HOW TO KILL A BUTTERFLY--AN APOLOGY--A TEST FOR LUNACY--CHARGE OF
CRUELTY AGAINST ENTOMOLOGISTS--THEIR JUSTIFICATION ATTEMPTED--PAINLESS
DEATH--CHLOROFORM--SETTING BUTTERFLIES--CABINETS AND STORE
BOXES--CLASSIFICATION--LATIN NAMES--SAVING TIME AND MONEY.
Having complied with the old adage, "First catch your hare," the next point
naturally is--how to cook it. So, having caught our butterfly, what are we
to do with him?--a question that generally resolves itself firstly into
HOW TO KILL A BUTTERFLY.
This truculent sentence may, I fear, look like a blot on the page to some
tender-hearted reader, and, in truth, this killing business is the one
shadow on the otherwise sunshiny picture, which we would all gladly leave
out, were it possible to preserve a butterfly's beauty alive; but this
cannot be done, and yet we have made up our minds to possess that
beauty--to collect butterflies, in short; there is but one way for it, and
so a butterfly's pleasure must be shortened for a few {50} days, to add to
our pleasure and instruction, perhaps for years after.
In the time of the great Ray, in such mean repute was the science of
entomology held, mainly, I believe, on account of the _small size_ of its
objects, that an action at law was brought to set aside the will of an
estimable woman, Lady Glanville, on the ground of _insanity_, the only
symptom of which that they could bring forward in evidence was her
_fondness for collecting insects_!
But this was some two centuries ago, and matters have greatly mended for
the entomologist since then. Now he may collect butterflies, or other
flies, as he pleases, without bringing down a commission "_de lunatico_" on
his _head_, but still the goodness of his _heart_ is sometimes called in
question, and he has to encounter the equally obnoxious charge of _cruelty_
to the objects of his admiration--that, too, from intelligent and worthy
friends, whose good opinion he would most unwillingly forfeit.
He, therefore, is naturally most anxious that those friends should be led
to share his own conviction, that the pursuit of entomology--the needful
butterfly killing and all included--may be not only not cruel, but actually
beneficent in theory and practice.
So I will briefly try to act as apologist for the "brotherhood of the net,"
myself included.
In the first place, I will state roundly my sincere belief that _insects
cannot feel pain_. This is no special pleading, or "making the wish the
father to the thought," {51} but a conviction founded on an ample mass of
evidence, on my own observations and experiments, and strengthened by
analogical reasoning. I wish I had space to lay this evidence in full
before the reader; but this being here impracticable, I will not damage the
argument by taking a few links out of a chain of facts which depend on
their close connexion with each other for their strength and value.
There is, however, one fact which may be taken by itself, and goes a long
way in our favour, that I must mention here.
Insects, when mutilated in a way that would cause excessive pain and speedy
death to vertebrate animals, afterwards perform all the functions of
life--eating, drinking, &c. with the same evident _gusto_ and power of
enjoyment as before. Plenty of striking instances of this are on record,
and, as an example, I have seen a wasp that had been snipped in two,
afterwards regale himself with avidity upon some red syrup, which, as he
imbibed, gathered into a large ruby bead just behind the wings (where the
stomach should have been); but really the creature's pleasure seemed to be
only augmented by the change in his anatomy, because he could drink ten
times his ordinary fill of sweets, without, of course, getting any the
fuller. I could almost fancy a scientific epicure envying the insect his
ever fresh appetite and gastronomic capabilities.
After all that can be said on this subject, there will still probably be
misgivings in the mind of many, both {52} as to the question of insect
feelings and also as to our right to shorten their existence, even by a
painless death.
As to the first point, we have now the means of giving any insect an
utterly painless quietus, be it capable of feeling pain or no.
In regard to the second, I think few will deny that man enjoys a vested
right to make use of any of the inferior animals, even to the taking of
their life, if the so doing ministers to his own well-being or pleasure,
and practically every one assumes this right in one way or another. Game
animals are shot down (and they assuredly _do_ feel pain), not as
necessaries of life, but confessedly as luxuries. Fish are hooked, crabs,
lobsters, shrimps perish by thousands, victims to our fancies.
