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.
[Illustration: 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.
For example, the Meadow-brown Butterfly was named “Papilio media alis
superioribus superne media parte rufis”. In English: “The middle-sized
butterfly, the centre of whose upper wings are reddish on the upper
surface”. Cromwell’s Puritan soldier might have taken a lesson in
nomenclature from an entomologist cabinet; and it is not easy to say
which would occupy the greater time in reading, the list of butterflies
or the regimental roll-call. These difficulties being patent, the
nomenclators leaped at once, as is the habit of human nature, into the
opposite extreme; and so, instead of making an insect name an elaborate
description of its appearance, gave it a title which did not describe it
at all, and would have been just as applicable to any other insect. Old
Homer’s pages afforded a valuable treasury of names; and accordingly,
Greek and Trojan may reasonably be astonished to find their names again
revived on earth.
Even our British butterflies have appropriated Homeric titles. For
example, the two first on the list are named Machaon and Podalirius,
known to students of Homer as the two medical officers that accompanied
the Greek army.
Numerous, however, as are the Homeric heroes and heroines, the insects
far outnumbered them. So, after exhausting Homer, the dramatists were
called into requisition, and plundered of their “personæ”. Fiction
failing, history, or that which is dignified by the name of history, was
next sought; and kings, queens, generals, and statesmen lent their names
to swell the insect catalogue.
The Latin authors now are required to make up the deficiency, Terence
being especially useful. We have in our English list Davus, Pamphilus,
and Chrysis, all out of one play, the “Andria”.
At last, when Greek and Latin, prose and verse, history and mythology,
had been quite exhausted, some enterprising and imaginative men boldly
invented new names for new insects. The import of the name was of no
consequence to them, and any harmonious combination of syllables was all
that they required. Many a valuable hour have they wasted, or rather
caused others to waste, in seeking through lexicons and dictionaries
for the purpose of discovering the derivation of those unmeaning and
underived names.
At last men of science began to see that the name ought to be descriptive
of the creature, or its habits, and yet as short as possible; and when
this idea was matured, true nomenclature began. In the reformed system,
insects are gathered together in societies, through which some general
characteristic runs, and each individual bears the name of its genus,
as the society is called; and also a second name that distinguishes its
species.
The first butterfly which will be mentioned in these pages is seen
figured on plate D, fig. 4; and very appropriately bears the name of
Atalanta. Those skilled in mythology, or Mangnall’s skimmings thereof,
will remember that Atalanta was a young lady, so swift of foot that
she could run over the sea without splashing her ankles, or on the
corn-fields without bending an ear of corn under her weight. The flight
of this butterfly is so easy and graceful, that poetical entomologists
invested it with the name of the swift-footed Atalanta.
Also it is called the Scarlet-Admiral, in which two names is to be seen
the confusion respecting sexes which is found in nautical matters
generally. Perhaps the discrepancy might have been avoided by calling the
butterfly Cleopatra, that lady being her own admiral.
Few insects are so conspicuous, or have so magnificent an effect on the
wing, as the Atalanta; its velvety-black wings, with their scarlet bands,
white spots, and azure edges, presenting a bold contrast of colour that
is seldom seen, and in its way cannot be surpassed. It is certainly a
grand insect; and it seems to be quite aware of its own beauty as it
comes sailing through the sunny glades, gracefully inclining from side to
side, as if to show its colours to the best advantage. Perhaps its best
aspect is when it sits upon a teazle-head, quietly fanning its wings in
the sun; for the quiet purple and brown tints of the teazle set off the
magnificent pure colours of the insect.
These brilliant colours are only found on the upper surface of the wings,
the under surface being covered with elaborate tracery of blacks, browns,
ambers, sober blues, and dusky reds, so that when the wings are closed
over the creature’s back, it is hardly to be distinguished from a dried
leaf, unless examined closely.
This distinction of tint often proves to be the insect’s best refuge;
for, if it can only slip round a tree or a bush, it suddenly settles on
some dark spot, shuts up its wings, and there remains motionless until
the danger is past. The rough, brown elm bark is a favourite refuge
under these circumstances; and it takes a sharp eye to discover the
butterfly when settled.
Sometimes the creature is not quite so magnificent, and even appears
shorn of its fair proportions. I have now such a specimen before me,
which I found on a sandy bank, unable to fly.
My attention was drawn to it by observing a curious fluttering movement
of the grasses that covered the bank; and on going up to the spot to
see what was the cause, I discovered an Atalanta butterfly that had
apparently lost both wings of the left side, and was endeavouring to
fly with the remaining pair. Of course it could only make short leaps
into the air, turn over, and again fall to the ground. Wishing to put
it out of pain, I killed it, and on examination found that it had never
been endowed with wings on its left side, and that those organs had
still remained in the undeveloped state in which they had lain under
the chrysalis case. Even the right pair had not attained their full
development; but in every other respect the insect was perfect.
I suppose that the caterpillar must have selected too dry a spot for
its habitation when it became a pupa; and that in consequence the
pupa shell was so dry and hard that the butterfly could not make its
escape in proper time, I have often seen similar examples in my own
caterpillar-breeding experiences. There are also in one of my insect
cases two specimens of the little white butterfly, which have met with
even a worse fate; for they have not been able to escape at all out of
the chrysalis, and so present the curious appearance of a chrysalis
furnished with head, antennæ, wings, and legs. The cause of the disaster
was probably the same in both cases.
