the foulest putridity, they are doing us most essential service. The fly
lays its eggs in the mud of some stagnant ditch, and out of each of them
emerges a whitish worm-like grub with a long tail, which is its
breathing apparatus, and must therefore always reach to the surface of
the water. It is formed of graduated tubes, which can be retracted or
drawn out exactly like a telescope. If the water is shallow, only one or
two tubes are needed, and the tail appears somewhat thick, but if, owing
perhaps to a sudden shower, the water deepens, then the creature can
draw out tube after tube until the tail is two inches in length, and
graduates to a thread-like point. If these grubs were thrown into deep
water they would be drowned, being suffocated from want of air, but in
ditches, where they are usually found, they can crawl along in the mud
by means of very small legs on the thorax and abdomen, and ascend the
sloping bank until they reach the needful air. Respiration is carried on
by means of a double air-tube within the tail. When at its full
expansion these tubes lie parallel to each other, but when the tail is
retracted the tubes fall into two coils at the base, where it issues
from the body of the grub—truly a marvellous piece of mechanism for such
a lowly creature. The most noisome black mud is the favourite habitat of
this rat-tailed maggot, as it is called, and to it we owe a deep debt of
gratitude, since, repulsive as it may appear to our eyes, its life-work
is to purify such foul places as would pollute the air we breathe; it
feeds and luxuriates upon that which is full of the germs of fever and
mortality to us, and then, when full grown, it buries itself in the
ground to come forth in due time as a bright-winged fly.
Even in its perfect state it is doing us service, for in seeking pollen
for its food it helps to fertilise our fruit-tree blossoms, being seen
upon them in the early days of March, long before other tribes of winged
insects (excepting bees) are to be found abroad. The early spring
sunshine attracts them from the nooks and corners where they have been
hibernating through the winter, and greatly do they seem to enjoy
rifling the newly-opened flowers of our apricot and peach-trees.
The specific name of Tenax given to this fly shows its power of clinging
firmly to any object on which it settles. Each leg is furnished with a
pair of strong curved claws which, when closed, appear to be like twelve
grappling irons, and may well account for the tenacity of hold which the
fly possesses.
From the interest I have found in keeping my drone-flies, I feel
encouraged to try and learn more of the habits of other flies and
insects. I believe in this way many curious facts may be ascertained
about the life-history of many little-known species which are seen for
only a limited period of the year, and whose further doings have not as
yet been fully traced.
THE PRAYING MANTIS.
“O crooked soul, and serpentine in arts.”
DRYDEN.
THE PRAYING MANTIS.
(MANTIS ORATORIA.)
THE post has brought me some odd things from “foreign parts” in the
course of the last few years, but never anything quite so strange and
weird as a live specimen of the so-called “praying mantis,” which
reached me last winter.
This curious insect was sent from Mentone by the same kind friend who
forwarded the interesting sacred beetle, the “Cheops,” described in
“Wild Nature.”
The cold journey and lack of food had made the poor mantis look so
nearly dead that I almost despaired of his recovery. The food of this
tribe of insects being flies of any kind, a bluebottle, which happened
fortunately to be on the window-pane, was captured, killed, and
presented to the illustrious stranger, who feebly nibbled a portion of
his body, drank a little water, and appeared somewhat revived. The
mantis was then placed near the fire, and we hoped that warmth might
prove restorative.
The mantis is never met with in England; it is a native of the warmer
parts of Europe, and various species are found in the tropics. It is a
large and powerful insect, varying from three to five inches in length;
it has six legs. The four legs which it uses in walking are long and
slender, while the pair nearest the head are much thicker, and are armed
with very sharp spines, with which the mantis kills the insects upon
which it feeds.
Its usual position is a sort of sitting posture, holding up the
fore-legs slightly bent as if in the attitude of prayer, and from this
fancied resemblance the creature has gained the name of “praying
mantis.”
