologists tell us, it wants to give a signal to its mate, the insect begins hammering with all its might at the side of the wall, or knocks upon its little floor until the noise is heard, and the mate then begins to hammer, both producing for their size a tremendous noise, but in human ears not sounding louder than the tick of a large watch. The poor invalid, as he lies in bed perhaps very nervous and unable to bear loud conversation, hears the noisy insects knocking one to the other, and immediately his mind is filled with fears of the most groundless kind, which the nurse, if she is one of the old school, is sure to confirm by telling him that this ticking is the death-watch.

Death-watch Beetle.

All this is not only very weak and foolish, but when it reaches the degree to which we have here referred, it is also very wrong. As to the death's head hawk moth producing disease or foretelling death and famine, as it has been said to do, how weak and credulous must they be who draw such omens from a mark on an insect's head; and how dishonouring is it to the all-wise providence of God to imagine that he would suffer such a ridiculous emblem to have any such actual signification! The little beetle which produces the ticking sounds was caught by Dr. Derham one fine sunshiny day, tapping as loudly as it could on a piece of paper in a window; he examined the little creatures and kept them carefully, and he states that during the whole of one summer they scarcely ever ceased tapping night and day. Birds have their calls to their companions, and animals have theirs, yet we do not draw from these the wild supposition that they foretell death or such like disasters. Why, then, should the love-tap of an insignificant beetle have received such an interpretation? It is hard indeed to tell.

Now all these feelings about insects, contempt, abhorrence, and terror, arise in one common cause, and that is ignorance. A very small acquaintance with the contents of the little work upon which we are now entering, would suffice to dispel them all. It may be, perhaps, difficult to overcome what is called a "natural aversion" to any object, especially to an unfortunate insect; but when it is overcome, and when we learn, for the first time, all the extraordinary actions, habits, and instincts, of this portion of the great creation, admiration will take the place of contempt, and even a humble sort of affection that of the terror and aversion produced by them before.

With the reader's permission, then, we will proceed to take him with us as we describe the various stages of the Life of an Insect, from the egg up to the perfect being. It may be, however, just necessary to premise that in so doing we shall not give anything like the history of an individual insect, such, for example, as a fly or a bee; but shall describe in order some of the most interesting phenomena connected with insect-history and transformations generally. Whither, then, must we go to watch the awakening of life in the insect? We might ask the reader's company to

--"where the pool

Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible

Amid the floating verdure, millions stray."

Here might we point to him that wondrous and exquisite structure, the life-boat of eggs, floating[A] securely on its silent surface, or anchored, perhaps, to the side of some pond-plant's slimy stem; and lingering here we might in a few days see the little eggs become burst and give exit to a number of minute creatures of great activity. Some of them would be seen twisting themselves about in a most extraordinary manner, and swimming here and there through the still waters. Or we might take him to the depths of the forest, and now, under the bark of some of the trees, now upon their branches, now in little tents of leaves, we could point out many a colony of eggs only waiting for the life-giving influence of spring to burst into life and activity.

But it is better for us to proceed more systematically, and to notice shortly the interesting facts which the science of entomology reveals to us as to the egg-cradles, so to speak, of insects, by which is meant the various localities selected by them for the deposition of their eggs, some of them, as we have mentioned, in the water, some in the earth, some upon plants and trees, and some in mansions made by the insects themselves for the purpose of hatching their eggs.

Let us come, then, and watch the great water-beetle, at the time when the mother-insect is about to commit her future offspring to the care of the waters. She is to be found on fine days, when the sun is going down into a bed of gold, enjoying herself and delighting in the pleasant air of the evening, as she sits upon a plant close by the water's edge; or she may even have taken up her position on a floating leaf of the plant, the clear waters flowing gently beneath her. She has been in the water all day long, and is now just emerged. On other evenings she will take wing, and speed her way whither no eye can follow; but now, she has another and the most important duty of her existence to perform, and her customary evening ramble is not permitted to interfere with its fulfilment. On watching her closely we find her busy at some self-imposed occupation; what is its nature? To discover that, she must be closely and patiently watched. At her tail are a couple of spinning organs, which move from right to left and up and down with great swiftness, all the while a glutinous fluid, which hardens into a thread, being discharged from each of them. With this apparatus the industrious insect is spinning a pouch not unlike the purses which were in fashion before the long ones that ladies knit came to be adopted. This purse is three quarters of an inch long; it consists outside of a tissue, like parchment, which is quite impervious to water, but is lined inside with the most beautiful, light, downy material possible, which is as white as snow. There is a sort of little horn to this pouch, which admits the air, but the opening to which is protected by a layer of cross threads, which excludes the wet. In three hours of patient toil this beautiful cradle is completed. The water-beetle then safely secures it from being carried away by the waters on which it floats so buoyantly, by fastening it by cables to the neighbouring plants. Here safely moored it rests until the eggs are hatched, soon after which the little creatures within escape into the waters out of the ark, which has, during the period of their infancy, safely preserved them from every danger, both of water and wind.

The proceedings of the common gnat, our summer tormentor, are no less interesting and instructive. Her actions have been closely watched by the great Réaumur, and are detailed by him with very striking accuracy. They require, perhaps, sharper scrutiny than most of our readers are in the habit of bestowing upon the actions of insects, but they well repay a patient and attentive observation, and subjects for the examination may easily be found at the side of any pool in summer. The following is an outline of the difficulties the insect has to contend with in depositing her eggs. First, they must be hatched on the water; but, 2d, her eggs are heavier than water, and will therefore sink if dropped into it one by one; and, 3d, the eggs are so small and of so peculiar a shape that it would be difficult to make them stand upright on a solid surface; far more so then, on the water. A human ship-builder would be probably sorely puzzled to find out how to overcome these difficulties, and of such materials how to construct a floating raft; nay, a raft which cannot by any means be made to sink. The insect has, however, been instructed by a Greater and Wiser than man, and she solves the problem in a manner well calculated to excite our admiration and praise. Fixing herself by her four front legs upon a leaf or twig floating on the surface of the water, she stretches out behind her the two hind legs, and crosses them over one another somewhat in this manner . In the triangular space thus formed she purposes to construct her boat of eggs. Now, all things being ready, just where the crossed legs meet she places her first egg, which is covered over with a thick glue. By the side of this she places another, and again another, so that the three are, by means of the glue which covers them, united together, and will, consequently, preserve the upright position, as there is now a sufficiently broad base of support for them to rest upon. To these she diligently adds egg to egg until she has sufficiently formed the shape of her boat; after which she uncrosses her legs and places them quite straight, so as to shape the sides of the boat. When a sufficient number of eggs have been thus glued together, the number varying from two to three hundred, the gnat considers her task as ended, and wings her way from the pool, abandoning her ingenious structure to the mercy of wind and wave, although not without the security of knowing that neither wind nor wave could commit serious injury upon it.