The caterpillar of the Atalanta is shown on plate D, fig. 4 _a_, and is a
creature worthy of notice.
It is a well-known saying, that “what is one man’s meat, is another’s
poison”; and the proverb holds good in the case of the Atalanta
caterpillar. For its meat is the common stinging-nettle, which is,
undoubtedly, poisonous enough to qualify any such proverb.
The colour of the caterpillar is green-black, and along each side runs a
spotty yellowish band. Its general shape and appearance can be seen by
referring to the figure.
After passing through the usual coat-changing common to all caterpillars,
it begins, just before its last change, to prepare a spot where it may
pass its pupal state. Its mode of so doing is very curious, and is
briefly as follows:--
The chrysalis is intended to remain in an attitude which we should think
singularly uncomfortable, but which seems to suit the constitution of
certain creatures, such as bats and chrysalides; namely, with its head
downward. Why some insects should be thus suspended, while others lie
horizontally, is not known as yet. But there can be no doubt but that
some purpose is served by the various positions and localities assumed by
insects in their pupal state.
Any one of a reflective mind, on hearing that a chrysalis was to be
suspended by its tail, would feel some perplexity as to the means by
which such a position could be attained. For the old caterpillar’s skin
has to be shed, and thus the legless, limbless chrysalis is left without
any apparent power to suspend itself. The attitude which it assumes may
be seen on plate D, fig. 4 _b_. On examining the chrysalis itself, and
the leaf or twig to which it is suspended, it will be seen that a little
silken mound is fastened to the leaf, and the chrysalis is furnished with
some hooked processes on its tail, which are hitched upon the silken
threads, and thus hold the creature in the proper position.
The Peacock Butterfly, plate H, fig. 8, is an insect of very similar
habits and manners. The under side of the wings is very dark, and when
they are closed over the back, the butterfly looks more like a flat piece
of brown paper than an insect. The spots on the upper surface of the wing
are especially beautiful; and the mode in which those spots are coloured
by their feathers is shown in plate L, fig. 4, where a portion of the
wing-spot is slightly magnified. This figure shows also the manner in
which the feather-dust of the butterfly’s wing is arranged. The larva of
this beautiful insect is shown on fig. 8 _b_. Like that of the Atalanta,
it feeds on the stinging-nettle.
On plate D, fig. 1, is drawn a very lovely insect, one of the numerous
blue butterflies that may be seen flitting about the flowers in a garden,
themselves of so flower-like an azure, that they may often be mistaken
for a blue blossom. The caterpillar, fig. 1 _b_, is, as may be seen,
rather curious in shape, and the pupa, fig. 1 _c_, is hardly less so.
Among the scales of this insect occur certain specimens called from their
shape “battledore” scales, some of which may be seen on plate K, fig. 8,
contrasted with the ordinary scales.
On the same plate as the blue butterfly, fig. 2, is seen a very pretty
and common insect, called the “Orange-tip,” on account of the colour
of the wings. Only the male butterfly possesses these decorations,
the female having wings merely white above, although she retains the
beautiful green speckling of the under-wings.
Two more butterflies, and those the commonest of all, will complete this
chapter. One will be at once recognised from the drawing, plate I, fig.
4, as the White Cabbage Butterfly. The specimen here represented is the
female; the male is smaller and has darker spots.
This is the parent of those green and black caterpillars which devastate
our cabbage-beds, make sieves of the leaves, and are so disagreeably
tenacious of their rights of possession. Pest as it is to the gardeners,
to cooks, and sometimes, alas! to consumers, it would be a hundredfold
worse but for the exertions of a fly so small as hardly to be noticed,
but by its effects. This insect belongs to the same order as the bees,
and is shown upon plate J, fig. 6. Small though it be, one such insect
can compass the destruction of many a caterpillar, though not one
thousandth part of the size of a single victim. While the caterpillar
is feeding, the ichneumon fly, as it is called, settles upon its back,
pierces its skin with a little drill, wherewith it is furnished, and in
the wound deposits an egg. This process is repeated until the ichneumon’s
work is done.
As each wound is made, the caterpillar seems to wince, but shows no
farther sense of uneasiness, and proceeds with its eating as usual.
But its food serves very little for its own nourishment, because the
ichneumon’s eggs are speedily hatched into ichneumon grubs, and consume
the fatty portions of the caterpillar as fast as it is formed.
In process of time the caterpillar ought to take the chrysalis shape,
and for that purpose leaves its food and seeks a convenient spot for its
change.
That change never comes, for the ichneumons have been growing as fast as
the caterpillar, with whose development they keep pace. And no sooner
has their victim ceased to feed, than they simultaneously eat their way
out of the doomed creature, and immediately spin for themselves a number
of bright yellow cocoons, among which the dying caterpillar is often
hopelessly fixed. Sometimes it has sufficient strength to escape, but it
never survives.
In the later summer months, these cocoon masses may be seen abundantly on
walls, palings, and similar spots.
Plate I, fig. 3, shows the Brimstone Butterfly, one of the first to
appear as the herald of spring.