Deceit and cunning seem combined to a remarkable degree in the nature of
this creature, as if to make up for the slowness of its movements. It
will remain stealthily on the watch whilst flies are hovering within
sight, apparently taking no notice, but secretly biding its time until a
victim is within the range of its cruel enemy; then one swift stroke
impales the fly upon the spikes of the fore-leg, which holds it fast in
the pangs of death.
As Mr. Duncan wittily says in his charming book on “Transformation of
Insects”: “Any unfortunate moths that may admire the mantis on account
of its attitude of supplication soon find out that instead of saying
'Let us pray,’ it says 'Let us prey!’”
When my specimen began to revive I could but gaze with wonder at the
strange attitudes the creature assumed. Its head seemed to be set on a
revolving pivot, for it could turn in all directions with the greatest
ease; its limbs stretched themselves out at every conceivable angle, as
if simulating the twigs on a tree-branch. Grotesque and weird are the
terms one would use in describing this insect; it seems a freak of
nature, and quite fascinates one by the oddity of its appearance.
I read that the Chinese keep these insects in bamboo-cages, and take
advantage of their quarrelsome disposition by making them fight for
their captors’ amusement. Mantises are so pugnacious that they will
continue the conflict, hewing at each other like hussars fighting with
sabres, until one or other of the combatants is killed. Those who have
watched these engagements say that the wings are generally expanded
during the fight, and when it is ended the conqueror devours his
antagonist.
Although we see that the mantis has no right to its character for
sanctity, I thought my specimen ought to have an appropriate name, so he
became known in the family circle as Simeon Stylites! The chief
difficulty was how to keep him warm enough through wintry days and
nights; this end was, however, attained by keeping a night-light always
burning in his glass-case, and of course this led to some little teasing
about my ever-lighted lamp at the shrine of my patron saint!
The second day after Simeon’s arrival no flies could be had, so in
despair I tried whether a meal-worm would be accepted instead. I was
humbly presenting my newly-killed offering to what appeared a very meek
and innocent creature, with its arms folded and its head on one side
when, to my great astonishment, the deceitful thing suddenly sprang up
and made such a vicious snap at my fingers that I dropped the meal-worm
and retreated. That was my first lesson in the habits and manners of
this holy hypocrite! for the future I learned to treat him with
respectful caution, and handed his prey to him at the end of a pair of
forceps.
It was a comical sight to see Simeon discussing a meal-worm. He found
out that it was a toothsome dainty, and accepted it very readily.
Holding it in one of his spiked fore-legs, and biting it piece by piece
as if it were a banana, he munched away until he was satisfied, and then
he generally tilted up the last portion as if he were draining a little
beaker. I need hardly say that the meal-worm was mercifully killed
first, else I could not have watched it being thus demolished.
The mantis seems to have remarkably keen sight and to be very watchful,
for if I tried to touch anything in his globe he would face round
instantly and stand on the defensive. If a twig was held near him he
would throw out his long fore-legs and fight with the intruding thing,
showing a dauntless spirit and very irascible temper.
I was most anxious to keep my curious pet alive; and, fearing I might
not treat it rightly in all respects, I wrote to Mr. Bartlett at the
Zoological Gardens, asking his advice about food and general treatment.
He replied with his usual courtesy, but I was sorry to learn that, even
under his experienced treatment, mantises never live through an English
winter.
It is sad to record that Simeon grew less and less inclined to eat. In
spite of all possible care he became inert and helpless, and died at the
end of a week.
With the experience I have gained I should not quite despair of keeping
a mantis alive throughout the summer and autumn. At that period of the
year one could ensure suitable food and sufficient warmth to keep the
insect living in health and comfort. It would be worth while to take
pains to learn more about the life-history of a creature of such
exceptionally singular form and habits.
THE CORK MOTH.
“'Faugh! the claret’s corked!’ 'So it is, and very
badly corked,’ growls my lord.”
THACKERAY.
THE CORK MOTH.
IT may appear to many readers a most unlikely thing that even in our
sitting-rooms, on our window-panes, or in our wine-cellars we should
find subjects for study in natural history, but I will try to show that
there is some truth in such a statement.
We only need to be careful observers to be rewarded from time to time by
finding material for thought and investigation in very unlikely places.