"In shape," write Messrs. Kirby and Spence, "this little boat pretty accurately resembles a London wherry, being sharper and higher, to use a nautical phrase, fore and aft; convex below and concave above; floating, moreover, constantly on the keel or convex part. But this," they add, "is not all; it is, besides, a life-boat, more buoyant than even Mr. Greathead's. The most violent agitation of the water cannot sink it; and what is more extraordinary, and a property still a desideratum in our life-boats, though hollow it never becomes filled with water, even though exposed to the torrents that often accompany a thunder-storm. To put this to the test I yesterday placed half a dozen of these boats upon the surface of a tumbler half full of water. I then poured upon them a stream of that element from the mouth of a great bottle held a foot above them, yet, after this treatment, which was so rough as actually to project one out of the glass, I found them floating as before upon their bottoms, and not a drop of water within their cavity."

Rubbish Towers of the Sand-Wasp.

Some insects make the homes of their young in the earth. Of these, the insect called the sand-wasp forms, perhaps, one of the most interesting examples. This insect selects generally a hard sunny sand-bank for the excavation it is about to accomplish. Armed with a pair of powerful jaws, by means of which the insect can break off good-sized fragments of the rock she is about to mine, she sets to her arduous undertaking with a bold heart, and it is not long before a tolerable cavity is scooped out. Many of our readers have seen the manner in which human miners proceed when they are forming a hole in a lime or other rock, for the purpose of blasting, and must have noticed that they are in the habit of using a little water, in order to facilitate the boring operation. We are all, also, familiar with the tale of Hannibal chemically softening the Alpine rocks by means of vinegar. The little insect in question has been instructed by the great Creator also to adopt a means of shortening her labour, for it has been observed that she moistens the rock by letting fall a drop or two of fluid upon it from her mouth. By this means her work goes on rapidly. The rubbish soon begins to accumulate. It will be scarcely conjectured what this patient labourer does with it. Were we to look narrowly at the sand-bank which such wasps frequent, we should find on its surface a number of curious little projections like horns, rising from the surface. These are towers built by the sand-wasp of the pieces of rubbish which she scoops out of her mine. She cements them together, and, instead of throwing them away, she lays the masses in regular order until they have assumed the appearance here shown. It has been supposed she does this with a view to keep out enemies and to keep her progeny cool; just as in a tall house the cellar is its coolest apartment, so the height of the tower in question seems to be an additional protection against the rays of the scorching sun. After it has deposited its egg at the bottom of the excavation, the sand-wasp sets out on a foraging expedition, and hunts about until she finds certain green caterpillars. Seizing upon one of these she flies with it to her mine, and then returns for more prey. After collecting about a dozen of these helpless beings, fixing them so that they are hopeless captives inside her dark prison, she bids farewell to the egg, for the future well-being of which she has thus assiduously provided. She takes down her tower of stones, and, with the materials which composed it, fills up the entrance to the cell, thus shutting in both the prisoners and their future devourer in a common dungeon, there to await the changes which time will inevitably bring about.

Let us speak now of eggs carefully deposited by other insects in galleries and excavations made into timber. The insects which thus act have been called by the fanciful title of carpenter-bees, in allusion to the drilling process by which they penetrate the wood. A highly interesting spectacle it is, in truth, to see one of these pigmy carpenters at her work, and, fortunately, some of the species are not very uncommon in our gardens. Spring is the season when she commences her labours. She reconnoitres about for a proper piece of timber for some time, and exhibits great discrimination in the selection of a suitable place for establishing herself and for the nurture of her progeny. Strange to say, she will not select living wood, such as the trunk of a tree, but generally prefers wood which has already begun to decay, as if fully aware that such wood was likely to give her much less trouble in boring than any other. She also selects a piece of wood placed in some sunny and genial position, with a view to the development and comfort of her progeny. This important point being settled to her mind, she next sets about the work. Well may Réaumur exclaim, "Truly the labour she has undertaken demands strength, courage, and patience!"

Carpenter-Bee.

Mandibles of the Carpenter-Bee.

The violet carpenter-bee is, perhaps, the most interesting example we can select. She begins by cutting out with her strong jaws small portions of the timber, and soon forms a little hole, which looks downwards and inwards into the wood. She then alters the direction of her drilling, and now perforates the timber perpendicularly downwards, and in a parallel direction to the sides of the wood. Long and hard does she thus labour, until she has actually scooped out a tunnel in the timber a foot or so in length, and half an inch in diameter. Sometimes she will drill several of these beautiful galleries in the wood. The task, however arduous, never seems to weary her; impelled by a heaven-bestowed influence, she works strenuously and cheerfully for weeks, or even sometimes for months. Our readers may be interested to know what she does with the saw-dust. If they can but get an opportunity of watching her they will soon see her mode of dealing with it. Standing by the side of the wood she is drilling, and keeping our eyes stedfastly fixed on the hole, we shall presently observe her head emerging from it, and immediately after she is seen to shovel out a little heap of the dust, which accumulates on the ground beneath into a pile. When her galleries are finished her labour is yet far from accomplished. She has now to deposit her eggs, and make provision for the prospective wants of her young ones. Now, her eggs must not be piled together, nor be scattered about in the same cavity. The larv? which are to be produced by them must each live in separation from the others. How is this fresh difficulty to be overcome? The insect soon supplies us with the answer. She has not forgotten her heap of saw-dust. She first deposits an egg at the bottom of the tunnel, and then away she flies to the fields for a load of the fine yellow dust of flowers, called pollen, and also for honey. She mixes these up into a nice little mass of pollen-bread, or cake, which is intended for the food of the larva, when it comes out of the egg, and then piles it up in the gallery just over the first egg. She then, at a height of about three quarters of an inch, plasters a layer or ring of saw-dust made by her into a sort of mortar, and adds to this another and another ring of the same material until the ceiling is quite complete, and the cell thus formed is shut off from the rest of the excavation by a circular plate of this substance, which effectually excludes all intercourse between the occupants of this wooden nursery. Having completed this cell she proceeds in the same way to lay an egg, and to provide a store of food, and, finally, to close in the rest of the gallery, until she has subdivided it into ten or twelve separate apartments. The appearance of the circular ceilings formed on these ingenious principles is exhibited in the engraving annexed.

