are generally found in meadows and pastures, and sometimes in
hedge-rows where the soil is entangled with roots. The lower half
occupies a cavity in the soil, either accidentally found ready made,
or excavated with great labour by the bees. The upper part or dome
of the nest is composed of a thick felted covering of moss, having
the interior ceiling coated with a thin roof of coarse wax for
the purpose of keeping out the wet. The entrance is in the lower
part, and is generally through a gallery or covered way, sometimes
more than a foot in length and half an inch in diameter, by means
of which the nest is more effectually concealed from observation.
On removing the coping of moss, the interior presents to our view
a very different scene from that witnessed in a bee-hive. Instead
of numerous vertical combs of wax, we see merely a few irregular
horizontal combs placed one above the other, the uppermost resting
upon the more elevated parts of the lower, and connected together
by small pillars of wax. Each of these combs consists of several
groups of pale-yellow oval bodies of three different sizes, those
in the middle being the largest, closely joined to each other, and
each group connected with those next it by slight joinings of wax.
These oval bodies are not, as you might suppose, the work of the
old bees, but the silken cocoons spun by the young larvæ. Some are
closed at the upper extremity; others, which chiefly occupy the lower
combs, have this part open. The former are those which yet include
their immature tenants; the latter are the empty cases from which
the young bees have escaped. On the surface of the upper comb are
seen several masses of wax of a flattened spheroidal shape, and of
very various dimensions: some above an inch and others not a quarter
of an inch in diameter: which on being opened are found to include
a number of larvæ surrounded with a supply of pollen moistened with
honey. These, which are the true cells, are chiefly the work of the
female, which after depositing her eggs in them furnishes them with
a store of pollen and honey; and, when this is consumed, supplies
the larvæ with a daily provision, as has been described in a former
letter, until they are sufficiently grown to spin the cocoons before
spoken of. Lastly, in all the corners of the combs, and especially
in the middle, we observe a considerable number of small goblet-like
vessels, filled with honey and pollen, which are not, as in the case
of the hive-bee, the fabrication of the workers, but are chiefly the
empty cocoons left by the larvæ. It falls to the workers, however, to
cut off the fragments of silk from the orifice of the cocoon, which,
after giving it a regular circular form, they strengthen by a ring or
elevated tube of wax made in a different shape by different species;
and to coat them internally with a lining of the same material. They
even occasionally construct honey-pots entirely of wax[837].
The most curious circumstance in the construction of these nests, is
the mode in which the bees transport the moss employed in forming
the roof. When they have discovered a parcel of this material
conveniently situated upon the ground, five or six insects place
themselves upon it in a file, turning the hinder part of their bodies
towards the quarter to which it is meant to be conveyed. The first
takes a small portion, and with its jaws and fore-legs as it were
felts it together. When the fibres are sufficiently entangled, it
pushes them under its body by means of the first pair of legs; the
intermediate pair receives the moss, and delivers it to the last,
which protrudes it as far as possible beyond the anus. When by this
process the insect has formed behind it a small ball of well-carded
moss, the next bee pushes it to the third, which consigns it in like
manner to that behind it; and thus the balls are conveyed to the
foot of the nest, and from thence elevated to the summit, much in the
same way that a file of labourers transfer a parcel of cheeses from
a vessel or cart to a warehouse[838]. It is easy to perceive that
a vast saving of time must ensue from this well contrived division
of labour; the structure rising much more rapidly than if every
individual had been employed first in carding his materials, and then
in transferring them to the spot.
* * * * *
_Wasps_, though ferocious and cruel towards their fellow-insects,
are civilized and polished in their intercourse with each other,
and form a community whose architectural labours will not suffer on
comparison even with those of the peaceful inhabitants of a bee-hive.
Like these, the great object of their industry is the erection of
a structure for their beloved progeny, towards which they discover
the greatest tenderness and affection, and they even in like manner
construct combs consisting of hexagonal cells for their reception;
but the substance which they make use of is very dissimilar to the
wax employed by bees, and the general plan of their city differs in
many respects from that of a bee-hive.