Unscrupulously we destroy every insect whose presence displeases us,
harmless as they may be to our own persons. The _aphides_ on our flowers,
the moths in our furs, the "beetles" in our kitchens--all die by thousands
at our pleasure. Then, if all this be right, are we not also justified in
appropriating a little butterfly life to ourselves, and does not the mental
feast that their after-death beauty affords us at least furnish an equal
excuse for their sacrifice with any that can be urged in favour of any
animal slaughter, just to tickle the palate or minister to our grosser
appetites? To this query there can be, I think, but one fair answer, so we
may return with a better face to the question, "How to kill a butterfly."
[Illustration: VIII.]
{53}
I have alluded above to a painless mode of doing so, doubtless applicable
to all insects. I know it answers admirably with the large moths, so
tenacious of life under other circumstances. This potent agent is
_chloroform_, whose pain-quelling properties are so well known as regards
the human constitution.
There is a little apparatus[8] constructed for carrying this fluid safely
to the field, and letting out a drop at a time into the box with the
captured insect, taking care that the drop does not go on to the insect. Or
a wide-mouthed bottle may be used, having at the bottom a pad of
blotting-paper, or some absorbent substance, on which a few drops of
chloroform may now and then be dropped. The insect being slipped into this,
and the stopper or hand being placed over the bottle's mouth, insensibility
(in the insect) follows immediately, and in a few minutes, at most, it is
completely lifeless.
But the usual and quickest mode of despatch is by _a quick nip between the
finger and thumb applied just under the wings_, causing, for the most part,
_instantaneous death_: and this can be done through the net, when the {54}
inclosed butterfly shuts his wings, as he usually does when the net wraps
round him.
Now take one of your thin pins, and pass it through the thorax of the
butterfly, while open or shut, and put it into the corked lining of your
pocket-box. So secured, the butterfly will travel uninjured till you reach
home; but a heap of dead butterflies in a box together will, in the course
of a long walk, so jostle together, as to entirely destroy each other's
beauty, rubbing off all their painted scales, when, of course, they are as
butterflies no longer.
When you get home, take out all the pins, excepting such as may be stuck
_perpendicularly_ through the _middle of the thorax_, and as soon as
possible proceed to "set" your captures.
[Illustration]
Preparatory to this, some articles called _setting-boards_ must be
provided. A section of one of these is shown in the accompanying cut; but
in reality they are made much longer, so as to accommodate a column of
half-a-dozen butterflies or more: the breadth may vary, {55} according to
the width of the butterflies that are to be set thereon.
The bottom is usually a thin slip of deal, on which are glued two strips of
cork, bevelled off towards the edges, with a slightly curved face.
Sometimes, however, the whole board is made of soft pine, with a groove
planed down the middle, and with care will answer pretty well; but the
corked board is far preferable.
The mode of "setting" the insect with card "braces" transfixed with pins,
which retain the wings in their proper position, will be also readily seen
by reference to the figure.
A great point in "setting" is to take care that all the wings are
symmetrically arranged, or diverging from the body at equal angles on each
side. Let the _antennæ_ also be carefully preserved, as on their integrity
much of the specimen's value depends.
It will be needless to say that any handling of the _wings_ is to be
avoided, as a touch will sometimes destroy their bloom.
The setting-board, when filled, should be put away into a secure,
dust-proof, and dry place; and in a few days, more or less, according to
the dryness or otherwise of the atmosphere, the butterflies will have dried
and set in their positions, and are then ready for transference to the
store-box or cabinet.
The choice of this receptacle is a serious question for the beginner, who
is often in want of a guide to the judicious expenditure of his money, if
money he means {56} to spend in this pursuit. To preserve insects, it is
_not_ absolutely necessary to have either a cabinet or the regularly-made
store-boxes; for, with a little contrivance, any close-shutting, shallow
box may be extemporized into a store-box. The bottom may either be lined
with sheet-cork (such as is used by shoemakers)--which, however, is a
rather dear commodity--or common wine-corks may be sliced up, and cut into
little square patches that may be attached in straight rows to the bottom
of the box with strong gum or other cement. The first specimens, the
nucleus of the future great collection, can be kept here well enough, till
a real cabinet can be compassed.