Cells of Carpenter-Bee.

Ceiling-plate.

Section of Cells, showing the ways of escape.

One of the most striking facts in connexion with the proceedings of this little creature has yet to be brought under our notice. It will be readily admitted that the first egg deposited at the bottom of the gallery will be the first, in point of time, that will be hatched, and, consequently, the first to require to make its escape from the wooden prison-house of its birth. How is it possible for this to take place, when above the poor prisoner's head are ten or twelve cells full of other occupants, and each shut in with a hard ceiling and floor? By referring to the figure, we obtain a clue to this enigma. It is here seen that there are holes which communicate with the tunnel within. The uppermost of these holes was the one by means of which the tunnel was first formed, but the two lower ones have been expressly formed by the carpenter-bee to provide against the dilemma in which her young would otherwise have been placed. They form as it were posterns or back doors by which, when the insect is perfected, it is easily enabled to make its escape. Singular, indeed, it is, that the insects, previous to passing into their last transformation, arrange themselves with their heads downwards, so that every one of them generally emerges at the so-called back-door of the mansion.

There are many similar instances in natural history of the manifest wisdom and forethought of the Creator of all things, visible and invisible, but we may safely say there are not many which show it in so clear and striking a point of view as this. It is to be remembered this industrious insect in the arrangements in question does not act from past experience. She never saw her young brood, nor could learn of herself their wants and dispositions, yet her plans for their welfare are as admirably contrived as if she had brought up generation after generation under her own eye, and had learnt wisdom by the lapse of years. Plainly, therefore, her actions are all directed by an impulse given her from God, and we may well exclaim with the wise king of old, it is God who "doth instruct her to discretion, and doth teach her." Altogether, what an example of patience and cheerfulness in her labours, and of admirable wisdom in their performance, is presented to us by this little sketch of the history of the carpenter-bee's nest!

Among the birds discovered in Australia, is one called the Bower-bird, from its fondness for making a bower, which it ornaments in a very pretty manner. Other instances of a somewhat similar kind could be mentioned, tending to show that some of the lower animals are as fond of decorating their dwellings as we are ourselves. There is, however, in the insect world, a little creature which has been called the tapestry-bee, which adorns the place where its progeny is to be born with a tapestry as novel as it is elegant. The great entomologist whom we have before quoted, thus describes his first discovery of this interesting fact:-"In one of my rambles, which had led me through several lanes, and in the course of which I had frequently stopped to examine the little tunnels pierced in the earth by various insects, my companions began to engage in the same occupation with myself; one of them at length perceived, and pointed out to my notice, a tunnel which had some peculiarities of appearance not possessed by the others we had seen; its interior seemed to be painted with vermilion. A small twig was immediately gently pushed into it, and with a knife we carefully removed the earth which surrounded it, taking great care not to injure the walls of the tunnel. When we had uncovered it sufficiently, it was found that the little stick was buried in a tube made of the leaves of the field poppy.

The Tapestry-Bee and its Cell.

"I need scarcely say, that during the remainder of our ramble we were exclusively occupied in searching for similar holes. It is a common observation, that when a fact, which has not hitherto been recognised among those presented to us in nature, is once caught sight of, we are almost sure to see it again and again, until we wonder how it could have been that it was never noticed before. We therefore now found other holes, leading to similar tubes, formed in the same manner of the flowers of the red poppy. Altogether, before returning home, we found seven or eight of them; and since that time, I have found them in all their different stages." These elegantly decorated apartments were subsequently found to belong to the tapestry-bee.

Poppy-flower cut by the Bee.

This bee, in forming the future abode of her young, begins by scooping out a burrow in some pathway, which she bores to the depth of two or three inches. She then smooths the walls of this cavity, and all being now ready for putting up the hangings, she betakes herself to the fields, and alights upon some fresh-expanded poppy flower, just displaying its crimson cheeks to the light of day. Here she quickly plies the scissors which she has been armed with for this purpose, and in a very short time cuts out of the bright petal on which she rests, a smooth portion of a definite size. She then returns home, and, by means of the scissors and her legs, she cuts and smooths the piece until it lays quite flat upon the bottom of her cell. This done, she flies for more, and in a short time, could we peep in, we might find her mansion all over-spread with tapestry, more bright in colour, and more delicate in point of finish and texture, than human art can by possibility produce. The apartment being thus not only decorated, but rendered, both to the eye and senses, warm and comfortable, she then stores up in it a quantity of pollen and honey, until she has filled it to the height of half an inch, when she deposits the egg, for whose wants and, as we might say, even luxuries, she has thus elegantly provided, folding some of the hangings carefully over it. The remainder of the cavity is filled with loose earth. We have taken it for granted, in this account, that the insect really takes a pleasure in the brilliant colours with which she ornaments her cell; but it is only right to say, in addition, that we have, of course, no positive proof that such is really the case. For aught we know, her motives may be very different; it is, however, an amusing way to consider these actions, be the explanation of them what it may.

Finished Cell.

We fear, however, we dare not promise our readers the same success as that which attended M. Réaumur and his companions. It has been thought, that this interesting insect is not a native of our island, and it is certain it has not been commonly observed amongst us; but Mr. Rennie, in his work on Insect Architecture, says, that at a beautiful sea-bathing village in Ayrshire, he once found in a footpath a great number of the perforations of the tapestry-bee. At all events, they deserve looking for.

Leaf tubes.