The common wasp's nest, usually situated in a cavity under ground,
is of an oval figure about sixteen or eighteen inches long by twelve
or thirteen broad. Externally it is surrounded by a thick coating of
numerous leaves of a sort of grayish paper, which do not touch each
other, but have a small interval between each, so that if the rain
should chance to penetrate one or two of them, its progress is speedily
arrested. On removing this external covering, we perceive that the
interior consists of from twelve to fifteen circular combs of different
sizes, not ranged vertically as in a bee-hive, but horizontally, so as
to form so many distinct and parallel stories. Each comb is composed of
a numerous assemblage of hexagonal cells formed of the same paper-like
substance as the exterior covering of the nest, and according to a
discovery of Dr. Barclay, each, as in those of bees, a distinct cell,
the partition walls being double[839]. These cells, which, as wasps do
not store up any food, serve merely as the habitations of their young,
are not, like those of the honey-bee, arranged in two opposite layers,
but in one only, their entrance being always downwards: consequently
the upper part of the comb, composed of the bases of the cells, which
are not pyramidal but slightly convex, forms a nearly level floor, on
which the inhabitants can conveniently pass and repass, spaces of about
half an inch high being left between each comb. Although the combs are
fixed to the sides of the nest, they would not be sufficiently strong
without further support. The ingenious builders, therefore, connect
each comb to that below it by a number of strong cylindrical columns
or pillars, having according to the rules of architecture their base
and capital wider than the shaft, and composed of the same paper-like
material used in other parts of the nest, but of a more compact
substance. The middle combs are connected by a rustic colonnade of from
forty to fifty of these pillars; the upper and lower combs by a smaller
number.
The cells, which in a populous nest are not fewer than 16,000, are
of different sizes, corresponding to that of the three orders of
individuals which compose the community; the largest for the grubs of
females, the smallest for those of workers. The last always occupy
an entire comb, while the cells of the males and females are often
intermixed.--Besides openings which are left between the walls of
the combs to admit of access from one to the other, there are at the
bottom of each nest two holes, by one of which the wasps uniformly
enter, and through the other issue from the nest, and thus avoid all
confusion or interruption of their common labours. As the nest is
often a foot and a half under ground, it is requisite that a covered
way should lead to its entrance. This is excavated by the wasps, who
are excellent miners, and is often very long and tortuous, forming a
beaten road to the subterranean city, well known to the inhabitants
though its entrance is concealed from incurious eyes. The cavity
itself which contains the nest is either the abandoned habitation
of moles or field-mice, or a cavern purposely dug out by the wasps,
which exert themselves with such industry as to accomplish the
arduous undertaking in a few days.
When the cavity and entrance to it are completed, the next part of
the process is to lay the foundations of the city to be included in
it, which, contrary to the usual custom of builders, wasps begin
at the top, continuing downwards. I have already told you that the
coatings which compose the dome are a sort of rough but thin paper,
and that the rest of the nest is composed of the same substance
variously applied. "Whence," you will inquire, "do the wasps derive
it?" They are manufacturers of the article, and prepare it from a
material even more singular than any of those which have of late
been proposed for this purpose; namely, the fibres of wood[840].
These they detach by means of their jaws from window-frames, posts
and rails, &c., and, when they have amassed a heap of the filament,
moisten the whole with a few drops of a viscid glue from their mouth,
and, kneading it with their jaws into a sort of paste or _papier
mâché_, fly off with it to their nest. This ductile mass they attach
to that part of the building upon which they are at work, walking
backwards and spreading it into laminæ of the requisite thinness by
means of their jaws, tongue, and legs. This operation is repeated
several times, until at length, by aid of fresh supplies of the
material and the combined exertions of so many workmen, the proper
number of layers of paper that are to compose the roof is finished.
This paper is as thin as that of the letter which you are reading;
and you may form an idea of the labour which even the exterior of a
wasp's nest requires, on being told that not fewer than fifteen or
sixteen sheets of it are usually placed above each other with slight
intervening spaces, making the whole upwards of an inch and a half
in thickness. When the dome is completed, the uppermost comb is next
begun, in which, as well as all the other parts of the building,
precisely the same material and the same process, with little
variation, are employed. In the structure of the connecting pillars
there seems a greater quantity of glue made use of than in the rest
of the work, doubtless with the view of giving them a superior
solidity.--When the first comb is finished, the continuation of
the roof or walls of the building is brought down lower; a new comb
is erected; and thus the work successively proceeds until the whole
is finished. As a comparatively small proportion of the society is
engaged in constructing the nest, its entire completion is the work
of several months: yet, though the fruit of such severe labour, it
has scarcely been finished a few weeks before winter comes on, when
it merely serves for the abode of a few benumbed females, and is
entirely abandoned at the approach of spring; wasps never using the
same nest for more than one season[841].