Not having ever lived in town, I cannot tell whether the creatures I
purpose to speak about would be found there, and my remarks must,
therefore, apply to country-houses and their visitants. If I had been
told that a certain moth existed in my wine-cellar, and that by means of
its larvæ burrowing into the corks some dozens of choice old Italian
wines would soon ooze away and leave nothing but half-empty bottles, I
should have been very incredulous. I had never seen such an insect in
the wine-cellar in the past thirty years, and knew nothing of its
existence.
I made its acquaintance, however, in the following manner. The plate
containing the daily food of my mongoose is kept on a bracket just
inside the cellar stairs. A cork had lain on this bracket for some
months, and had apparently become glued there, for I could not detach or
lift it. On close examination I found that this cork must have a tenant
of some kind, for it was surrounded by fine particles, evidently gnawed
by an insect. When a light was brought I soon found that a grub had been
at work mining holes and furrows in the cork, and had then spun a very
strong silky texture, by which it had firmly attached the cork to the
bracket. Having made its home secure, it had gone on to spin a soft,
silken cradle, in which I found the culprit itself ensconced.
This may seem but a trivial thing to record, but here was a life-history
being worked out in small compass, all unknown to us in our daily
business, and though in this particular case no harm resulted, yet by
this apparently insignificant insect, as I afterwards found out,
thousands of pounds are lost every year, its larvæ boring the corks, and
thus causing the leakage of valuable wine, especially old sweet wines.
I was led to make inquiries about this cork moth, and a wine merchant
kindly supplied me with the following facts:—
In twenty-five years’ experience he had never seen the perfect insect,
but knew it well to be a moth called Oinophila-v-flava. This creature
finds its way into dry cellars and lays its eggs in the corks of bottles
which are unprotected by wax or leaden capsules. A small white grub with
a brown head is hatched from the egg, and bores a tunnel through the
cork, just so far as to reach the saccharine in it, on which the
creature feeds. When it has attained its full size it spins a silken
case and turns into a chrysalis, from which the moth emerges in April
and May.
Anxious to learn still more regarding this curious insect, I went to the
Natural History Museum at Kensington, and by the courtesy of the
authorities I was allowed to descend to the basement, where the long
galleries are filled with insect collections. A case was brought to me
which contained the Oinophila-v-flava, a long name, which I had expected
would belong to a moth of ordinary size. What was my amazement,
therefore, when I was shown a golden-coloured speck with four small
wings, the upper pair having three white spots, from which the moth
obtains its name of v-flava, as the spots form a minute letter v.
Now I could well understand the obscurity of the perfect insect; for who
would imagine that a creature so insignificant could be the cause of so
much loss and trouble to wine-owners?
It still remains a mystery to me how the moth finds its way into the
cellars of our houses, or how it can exist in utter darkness and
perpetuate its species from year to year in such a secret manner. It is
clear from the facts I have related that it behoves all who possess
valuable old wine to examine it from time to time to see that the corks
are sound. A still safer plan would be to cut the cork off close to the
neck of the bottle and seal it over, leaving no part of it exposed. Only
in that way, or by metal capsules, can old sweet wines be rendered
perfectly safe. I had been looking forward to the possibility of finding
this minute creature in my cellar during the spring months, and then
learning a little more about its appearance and habits, but this
opportunity came sooner than I expected. On the 20th of last December I
had occasion to go down to the wine-cellar with a young friend who
wished to search there for various kinds of beetles, when, to my
delight, I caught sight of a minute moth upon the wall. I could hardly
believe that it was the cork moth, as it usually hatches in April and
May, but on close inspection it proved to be the true Oinophila, and
great was the delight with which we secured the little specimen.
The wonderful beauty of the wings could only be discerned by using a
powerful magnifying glass. Seen in sunlight the little moth looked as if
it were made of atoms of gold and silver, its eyes were black, its legs
striped, its antennæ long, the under wings being adorned with very long
silken fringes. To the naked eye the Oinophila is an inconspicuous grey
object, and may well pass unobserved, especially in the semi-darkness of
a cellar, and if one did remark it, the idea of destructive powers would
never be suggested by anything so small and fragile.