Although we have, perhaps, lingered long enough over the insect cradle, we must spare room for one or two more remarks on this subject, and it were almost a shame, while speaking thereon, to omit a notice of one of the most elegant cradles of all-one made with rose-leaves! As Réaumur's account of the manner in which he first became acquainted with these egg depositories is very pleasantly written, we shall extract the substance of it from his work. It was one day in July, 1736, that a gentleman of rank, accompanied by his suite and his gardener, who was in a state of great alarm, waited upon an eminent naturalist in Paris. The gardener had left his master's country-seat, near Rouen, to proceed with all haste to the metropolis, in order to communicate to his master the terrible tidings, that his ground was bewitched! He had the courage, however, to pick up the spells, or charms, which the sorcerer had placed in the earth, and to carry them to his master, in full belief that they were sufficient to convince all the world of the reality of the enchantment. He had, indeed, in the first instance, taken them to the parish priest, begging his counsel, and both came to the same conclusion-that, without doubt, the garden was now enchanted ground! When the gentleman saw the little things his gardener called charms,-which are here represented,-he was much perplexed, although his good sense led him to ridicule the idea of the bewitchment of his property by such means. He applied to his medical adviser for a solution of this problem; but, alas! he was no entomologist, and could not enlighten him; but he directed him to the naturalist of whom mention has been made, and whose name was M. Nollet. On being admitted to the presence of this gentleman, the terror-stricken gardener hastily put on the table the little rolls of leaves he considered to be spells, and which had been made, with some evil design, as he doubted not, by the malevolent hands of some sorcerer. Fortunately, M. Nollet had in his museum some rolls of leaves formed with equal art by beetles; he produced them, and showed them to the affrighted man, assuring him, that, without doubt, they had been formed by insects, and that it was therefore highly probable that the rolls in question were the productions of some other insects of a different species. The gardener looked incredulous, being apparently unwilling to give up his alarm, until M. Nollet, greatly to his horror, took up one of those little leaf-rolls which had caused him so much uneasiness, and carefully unfolding it, drew from thence a fat little larva. The moment the gardener saw the little creature, his fears and troubled aspect vanished, and an air of cheerfulness spread over his face, such as one might imagine as the result of deliverance from some fearful peril. The only reward M. Nollet would receive from the poor man for thus dissipating his cares and fears was, that he should leave the leaf-rolls with him, and, collecting more of them, should send them to M. Réaumur's address, for him to examine. This little anecdote affords us a good illustration of the connexion of superstitious fears with ignorance on points of natural history, and sets before us, in well-relieved contrast, the foolish terrors of the unlearned gardener with the collected bearing of the learned naturalist. Would that this anecdote stood alone in the records of natural history! We have already seen that it does not; and that the most groundless apprehensions have taken their rise in the most innocent and trifling of natural causes.

The Bee with a leaf cut.

By and by, after a little careful investigation, the true artificer of these spells was discovered, and proved to be a lowly insect, which has been since called the rose-leaf-cutter bee. On closer examination, these rolls of leaves,-which are almost as long and as large as a tooth-pick case,-were found to be made up of six or seven cells, each separate from the rest, placed end to end, and covered with a common coating of leaves. The manner in which the roll is formed is as follows:-The insect sometimes makes a perforation in decayed wood, sometimes in the well-trodden earth of a footpath; this she drives to the depth of, perhaps, nine inches, and she then proceeds to hang this apartment with its green tapestry,-for it must be understood, it is not the leaves of the flower, but of the stem of the rose-tree,-or, in other words, the green leaves, that she selects for this purpose. The insect alights upon what she considers to be a suitable leaf, and begins with her sharp jaws to cut out a piece of a crescent form from its edge. When she has cut, perhaps, half-way round, or rather more, she sets her wings in motion, so as to keep her balanced in the air, lest she should drag away the half-cut piece before it was properly divided from the leaf. When cut, she places it in a perpendicular position between her legs, and flies away with it to her cell. She then simply folds it into a proper form, and overlays the cell walls with this leafy covering, not using any cement to make it retain its form, but relying upon the natural elasticity of the leaf to keep it close pressed against the wall in the manner in which she places it. Repeating this process several times, she finally completes each cell with exquisite art and care, and taking the precaution of arranging all her joints and seams so that they shall not present themselves in the same place, but covering them over with pieces of leaf, so as to strengthen them, and in many other respects exhibiting an amount of mechanical and mathematical skill never sufficiently to be admired, she now deposits the minute egg in it which is to become the toilsome, busy, patient, and clever being,-the full-grown insect of her own species. Mindful of its future wants, she then compounds a delicate mass of pink conserve, which she collects from thistles, and subsequently stops up each cell with thin pieces of leaf, as exactly round as if they had been cut out with a punch, or by means of some mathematical instrument.

Réaumur says he often, in the month of May, on looking at his rose-trees, detected these insects at their work; all he had to do was, to stand and patiently watch by the side of a tree, the leaves of which exhibited the singular marks made by this insect. Many times have the same appearances arrested our attention, and without doubt that of the reader. The spectacle of insect ingenuity which it affords well promises to repay a little exertion in endeavouring to find out the nest to which the pieces are conveyed, and some neighbouring post or footpath will probably discover it to us after a sharp scrutiny. Sometimes the insect makes a bad choice of a leaf; it may be, perhaps, too tough for her; but she soon discovers her mistake, and leaves it, half cut, to seek a better on the same branch.

A Rose-branch cut by the Bee.

The nest formed by a species of moth for depositing her eggs in, is one equally interesting to describe. From the resemblance of her actions to the well-known account of those of the eider-duck, whose maternal love strips her breast of down for the purpose of protecting her eggs, we might almost venture to call this moth the eider-moth, were it not that it is known under another and far less appropriate name-the gipsy-moth. Indeed, in the care of the insect the mother's love is, as we might say, even more powerful than in the bird; for, while the latter has the pride and pleasure of seeing her little ones grow up around her, the poor insect, after stripping herself of her own soft, warm down, thus testifying her love to her offspring even to death, presently expires. The insect in forming her nest first plucks off, by means of a singular instrument, like a pair of tweezers, with which she is provided, a little portion of down from her body; seated upon a tree, she attaches this to its trunk, and then deposits an egg in it, which immediately adheres to the down, and becomes coated with it. The remainder of her operations, until she has deposited the entire number of eggs, are but repetitions of the same actions. When the process is at an end, she begins to form a regular tile or covering to her nest, and this she effects with a degree of skill not unworthy of the most consummate thatcher. She arranges the hairs of the down just as the thatcher does his stems of straw for the cottage roof, so that they all slope downwards, resembling much the smooth pile of a hat. By this arrangement of the down, it is next to impossible that in the most drenching shower the eggs, warmly wrapped up within, should be wetted or otherwise injured, and the down itself, being a material which, as we all know, is a non-conductor, preserves the eggs from the influence of the most severe frosts. In shape, this nest of eggs resembles a skittle, or a truncated cone, the broad end downwards. The engraving represents this form, and also shows the insect at work constructing the nest.