The nests of the hornet in their general construction resemble those
of the common wasp, but the paper of which they are composed is of
a much more rough texture; the columns which support the comb are
higher and more massive; and that in the centre larger than the rest.
These last, as well as wasps, conceal their nest, suspending it in
the corners of outhouses, &c.; but there are other species which
construct their habitations in open day-light, affixing them to the
branches of shrubs or trees.
One of these, described by Latreille, the work of _Vespa holsatica_,
a species not uncommon with us, resembles in shape a cone of the
cedar of Lebanon, and is composed of an envelope and the comb, the
former consisting of three partial envelopes, each of the interior of
which is longer than the preceding. The comb comprises about thirty
hexagonal cells circularly arranged, those of the circumference being
lower and smaller[842].
A vespiary somewhat similar to the above, but of a depressed
globular figure, and composed of more numerous envelopes, so as
to assume a considerable resemblance to a half-expanded Provence
rose, is figured by Reaumur[843]: and for a very beautiful specimen
apparently of the same kind (except that it contains but one stage of
cells), which was found in the garden at East-Dale, I am indebted to
the kindness of Henry Thompson, esq. of Hull.
Another species (_Odynerus Parietum_[844]?) attaches its small group
of about twenty inverted crucible-like cells to a piece of wood
without any covering[845].
But all these yield in point of singularity of structure to the
habitation of _Polistes nidulans_, a native of Cayenne, which
constructs its nest of a beautifully polished white and solid
pasteboard, impenetrable by the weather. These are in shape somewhat
like a bell, often a foot and a half long, and fixed by their upper
end to the branch of a tree from which they are securely suspended.
Their interior is composed of numerous concave horizontal combs,
with the openings of the cells turned downwards, fastened to the
sides without any pillars, and having a hole through each to admit of
access to the uppermost[846].
* * * * *
I close my account of the habitations of insects with the description
of those constructed by the white ants or _Termites_, a tribe alluded
to in former letters.
The different species, which are numerous, build nests of very
various forms. Some (_T. atrox_ and _mordax_) construct upon the
ground a cylindrical turret of clay about three quarters of a yard
high, surrounded by a projecting conical roof, so as in shape
considerably to resemble a mushroom, and composed interiorly of
innumerable cells of various figures and dimensions. Others (as
_T. Destructor_, _T. Arborum_, Sm.) prefer a more elevated site,
and build their nests, which are of different sizes, from that
of a hat to that of a sugar-cask, and composed of pieces of wood
glued together, amongst the branches of trees often seventy or
eighty feet high. But by far the most curious habitations, and to
which, therefore, I shall confine a minute description, are those
formed by the _Termes fatalis_, a species very common in Guinea and
other parts of the coast of Africa, of whose proceedings we have a
very particular and interesting account in the 71st volume of the
_Philosophical Transactions_, from the pen of Mr. Smeathman.
These nests are formed entirely of clay, and are generally twelve feet
high and broad in proportion, so that when a cluster of them, as is
often the case, are placed together, they may be taken for an Indian
village, and are in fact sometimes larger than the huts which the
natives inhabit. The first process in the erection of these singular
structures, is the elevation of two or three turrets of clay about a
foot high, and in shape like a sugar-loaf. These, which seem to be
the scaffolds of the future building, rapidly increase in number and
height, until at length being widened at the base, joined at the top
into one dome, and consolidated all round into a thick wall of clay,
they form a building of the size above mentioned, and of the shape of
a hay-cock, which when clothed, as it generally soon becomes, with
a coating of grass, it at a distance very much resembles. When the
building has assumed this its final form, the inner turrets, all but
the tops, which project like pinnacles from different parts of it, are
removed, and the clay employed over again in other services.