THE CLOTHES MOTH.
“like a cloud
From closet long to quiet vowed,
With mothed and dropping arras hung.”
BROWNING.
THE CLOTHES MOTH.
WE are all of us but too familiar with the ravages of the common
“Clothes Moth,” ever busy fretting both our garments and our tempers. We
find our cherished furs and woollens—which we fondly imagined we had put
away so carefully—utterly ruined by what we emphatically call _the
moth_, as if but one species really existed, and we refuse it our
interest and our sympathy. When we find some piece of material
containing moth-larvæ, we are usually too intent upon destroying them to
bestow much thought upon the habits of the creature; but I have
discovered of late that even these moths are so curious as to be well
worth a little careful study. I will relate how I came to know something
about the life-history of some of the _Tineæ_, the name by which this
species of insect is known.
Many years ago a friend gave me some beautiful grey feathers of birds
which he had obtained during a voyage up the Nile. The majority of these
feathers had been arranged in my feather-books, but a few remained in a
drawer, and on examining them after a lapse of time I found they were
shredded and perforated till only fragments were left. Quantities of
little grey cases, or cocoons, showed that what had gained access to the
feathers was moth. As I was then specially interested in the subject of
domestic natural history, the living inmates of our houses, these cases
were exactly what I wished to study. Accordingly I made a collection of
them and covered them with a glass shade until I should find leisure to
observe them more closely. Returning from some other occupation I found
the small cases in active motion. A brown head and part of a white
grub’s body appeared at one end, and each insect, like the Caddis Worm,
was dragging its house after it and seemed able to crawl rapidly about.
By gently pressing the tail-end of a cocoon I made the grub come out and
leave its case behind, so that I could examine it more particularly. The
case was evidently made of shreds of the feathers on which the grub had
been feeding, and was lined with fine white silk.
There are understood to be about thirty-one species of Tinea in this
country; of these many, when in the larva state, inhabit fungi or rotten
wood. One beautiful species is found abundantly in granaries, its larva
lives upon corn and resides in a case formed of wheat grains connected
together by silken threads. Many of the species of Tineina, the great
group to which the genus Tineæ belongs, are leaf-miners and form those
white streaks we may often see upon bramble, honeysuckle, and strawberry
leaves. The grubs of another kind may be found in Scotland, inhabiting
ants’ nests, and even in a coal mine, near Glasgow, Tineæ have been
found in abundance.
A very beautiful species of Tinea attacks the bark of the lime-tree
until it becomes completely riddled by its destructive grubs. A fine
avenue of about two hundred lime-trees forming one of the approaches to
the town of Southampton was infested with this insect and the growth of
the trees seriously injured by its ravages.
The furrier has cause to dread the ravages of _Tinea Pellionella_, which
feeds on feathers and fur, and is no respecter of priceless sables and
ermine. This insect makes its case with atoms of fur cut to the same
length, and it works so insidiously that there is no outward sign of its
evil doings until little tufts of fur begin to fall off, and then it is
too late to save our valued garments. They are sure, sooner or later, to
prove hopelessly destroyed.
Stuffed birds and animals can only be preserved from this annoying pest
by being soaked in a strong solution of corrosive sublimate or some
other poison. That this is effectual I have proved by the safe
preservation of groups of stuffed birds which have hung against a wall
exposed to the air without protection of any kind for the last
twenty-five years; these are as fresh and bright in plumage now as when
they were first obtained.
This fur-moth is perhaps the best known species in our houses; it is a
small yellowish-grey insect with pale brown spots on the wings. This is,
I believe, the species of which I have secured the larvæ. Fur and
feathers are alike its staple diet, and it is easily distinguished from
other kinds by a dark brown mark on the second segment of the grub,
which mark I can discern by a magnifying glass.