The Nest of the Gipsy-moth.

Eggs of Lackey-moth. (Natural size, and magnified.)

Let us now pass on, to mention, that many eggs are deposited without any special protection of the kind we have described, and without what would be with propriety termed a nest. A moth, called the lackey-moth, frequently ornaments the young twigs of trees in our gardens with exquisite bracelets of glistening white eggs, looking like beads. From two to three hundred of these eggs are glued on by the insect around the twig, by means of a tenacious waterproof cement, and are arranged with an accuracy of the most marvellous character, in a close spiral line upon the twig. The cement employed by the insect in uniting her eggs, and in varnishing them over, is so hard as to serve the purpose of a covering, which admirably casts off the rain, and preserves the eggs free from injury by the elements all the winter long. Many eggs are simply glued on irregularly upon the stems and leaves of plants, their shells or outer coating, together with the protecting varnish, being sufficient to preserve them from the inclemencies of the weather; but some are piled together with the most striking regularity, in regular columns of eggs.

In addition to these, it is proper to state, that some insects lay their eggs in the body of the young of others. Of these, those which are most dreaded by the insect tribe are the little but terrible flies, called Ichneumons. They are so called because in their actions they agree with the popular account of those of the ichneumons of Egypt, which were venerated as the destroyers of the eggs of serpents and crocodiles. "Such," say Messrs. Kirby and Spence, "is the activity and address of the ichneumons, that scarcely any concealment, except perhaps the waters, can secure their prey from them; and neither bulk, courage, nor ferocity, avail to terrify them from effecting their purpose. They attack the ruthless spider in his toils; they discover the retreat of the little bee, that for safety bores deep into timber; and though its enemy, the ichneumon, cannot enter its cell, by means of her long ovipositor (organ for depositing the egg), she reaches the helpless grub, which its parent vainly thought secured from every foe, and deposits in it an egg, which produces a larva that destroys it. In vain does the destructive cecidomia of the wheat conceal its larv? within the glumes that so closely cover the grain; three species of these minute benefactors of our race, sent in mercy by Heaven, know how to introduce their eggs into them, thus preventing the mischief they would otherwise occasion, and saving mankind from the horrors of famine. In vain, also, the cynips, by its magic touch, produces the curious excrescences on various trees and plants, called gulls, for the nutriment and defence of its progeny. This parasite insect discovers its secret chamber, pierces its wall, however thick, and commits the destroying egg to its offspring." In vain, also, might we add, does the sand-wasp excavate her deep cell for her young ones; for when once the ichneumon has discovered the retreat, the destruction of the young larv? is inevitable. She pierces through the defences piled over the mouth of the cavity, with all the precision and patience of a higher creature, and rests not until she has thrust down her long ovipositor, and placed the egg in the body of the helpless prisoner below, when she flies away, confident that the days of her victim are numbered, and having thus doomed him to be eaten up alive! The common caterpillar, which, by its ravages in our cabbage rows, makes itself a little too familiar to us, has a fierce enemy in these flies; they dart upon it, pierce its body in many places, laying an egg in each wound; these in due time become hatched, and eat their way out of the body of the poor caterpillar, who soon dies, while the larv?, after undergoing their proper transformations, become perfect insects themselves, fully equipped to proceed to the same work in some other individual of the caterpillar kind.

To man, this ordinance of the Creator, that some insects should lay their eggs in the bodies of others, and so destroy them, is of inestimable benefit. It is quite impossible to imagine what would be the result, were weevils, caterpillars, and such like insects, to be permitted to multiply without a check. Produce of all kinds would soon be consumed, and the desolations of an universal famine would overwhelm man and beast. But God has been pleased to ordain it otherwise. In proportion to the increase of the destroyers is the increase of those that prey upon and destroy them. Thus, what has been well called the balance of creation is preserved, and by means of the insects in question, conjoined to other causes, is the command to the destroying powers enforced-"Hitherto shall ye come, but no farther."

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In the past pages we have now considered shortly the various methods of depositing the eggs of insects, and have seen that the nursing place where the young being is produced, differs widely both in point of its position, and of the external circumstances which variously affect it.

For some are the deep-bored galleries in timber; for some, the hard-wrought tunnel, scooped by an insect out of a rock; for some, the ingeniously-formed boat or raft, which is to carry its cargo of life buoyant on the dancing waters "all the days of its appointed time, waiting until its change come;" for some, the cell of earth lined with painted hangings, exquisite in make and colour; for some, the little leaf-case, curiously folded together; but for others, none of those works of insect art are provided; they, hid in a rain-proof covering of varnish, lie open to every eye, or scattered here and there on all and every kind of flower and herbage, lie at the mercy of every wandering foot. While, lastly, others are buried with a cruel yet merciful art, in the bodies of myriads of unsuspecting members of the insect community, lying, like the seeds of evil in the heart of the infant, dormant awhile, but destined to grow with its growth and to strengthen with its strength.

The time has, therefore, now come that we should speak a little more particularly upon the nature and character of the eggs of insects. The shape of an insect's egg, although frequently something of an oval in its outline, is very various; in fact, were the egg of some peculiar species placed in the field of a microscope, probably not one general observer out of a hundred could in the least imagine what the object at which he was looking really was. Sometimes they are oval and exactly resemble the form of the egg of the bird; but in other instances they are of the most irregular and fantastic appearance. Some look like pill-boxes tied over and down their sides with string; others look like tiny flasks, with many raised ribs upon their surface; others have lids and springs. The gnat's egg resembles a chemist's phial, or one of the new bottles for holding a?rated waters; and those of the dung-fly have two little pieces sticking out at the top on each side to prevent them sinking too deep into the matter upon which they are deposited.

Various forms of Eggs.

Eggs of Lace-winged Fly.

The eggs of some insects strikingly resemble the little shells like turbans with which we are most of us familiar. A very singular variety of egg which has often caused much perplexity to naturalists is the egg of the lace-winged fly. Réaumer says, "I had observed them several years without actually knowing what they were. Others as well as myself had noticed that on the leaves and twigs of many trees were a number of minute stalks placed together, scarcely as thick as a hair, their colour was nearly white, and they were about an inch in length; there were sometimes ten or twelve placed in a bunch; the end of each stalk bore a small head of an egg-like or oblong figure. They appeared to me to be fungi, the little head precisely resembling the appearance of moulds as seen under the microscope; but they were larger in size." They were, in fact, the eggs of the fly in question. When the larva escapes from them they have much the appearance of little vases; and the same author assures us that they were once described and engraved by a naturalist as some curious minute flower growing on the leaves of the elder, for which he was unable to account. The representation of them in the cut will enable the reader to form his own opinion as to the difficulty of ascertaining whether they were flowers or the nests of an insect.