A cabinet, however, need not be bought all at once; it may be arranged to
grow with the collection--and, it may be, with the collector too--by having
one or two drawers made at a time; till, in course of time, a sufficient
number is obtained, when the whole may be fitted into a case at a small
additional expense, and then there is a first-rate cabinet complete; for,
to make this plan really advantageous, the drawers should be well made and
of good material. Of course, all the drawers must be made to the same
"gauge," to insure perfect fitting when the cabinet is made up.
These drawers may be made by any clever joiner, but as their construction
is peculiar, and not easily described, it is necessary, either that the
maker should be accustomed to this speciality, or that he be furnished with
a pattern, either by buying a single drawer at a dealer's, {57} where that
can be done, by borrowing one out of a friend's cabinet, or by making
therefrom a good working drawing (in section, &c.).
The glasses which cover in the drawers should always have separate frames
for the more perfect exclusion of dust and mites.
Well seasoned mahogany or deal may be the material for the drawers, but on
no account let them be of cedar, a material often used by ignorant or
unprincipled makers, to the great detriment of the collection, and
mortification of the collector, as resinous matter after a short time
exudes from the pores of this wood, dropping down on to the glasses below
in a gummy shower, and the effluvium seems to condense upon the contained
insects, whose wings are gradually discoloured and disfigured by greasy
looking blotches. The drawers are lined at bottom with cork, covered with
_pure white_ paper, which should be attached with _thin_ paste.
The butterflies are then to be arranged in the drawers in perpendicular
columns, and in accordance with some system of classification. If there be
room it is well to have a considerable number of specimens of each species,
especially when it is one liable to much variation. At least one of each
sex should always be given, and also one of each sex showing the _under_
surface. When the chrysalis can be procured, that also should be pinned
down with its fellow-butterfly, and a good coloured drawing of each
caterpillar would be a valuable addition to the series. Between the
columns, lines should be {58} ruled varying in distance according to the
breadth of the butterflies, and small labels should be pinned down at the
foot of each species giving its _specific_ name; the name of the genus
being placed at the head of the _first_ species of the genus. The names of
the families and sub-families under which the _genera_ are classed are also
generally given in their respective places.
I have in this little work followed the system of classification used in
the _public_ collection of British butterflies at the British Museum, which
seemed to me more intelligible and natural when applied to our very limited
number of butterflies, than did the system of Doubleday adopted in the
great world-wide collection which exists in the private entomological room
of the British Museum.
The following table gives the first-mentioned arrangement of all the
British species under their respective genera, sub-families, and families.
The most authentic of the _reputed_ species are also here inserted in their
proper places.
Fam. PAPILIONIDÆ.
Sub-fam. PAPILIONIDI.
PAPILIO Machaon.
-- Podalirius.
Sub-fam. PIERIDI.
GONEPTERYX Rhamni.
COLIAS Edusa.
-- Hyale.
APORIA Cratægi.
PIERIS Brassicæ.
-- Rapæ.
-- Napi.
-- Daplidice.
EUCHLOE Cardamines.
LEUCOPHASIA Sinapis.
Fam. NYMPHALIDÆ.
Sub-fam. SATYRIDI.
ARGE Galathea.
LASIOMMATA Egeria.
-- Megæra.
HIPPARCHIA Semele.
-- Janira.
-- Tithonus.
-- Hyperanthus.
{59}
EREBIA Blandina.
-- Ligea.
-- Cassiope.
CÆNONYMPHA Davus.
-- Pamphilus.
Sub-fam. NYMPHALIDI.
LIMENITIS Sybilla.
APATURA Iris.
Sub-fam. VANESSIDI.
CYNTHIA Cardui.
VANESSA Atalanta.
-- Io.
-- Antiopa.
-- Polychloros.
-- Urticæ.
GRAPTA C. Album.
Sub-fam. ARGYNNIDI.
ARGYNNIS Paphia.
-- Aglaia.
-- Adippe.
-- Lathonia.
-- Euphrosyne.
-- Selene.
-- Dia.
MELITÆA Cinxia.
-- Athalia.
-- Artemis.
Fam. ERYCINIDÆ.
NEMEOBIUS Lucina.
Fam. LYCÆNIDÆ.