It is the lower part alone of the building that is occupied by the
inhabitants. The upper portion or dome, which is very strong and
solid, is left empty, serving principally as a defence from the
vicissitudes of the weather and the attacks of natural or accidental
enemies, and to keep up in the lower part a genial warmth and
moisture necessary to the hatching of the eggs and cherishing of the
young ones. The inhabited portion is occupied by the _royal chamber_,
or habitation of the king and queen; the _nurseries_ for the young;
the _store-houses_ for food; and innumerable galleries, passages, and
empty rooms: arranged according to the following plan.
In the centre of the building, just under the apex, and nearly on a
level with the surface of the ground, is placed the royal chamber,
an arched vault of a semi-oval shape, or not unlike a long oven; at
first not above an inch long, but enlarged as the queen increases
in bulk to the length of eight inches or more. In this apartment
the king and queen constantly reside; and from the smallness of
the entrances, which are barely large enough to admit their more
diminutive subjects, can never possibly come out; thus, like many
human potentates, purchasing their sovereignty at the dear rate of
the sacrifice of liberty. Immediately adjoining the royal chamber,
and surrounding it on all sides to the extent of a foot or more,
are placed what Mr. Smeathman calls the _royal apartments_, an
inextricable labyrinth of innumerable arched rooms of different
shapes and sizes, either opening into each other or communicating by
common passages, and intended for the accommodation of the soldiers
and attendants, of whom many thousands are always in waiting on their
royal master and mistress. Next to the royal apartments come the
_nurseries_ and the _magazines_. The former are invariably occupied
by the eggs and young ones, and in the infant state of the nest are
placed close to the royal chamber; but when the queen's augmented
size requires a larger apartment, as well as additional rooms for the
increased number of attendants wanted to remove her eggs, the small
nurseries are taken to pieces, rebuilt at a greater distance a size
bigger, and their number increased at the same time. In substance
they differ from all the other apartments, being formed of particles
of wood apparently joined together with gums. A collection of these
compact, irregular, and small wooden chambers, not one of which
is half an inch in width, is inclosed in a common chamber of clay
sometimes as big as a child's head.--Intermixed with the nurseries
lie the magazines, which are chambers of clay always well stored
with provisions, consisting of particles of wood, gums, and the
inspissated juices of plants.
These magazines and nurseries, separated by small empty chambers and
galleries, which run round them or communicate from one to the other,
are continued on all sides to the outer wall of the building, and
reach up within it two-thirds or three-fourths of its height. They
do not, however, fill up the whole of the lower part of the hill,
but are confined to the sides, leaving an open area in the middle,
under the dome, very much resembling the nave of an old cathedral,
having its roof supported by three or four very large Gothic arches,
of which those in the middle of the area are sometimes two and three
feet high, but as they recede on each side rapidly diminish like the
arches of aisles in perspective. A flattish roof, imperforated in
order to keep out the wet, if the dome should chance to be injured,
covers the top of the assemblage of chambers, nurseries, &c.; and the
area, which is a short height above the royal chamber, has a flattish
floor also water-proof, and so contrived as to let any rain that may
chance to get in run off into the subterraneous passages.
These passages or galleries, which are of an astonishing size, some
being above a foot in diameter and perfectly cylindrical, lined
with the same kind of clay of which the hill is composed, served
originally, like the catacombs of Paris, as the quarries whence
the materials of the building were derived, and afterwards as the
grand outlets by which the Termites carry on their depredations at
a distance from their habitations. They run in a sloping direction
under the bottom of the hill to the depth of three or four feet, and
then branching out horizontally on every side, are carried under
ground, near to the surface, to a vast distance. At their entrance
into the interior they communicate with other smaller galleries,
which ascend the inside of the outer shell in a spiral manner,
and, winding round the whole building to the top, intersect each
other at different heights, opening either immediately into the
dome in various places, and into the lower half of the building,
or communicating with every part of it by other smaller circular
or oval galleries of different diameters. The necessity for the
vast size of the main underground galleries evidently arises
from the circumstance of their being the great thoroughfares for
the inhabitants, by which they fetch their clay, wood, water, or
provision; and their spiral and gradual ascent is requisite for the
easy access of the Termites, which cannot but with great difficulty
ascend a perpendicular. To avoid this inconvenience, in the interior
vertical parts of the building, a flat path-way, half an inch wide,
is often made to wind gradually, like a road cut out of the side
of a mountain, by which they travel with great facility up ascents
otherwise impracticable. The same ingenious propensity to shorten
their labour seems to have given birth to a contrivance still more
extraordinary. This is a kind of bridge of one vast arch, sprung from
the floor of the area to the upper apartments at the side of the
building, which answers the purpose of a flight of stairs, and must
shorten the distance exceedingly in transporting eggs from the royal
chambers to the upper nurseries, which in some hills would be four or
five feet in the straightest line, and much more if carried through
all the winding passages which lead through the inner chambers and
apartments. Mr. Smeathman measured one of these bridges, which was
half an inch broad, a quarter of an inch thick, and ten inches long,
making the side of an elliptic arch of proportionable size, so that
it is wonderful it did not fall over or break by its own weight
before they got it joined to the side of the column above. It was
strengthened by a small arch at the bottom, and had a hollow or
groove all the length of the upper surface, either made purposely
for the greater safety of the passengers, or else worn by frequent
treading. It is not the least surprising circumstance attending
this bridge, the Gothic arches before spoken of, and in general all
the arches of the various galleries and apartments, that, as Mr.