Manner of depositing the Egg.

The manner in which these eggs are thus regularly placed by the insect is interesting. Placing herself upon the leaf in the attitude represented, she fastens a thread to the leaf, draws it out in the same way as a spider does her lines, and when it has got sufficiently firm the wise insect then puts forth the egg, glueing it to the extremity of the stalk; this done, she quits it and begins to form another, repeating the same actions until the proper number is laid. Poised on the summit of these slender pillars the eggs are secure from every invader but man himself, and in time there comes from them the larva which is to become the beautiful insect, the "lace-winged fly," in all the elegance of its form.

From what has been already stated, the surface of the eggs of insects, it will be perceived, is by no means in all cases smooth and polished as in the case of birds. Far otherwise. To look at some of them by the help of a magnifying glass we should imagine that they were covered with very fine lace net, others appear as if some clever engraver had been chasing some intricate design upon their surface. The eggs of a species of butterfly are studded over with an infinite number of little knots or tubercles; and those of another are capped at the top with sculptured work disposed in the form of a circular tiling or roof to the egg. Some also closely resemble embossed buttons.

He who has thus adorned these minute objects with beauty of form and carving, has likewise bestowed upon them the most beautiful and variegated colours-colours such as no human art can imitate. But from the small size of the eggs it is difficult to appreciate this beauty in them except when they occur in a mass. The most common tints are white, yellow, and green, but the richer and rarer hues are also to be found among them. Thus, the eggs of a moth are of a beautiful blue colour, banded in the most delicate manner by three zones or rings of brown, the contrast being very pleasing. Another moth, which loves to deposit its eggs in the bark of the willow, produces them tinged with a purple more delicate than ever Tyrian lady wore as the finest produce of the dyer's art. In the deep crevices of the bark of the elm, and only, therefore, to be found by sharp scrutiny, another moth lays eggs of a lovely pink. Messrs. Kirby and Spence write, "We remember once being much surprised at seeing the water at one end of a canal in our garden as red as blood; upon examining it further we found it discoloured by an infinite number of minute red eggs." Sometimes eggs are spotted, and thus resemble the eggs of many birds; and, strange to say, sometimes they change colour in a very remarkable manner; so that, as far as colour is concerned, an observer could scarcely believe that the egg was the same he beheld, perhaps, a few days previously. The eggs of the chameleon fly, as we are told by the gentlemen last quoted, are at first pure white; then change to green, and finally turn to a deep olive-green. Others are at first mouse-coloured, then reddish, and, lastly, black. The eggs of a kind of moth we have seen first of the colour of sulphur, then becoming green, after that rose-colour, and lastly, black. In the instances of the common gnat and silk-worm, similar changes of colour take place. The eggs of the gnat are first white, then green, and finally gray; and those of the silk-worm are in the first instance of a pale yellow, and ultimately take on a violet tint.

Having thus noticed these points in connexion with the Life of an Insect, we are led to that most important of all periods, the dawn of life in the egg, or, in common terms, the period of hatching. But before proceeding to the subject, may we not pause and wonder as we behold the varied manifestations of the Creator's wisdom in the actions of the minute, and, as we often call them, insignificant creatures of whom we have spoken? Should David say, when he beheld the sun, moon, and stars, as the work of a Divine hand, "Lord, what is man, that thou considerest him, or the son of man, that thou regardest him!" And shall not we, as we contemplate the few particulars here set down of the wonders of insect-life, exclaim, with even greater astonishment, "What are these, that thou considerest them?" Let no one then say, that entomology, or any other natural science whose field of study lies chiefly among the minute portions of creation, are profitless sciences, when they can reveal to us such a display of the power, wisdom, and love of God, as is exhibited even in this small portion of the Life of an Insect.

Let us then take up one of these eggs, so minute, but containing within it the rudiments of a being which is in time to assume a form of considerable magnitude, by comparison, and to be adorned with colours richer than art can boast of, and let us examine it on the field of a tolerably powerful microscope. We need not look far for a specimen. In the dark corner of the ceiling in a neglected room, after removing the mass of dust-filled webs that have accumulated there for months, we may find without difficulty a spider's nest of eggs. A more pleasant place to search for insects' eggs is, perhaps, the garden; and if in the crevices of the bark of the trees, or attached to twigs or branches, none can be found, we can almost certainly promise success if the reader will carefully and patiently search the angles of the garden walls, particularly if he has noticed in the preceding autumn many of the beautiful webs of the garden-spider. There, in some sheltered recess, where the pattering rain-drops may be heard, but never venture in, and where few eyes would detect them, may be found little round yellow balls, of the size of a small cherry, made of the most beautiful golden-coloured silk, and attached by a slender stalk to the wall, or perhaps, to a twig. Sometimes they exhibit the more elegant and curious appearance shown in the figure on the next page, resembling an inverted wine-glass or pear.

Nests of Garden-Spider.

On taking our prize in-doors, by the aid of a very sharp penknife we may succeed in cutting it smoothly open, and in turning out some of the delicate eggs which lie warmly covered up at the bottom. Taking one of them up on the point of the knife, and laying it on the microscope-field, we shall be able to see something of the anatomy of an insect's egg.

First, we may notice what seems to be the shell; that is, the outer covering of the egg. This is very different to the hard, calcareous eggshell of birds. It is stated not to contain any lime in its composition as the shells of birds do; for when the eggs of insects are put into very weak sulphuric acid and water, which would act on the lime if it were present in their composition, they are not affected by it. Although, therefore some eggs of insects are very hard: so hard indeed as to resist severe pressure with the nail, they do not owe their hardness, as do the eggs of birds, to any lime in their chemical composition. The outer coat or shell is apparently simply membraneous, frequently varying greatly in thickness, being sometimes as dense and horny as we have mentioned, and at others, so delicate as to burst with the gentlest touch.

Nests of Spiders.