THECLA Betulæ.
-- Pruni.
-- W. Album.
-- Quercus.
-- Rubi.
CHRYSOPHANUS Phlæas.
-- Chryseis.
-- Dispar.
POLYOMMATUS Boeticus.
-- Argiolus.
-- Alsus.
-- Acis.
-- Arion.
-- Corydon.
-- Adonis.
-- Alexis.
-- Ægon.
-- Agestis.
-- Artaxerxes.
Fam. HESPERIDÆ.
PYRGUS Alveolus.
NISIONADES Tages.
STEROPES Paniscus.
PAMPHILA Actæon.
-- Linea.
-- Sylvanus.
-- Comma.
It will be seen by the above list that seventy species are given as
British. Of these, five species, viz. _Papilio Podalirius_, _Erebia Ligea_,
_Argynnis Dia_, _Chrysophanus Chryseis_, and _Polyommatus Boeticus_, have
been so rarely taken as to be refused a place among the _regular_ denizens
of our island. So that we can only reckon up the small number of
_sixty-five species of true British butterflies_.
These it now remains to describe individually, but, prior to entering on
that task, I would say a few words {60} on the acquirement of scientific
nomenclature and systematic arrangement, a knowledge of which will
facilitate even our recreations in natural history, while it is absolutely
essential to carrying out the really scientific study of any department.
It is true, that the painting of a butterfly and the fragrance of a flower
can give deep pleasure to a mind quite unconscious of their Latin names,
their genus, order, or anything of the kind; but the interest of natural
objects is, I am sure, greatly augmented when we acquire some insight,
however dimly, into the wonderful mechanism of creation's plan, its
infinite gradation of forms, and their curious, subtle relationships, to
which a _good_ system of classification serves, in some degree, as an
index. I say, "_in some degree_," as a system framed in perfect accordance
with that of nature is a discovery rather to be desired than hoped for,
with the limited knowledge at present permitted to us.
Though these Latin names are generally considered as unwelcome excrescences
on the pages of _popular_ natural history works, I would yet advise the
young entomologist to master them for once, and accustom himself well to
their use. He will not find the task a very difficult one, if I may judge
from the repeated instances in which I have heard the almost infantile
progeny of my naturalist friends glibly mouthing these redoubtable words,
and applying them with the most precise accuracy.
Among collectors it is customary in familiar {61} conversation to use only
the second, or _specific_ name of the insect's Latin title; thus, in
speaking of the common Swallow-tailed Butterfly, they call it "_Machaon_"
only, which at once distinguishes the one they mean from the other, or
scarce Swallow-tailed Butterfly, which they would speak of as
"_Podalirius_." The Pearl-bordered Likeness Fritillary may be called
"_Athalia_," and so on. I think it will be allowed that these Latin names
are not harder to learn, remember, or pronounce, than the long-winded
English titles; and, when acquired, bring their possessor the advantage of
being able to converse with precision on their subject with all
naturalists, whether British or Continental; for these names of science are
current in all European languages.
Another piece of advice is: don't _waste time_ in trying to puzzle out the
_meaning_, the why or the wherefore of butterflies' scientific names. Now
and then, certainly, they have some allusion to the insect's appearance, or
to the plant on which it feeds; thus, for instance, _Gonepteryx Rhamni_,
the entomological name of the Brimstone Butterfly, means the
"_Angle-winged_ (butterfly) _of the Buckthorn_," and this is very
appropriate and descriptive; but in general there is no more connexion
between the name and the character of a butterfly, than there is between a
ship's name--the "_Furious_," the "_Coquette_," or the "_Pretty Jane_," as
it may be--and the moral disposition or personal appearance of the vessel
that bears it.
Also, don't _waste money_ and encourage dishonesty, by {62} giving the
absurdly large prices put upon _British_, or _pretended_ British specimens
of butterflies, or other insects that are rare in this country though
common on the Continent; when, for all purposes of science, or the pleasure
derived from their beauty, _avowed_ Continental specimens, at one-twentieth
of the price, will do just as well. In putting these into your cabinet,
however, always attach to the pin underneath the insect a label, bearing
some mark to denote the specimen's foreign origin.
* * * * *
{63}