Smeathman saw every reason for believing, the Termites _project_
their arches, and do not, as one would have supposed, excavate them.
Consider what incredible labour and diligence, accompanied by
the most unremitting activity and the most unwearied celerity of
movement, must be necessary to enable these creatures to accomplish,
their size considered, these truly gigantic works. That such
diminutive insects, for they are scarcely the fourth of an inch
in length, however numerous, should, in the space of three or
four years, be able to erect a building twelve feet high and of a
proportionable bulk, covered by a vast dome, adorned without by
numerous pinnacles and turrets, and sheltering under its ample arch
myriads of vaulted apartments of various dimensions, and constructed
of different materials--that they should moreover excavate,
in different directions and at different depths, innumerable
subterranean roads or tunnels, some twelve or thirteen inches in
diameter, or throw an arch of stone over other roads leading from
the metropolis into the adjoining country to the distance of several
hundred feet--that they should project and finish the, for them,
vast interior stair-cases or bridges lately described--and, finally,
that the millions necessary to execute such Herculean labours,
perpetually passing to and fro, should never interrupt or interfere
with each other, is a miracle of nature, or rather of the Author of
nature, far exceeding the most boasted works and structures of man:
for, did these creatures equal him in size, retaining their usual
instincts and activity, their buildings would soar to the astonishing
height of more than half a mile, and their tunnels would expand to
a magnificent cylinder of more than three hundred feet in diameter;
before which the pyramids of Egypt and the aqueducts of Rome would
lose all their celebrity, and dwindle into nothings[847]. So that
when in the commencement of my last letter I promised to introduce
you to insects whose labours produced edifices more astonishing than
those of the mightiest Egyptian monarchs, the pyramids, my promise,
whatever you then thought of it, was the reverse of hyperbolical.
I am, &c.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR,
RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
[Illustration: ALERE FLAMMAM]
FOOTNOTES:
[819] Reaum. ii. 128.
[820] Reaum. ii. 179.
[821] Huber, _Recherches sur les Mœurs des Fourmis_, p. 21-29.
[822] Huber, _Recherches sur les Mœurs des Fourmis_, p. 168.
[823] Stedman's _Surinam_, i. 169.
[824] Huber, _Recherches_, &c. 30-40.
[825] Huber, _Recherches_, &c. 45.
[826] Ibid. 53.
[827] Ibid. 61.
[828] Hawkesworth's _Cook's Voyages_, iii. 223.
[829] Reaum. v. 390.
[830] Father Boscovich observes, that all the angles that form
the planes which compose the cell are equal, _i. e._ 120°: and he
supposes that this equality of inclination facilitates much the
construction of the cell, which may be a motive for preferring it,
as well as economy. He shows that the bees do not economize the wax
necessary for a flat bottom in the construction of every cell, near
so much as MM. Kœnig and Reaumur thought.
MacLaurin says, that the difference of a cell with a pyramidal from
one with a flat bottom, in which is comprised the economy of the
bees, is equal to the fourth part of six triangles, which it would be
necessary to add to the trapeziums, the faces of the cell, in order
to make them right angles.