Could we now do, what it is so easy to do with the egg of a fowl,-carefully take off a little portion of this outer shell, we should be able to inspect its contents more accurately. But in the case of most who read this book, this extremely delicate task will prove after many trials probably a hopeless failure. Let us state, therefore, what some expert and talented observers have found within the insect's egg. It appears, then, that although there is both a "yolk" and a "white" in the tiny egg before us, that they are not quite so distinct as in the bird. Yet, they are sufficiently separate from one another to make their differences complete. Probably the reader has noticed in the hen's egg a little round spot in the middle of the "yolk" or yellow portion; from this the future bird is produced. Although from their extreme minuteness it is difficult to detect anything of this kind in the eggs of insects, some observers state they have seen a similar little spot in them also. Thus, M. Herold says, that in the eggs of the very insect whose nest we have robbed, the garden spider, "this little spot can be seen as a minute white point immediately under the shell, and in the middle of its circumference." This was seen by holding it up to the light, and the spot was more carefully examined by gently pressing the contents of a spider's egg upon a watch-glass. Mr. Rennie says, that "the point where the caterpillar originates, answering to the scar in the eggs of birds, we can readily distinguish even by the naked eye in the larger species of eggs, as it lies always immediately under the shell." But it may be doubted whether, without the assistance of some one versed in entomology, many who make the same attempt, will succeed. So much depends in looking at any object upon whether we know what to look for or not, so that things which are as clearly seen as possible by the eyes of the initiated, are not seen at all by any others. To perceive some things in natural history, and many in science, the senses of sight, hearing, and touch, require to be well educated, and they then become apparent enough.

And is this all that we can mention about the structure of an egg? This indeed is all. Can it be possible? Is there no striking and broad difference to mark the nature of the future insect? Is the egg of a spider the same in the number and nature of its parts as that of a butterfly, or the egg of a gnat as that of a beetle? Surely, as we should imagine, there must be some important differences between these, otherwise why such immense differences in the perfect insect? Could any one imagine that a grasshopper and a house-fly, so strangely unlike each other in their perfect forms, originated in eggs to either of which the same description of an insect's egg would accurately answer, and leave nothing out? However great our amazement, the fact is unquestionable. The egg of every insect at first consists of an outer covering, a white, a yolk, and the little spot we have alluded to. We might have thought that in creating so many different species of insects, which differ so surprisingly in form as the insect tribes do, the great Creator would have formed their eggs essentially different too. But, except in the matter of shape, all are originally alike; and the wisest philosopher is unable to inform us of any essential difference in the eggs of insects at first. The eye of God, who knows the end from the beginning, sees some difference inappreciable to the eye of man. He said to this kind, "Be thou thus," and to that, "Be thou different;" but until the time comes when the young insect is much more advanced, it is not possible for us to recognise those marks of variety which His hand has laid upon them from the beginning.

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The generality of insects, as has been before mentioned, are destined never to behold the birth of their progeny, nor to experience either the pleasures or the cares of parents surrounded by their families. Their anxieties cease when they have carefully stored up their eggs, and their existence is generally soon afterwards at an end.

The insect world, therefore, presents us with but few opportunities of witnessing the display of a parental affection on the part of its members; but, as was mentioned in the conclusion of the last chapter, a few examples of the kind do exist, and, perhaps, the very fact of their being few in number contributes to make them the more interesting to us. We have seen a noble instance of self-devotion on the part of a poor spider in defence of her eggs. Let us now turn to some examples of the love of an insect mother for her young larva. If the reader will carefully search the twigs and leaves of the birch-tree in the month of July he may possibly succeed in finding the little insect, the field-bug, of which mention is about being made, and witness for himself the strange spectacle described in the following account from the great work on insects by De Geer. In order that it may be recognised, we have here adjoined a representation of the insect. Its colour is a greenish gray on the back, dotted all over with very minute black spots; the under portion of the insect is greenish yellow, with black spots. It lives upon the sap of the birch-tree.

The Field-bug.

"The mother," says De Geer, "was accompanied by a troop of little ones, sometimes as many as forty in number. She remained constantly with them, generally on a twig or leaf. I noticed that the little ones and their mother did not always remain in the same place, and that as soon as the mother began to move to another position, all the little ones began to run after her, and stopped whenever the mother halted. She used to take them, as it were, for a walk from twig to twig, or from one leaf to another, parading up and down the branches of the tree, and she conducted them wherever she pleased, just as a hen does her chickens. It frequently afforded me great pleasure to observe their movements. One day I cut a young branch of the birch-tree inhabited by such an insect family, and I immediately saw the mother, apparently in great anxiety, begin to flap her wings violently, but without attempting to fly away, as though she would frighten away her enemy. At another time she would have immediately made her escape, thus plainly showing that she remained only in order to defend her young brood."

As if to furnish an instance of precisely the opposite import, the cruel and murderous father of this interesting little family is one of the greatest enemies the poor mother has to contend against. This hard-hearted parent does not hesitate whenever he falls in with one of his children to seize him and eat him up! If the mother spies him at this horrible feast she immediately attacks him in the manner described; and does her utmost to deter him from his cannibal propensities, by placing herself in an attitude of determined resistance before him. Was ever mother's love more plainly manifested than this love? No other instance of an affection so strange and strong is to be found in the tribe to which she belongs.

The care of the earwig not only extends to her eggs, but also to her young larv?. "In the beginning of June," writes the author last quoted, "I found under a stone a female earwig, surrounded by a number of little creatures which I discovered to be her tiny family. She did not attempt to leave them, and they frequently ran and crouched under her, just as chickens under the wing of a hen. I took them up and placed them under a sand-glass, under which I had put a little fresh earth. They did not bore into the earth; and it was most curious to see them running for shelter under the mother, and pushing about between her feet, while she remained perfectly quiet. I fed them with pieces of ripe apple, which the mother seized and ate with great avidity, detaching morsels of it by means of her teeth, and swallowing them. The young ones also ate a little of it, but with less avidity."

When the eggs of the spider mentioned in the last chapter as so devotedly attached to its treasure as to prefer death to parting with them, are hatched, they make their way out of the bag by an opening in it, being assisted by the mother in this difficult task. De Geer indeed states that this is the reason why the mother clings so tenaciously to the bag of eggs, as if she knew that her assistance in extricating her young from it was necessary. But this is not altogether correct, as they are able to make their way out by themselves in due time. When the young larv? have come forth from the shell they run towards the mother, and climb upon her body; some get on her head, some on her back, and some on her limbs. In this manner she carries them about, and is said to feed them until they become strong enough to shift for themselves. "I have more than once been gratified," (writes one of the authors of the Introduction to Entomology,) "by a sight of this interesting spectacle; and when I nearly touched the mother, thus covered by hundreds of progeny, it was most amusing to see them all leap from her back, and run away in all directions."