The linings of chairs and sofas and the stuffing of carriage cushions,
horse-hair pillows, &c., are constantly attacked by _Tinea biselliella_,
while cloth, flannel, and any woollen material, suits the taste of the
almost universal _Tinea tapetzella_, against whose ravages every
housekeeper has to devise a variety of protective plans. The moth is so
small it can creep through minute crevices—a knot-hole at the back of a
drawer or a keyhole will afford it access to the winter garments which
have been put away in supposed security.[7] Tapetzella differs in
appearance from the fur moth as its wings are half black and half grey,
and it is also of larger size. In laying her eggs the moth has the
foresight to place them rather widely apart, so that each grub may find
space enough in which to feed; it is this habit which renders the
creature specially destructive, as it attacks many parts of a garment
and does not confine its ravages to one spot. The larva of this species
forms covered galleries in which it works, mining its way along the
surface of the material, and eating off the pile wherever it goes and
leaving threadbare tracks behind it.
Pellionella adopts a different method. The first work of the minute grub
on issuing from the egg is to form a round case in which it may live,
for it does not eat unless it has a house of its own. This curious habit
may be seen in many other species amongst the Tineæ. I have already
mentioned one which forms its house of wheat grains; another chooses
particles of stone of which it constructs its dwelling, and then feeds
on the lichens which grow upon old walls. Out of the fluffy seeds of the
willow one Tinea forms a sort of muff in which it lives. Other species
of the group form little tents upon the leaves of the elm, oak, and many
kinds of fruit-trees, these cases being so minute as to be unobserved
unless the insect is moving within. One of the most remarkable of all
the species is one which inhabits the leaves of the nettle. The tent
looks like a tiny hedgehog, as it is formed of minute portions of the
leaf glued together and studded all over with the stinging hairs of the
nettle.
Mr. James Rennie in his “Insect Architecture” gives such an excellent
description of the weaving operations of the Pellionella grub that I
cannot do better than quote his observations upon it: “It selected a
single hair for the foundation of its intended structure; this it cut
very near the skin in order, we suppose, to have as long as possible,
and placed it in a line with its body. It then immediately cut another,
and placing it parallel to the first, bound both together with a thread
of its own silk. The same process was repeated with other hairs till the
little creature had made a fabric of some thickness, and this it went on
to extend till it was large enough to cover its body, which (as is usual
with caterpillars) it employed as a model and measure for regulating its
operations. The chamber was ultimately finished by a fine and closely
woven tapestry of silk. When the caterpillar increases in length it
takes care to add to the length of its house by working in fresh hairs
at either end; and if it be shifted to furs or feathers of different
colours it may be made to construct a parti-coloured tissue like a
Scotch plaid. But the grub increases in thickness as well as in length,
so that its first house becoming too narrow, it must either enlarge it
or build a new one. It prefers enlarging the premises, and sets to work
precisely as we should do, slitting the case on the two opposite sides
and then adroitly inserting between them two pieces of the requisite
size. When the structure is finished, the insect deems itself secure to
feed upon the fur within its reach, provided it is dry and free from
grease, which the grub will not touch.”
This account shows that the moth-grub can secrete a kind of silk with
which it lines its cell, but it can use other materials out of which to
weave a house for itself. When that house becomes too small it knows how
to put in two side-pieces to make it fit the size of its body. When full
grown, this same case forms its temporary coffin, for the little
creature simply closes up the entrance and hangs itself up in some
convenient place until in due time it comes out a perfect moth, ready to
lay its eggs and pursue the instincts of its race. Surely we must admit
that these lives which are carried on in our houses are very curious and
worth investigation. When we think of the minute size of these grubs
(scarcely a quarter of an inch in length) and the vigour of the instinct
they display, the secret mode in which they work in airless drawers and
boxes, the perseverance with which the moth finds entrance into these
hiding-places, we must credit this small insect with many remarkable
qualities. Its lineage is extremely ancient, for it is twice mentioned
in the oldest book in the Bible, and it is not a little remarkable that
Job seems to have been accurately acquainted with the habits of the
Tinea larvæ, since he says, in speaking of an ungodly man, “_He buildeth
his house as a moth_, and as a booth that the keeper maketh” (Job xxvii.
18).