For another instance of affection almost maternal for the young and helpless larv?, let us take a peep into an ant's nest. So soon as ever the young larv? emerge from the eggs they require the unremitting attention of the best and most careful nurses in order to rear them. They must be kept clean, fed, and taken for an airing as regularly as the day returns. By means of their tongues, which are incessantly used in licking them, their coats are kept of the most snowy white. They are fed three or four times a day by their nurses, who take care to masticate the food for them, and thus prepare it for their tender mouths. But the most strange part is their regularly being taken out for the benefit of the air and warmth. Some of the ants at the top of the nest watch for the first beams of the welcome sun, and, as soon as they pour upon the nest, they hasten down below in a great bustle to wake up the nurses, and bid them take the young ones out of their chambers and bring them up to the light, which these indefatigable ants quickly set about to do. After basking there all day long the nurses take care not to expose the delicate constitutions of the larv? to the chill evening air; and soon as the sun begins to sink towards the horizon they carefully take them up and carry them to the warm deep cell below. For fear, perhaps, of their taking cold, they never allow them to be taken out in raw, damp, or frosty weather. It must not be forgotten, however, that these ants are not the parents of the larv?; they are only the nurses.

But it becomes us now to pursue the more immediate subject of these remarks, and ask the reader's attention to a few particulars about the larva. It is a great pity, for the sake of a clear perception of the facts of insect history, that there is a sad confusion of names in use among the majority of persons in speaking of the different forms and changes of insects. Who would imagine that caterpillar, grub, maggot, and larva, signified one and the same stage of the life of an insect? This abuse of terms cannot but render the knowledge of any science less easily retained than it would otherwise be, for the question is continually arising in the mind-If these all mean the same, why is not one term enough to express them? Let us then renounce those of uncertain meaning, and when we wish to give a name to the insect just emerged from its eggshell, let us call it by its proper name, the Larva.[C]

The larva, then, is the first form assumed by the insect on quitting its shell. No more a little inactive object lies before us, as in the egg and its slumbering tenant, but a sharp fellow, full of life, and soon walking off the field of the microscope, should we happen to be looking at it in that way, or from our book or table, should it be there placed by us for observation. By what hidden and mysterious power this has been effected who can tell? It was not heat alone that could animate the contents of the shell, nor could all a mother's care do more than preserve it from injury. It is very possible that chemistry had some share in it, and when the tiny being first awoke in the shell the oxygen of the air undoubtedly was necessary to its health, and the fulfilment of its early functions, but no more. Not chemistry, nor electricity, nor heat, nor any other known force could effect this wonderful change of apparently inanimate fluid into a lively, active, and well-organized being; much less could either of these give it its definite form, causing one larva to differ from another in its characters. No, we cannot tell how it has taken place, nor what has wrought the change; but we know the author of it-even Him who from the beginning created all things, and established those principles which, though hidden from our eyes, work out the marvels of the created world. It is enough for us to know and to remember this. Should we attempt more, we should probably fall under the Scripture reproof, "Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools."

Speaking generally, insects in the larva form appear as fleshy worms, having long and round bodies, marked with rings, and provided with a head and a certain number of legs, mostly six. How different in this condition, from the ballroom gaiety of the butterfly, or the elegant robes of the lace-wing flies. To look at a number of larv?, all crawling over one another, and bearing perhaps not the most loving behaviour to each other as they scramble about, who would dream that, in a little while, those slowly moving bodies will be whirled through the air faster than our feet can pursue, or even than the eye can follow? Who also, but one well versed in the knowledge of insects, could venture to say what insect could be formed by this or that larva, now so little resembling winged insects at all?

Larv? unlike the future Insects.

Larv? like the future Insects.

In studying the forms and appearances of various larv?, we shall find that some of them bear a tolerably close resemblance to the future insect; while others, on the contrary, do not resemble their future condition at all; and had we to decide to what tribe of insects they belonged, merely judging by their shape and character, we should be sorely perplexed to do so, and if we did, we should often in all probability be very far wrong. We need not go far for an illustration, first, of a larva like the perfect insect, and next, for one totally unlike it. Taking a candle and exploring into some snug hole near the kitchen fire-place, we shall not be long, probably, before we extricate a number of the larv? of the cricket. Those of the bug also are very like the perfect insect; so also are young spiders, cockroaches and grasshoppers. These all resemble more or less perfectly the insect in its complete form.

Even amongst the larv? not resembling the perfect insect, a little attention will enable us to perceive a sort of general resemblance between those of different genera and species, which we may call the Larva family likeness. This consists in the form of the body, in a number of instances; but in all in the ring-like marks or segments of the body, as they are called, which are thirteen in number. If the reader will take the trouble to count the rings in the larv? of different insects, he will generally find that they are thirteen in number. The general resemblance of larv? to one another may also be noticed. The larva is, in every instance, destitute of wings. In many cases, larv? are provided with feet, in many others they have none. And in some instances, they have no distinct head, as in the larva of the blow fly.

By far the larger number of larv? belong to this class; that is, they do not resemble the perfect insect. Do not resemble! could any one believe that these strange, and some of them awful looking larv? ever became butterflies? yet they all belong to that tribe of insects.

In order to give a clear conception of the structure of a larva, we may briefly mention the names of its various parts. First then, there is a head of various shapes, sometimes of the shape of a heart, sometimes round or triangular. Attached to the head are the two antenn?; or, as they are commonly called, feelers, most probably an incorrect expression, as it appears that insects may possibly hear as well as feel by their means. At the side of the head are the eyes, which are formed much more simply than those of the perfect insect. Next is the mouth, provided with its upper and lower pair of jaws. Then there is the body and its legs; and lastly, there is in many larv?, living in the water, a tail, which, strange to say, is provided with a delicate tube, through which the larva breathes. A beautiful instance of such an appendage to the body of the larva, is represented in the adjoining cut; the various parts of the larva are also represented in the accompanying figure.

Diagram of a Larva.

We may now enter upon a few particulars connected with the general history of insects in the larva form.

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