states, and most of our butterflies, when perfected, appear to extract
the sweet liquor from the tubes or nectaries of plants, and many of our
moths obtain their nourishment by similar means: but one butterfly
alone, the admirable (v. Atalanta), and at times the peacock (v. Io),
feeds upon the juices of our autumnal fruits; and in the months of
September and October we may frequently see these beautiful creatures
basking and regaling themselves upon the rejected fragments of our wall
fruit. They seldom prey upon the growing produce, like the hornet, wasp,
and hive bee, but when it has fallen and advanced to a state of
fermentation, it becomes the most grateful to them. Nothing can be less
injurious than this propensity, and it seems that fruit in such a state
is requisite for them by some constitutional formation, as they appear
only at the termination of a season when the product of our trees is in
a state of great ripeness and decay. The life of this creature appears
to be remarkably short, and we have more certain means of ascertaining
its duration, than are afforded us for others of the race. It very
rarely appears until late in September, and then so perfect and fresh in
its plumage as to manifest its recent production from the chrysalis. In
some years they abound, and we may see twenty of these beautiful
creatures expanding and closing their brilliant wings under the fruit
trees on our walls, or basking upon the disk of some autumnal flower;
and at another, perhaps, hardly a specimen is to be obtained: nor do
they seem like the wasp to be scarce or abundant according to the
deficiency or plenty of the season, but influenced by other causes. Many
of our butterflies are produced by successive hatches, supplying the
places of those which have been destroyed, and hence it is difficult to
mark the duration of an individual; and others, as the nettle, peacock
and wood tortoise, in many instances survive the winter, hidden in some
recess or sheltered apartment, appearing in the spring time-worn and
shabby. But van. atalanta appears only in the autumn, not as a preserved
creature, but a recent production; and hence we can ascertain the period
of its life to be comprised only between those few days that intervene
from the end of September to the end of October, by which time its food
in our gardens has pretty well disappeared. Some sheltered wall,
garnished with the bloom of the ivy, may prolong its being a little
longer, but the cold and dampness of the season soon destroy it;
rendering the life of this creature, the most beautiful of our
lepidopterous tribes, of very brief duration.
The gamma moth (phalæna gamma) is also another creature, that seems in
no way affected by moist seasons, which retard the appearance, or
apparently destroy so many others of its kind. This creature has
imprinted on its dark wings a white character, something like the letter
Y, but more like the small Greek gamma, and hence has received a
pertinent name. Like Cain, it bears with it, in all its wanderings, a
mark that distinguishes it from others of its race. Its habits also are
quite unlike those of other moths, as it feeds principally in the day-
time; and we see it late in the summer whisking about with all the
activity and action of the hummingbird sphinx. Like the latter it keeps
its wings, while feeding, in a constant state of vibration; haunts
clover-fields, and the yellow blossoms of the wild mustard, and the
heads of the pasture scabious. It seems little mindful of the common
frosts of October, retiring from us with such reluctance, that, should
the autumn be fine, we not uncommonly find it in some piece of
aftergrass, enjoying there the few flowers which linger out the
approaches of November.
In the autumn of the year 1827, the larvæ of the goat moth (phalæna
cossus) abounded beyond any customary proportion, and we could commonly
see the traces made by these creatures in the dust. They had apparently
fed during the summer in the earth, and were now proceeding in search of
a retreat during winter to some old hedge-row tree, a part to repose,
and those which approached maturity, to abrade the softer wood, and form
their cases, preparatory to changing to a final perfect state in the
spring. At times we observed them coursing along our paths with great
strength and activity; and when not seen, that peculiar subtle smell,
which proceeds from them, and has been thought to resemble that of the
goat, was perceptible in all our walks. The object and seat of this odor
seem not well understood. Some have conjectured it to proceed from a
fluid evacuated from the mouth, and discharged to soften the wood in
which they burrow. But it seems inconsistent with any probability, that
this creature, which is furnished with such very powerful mandibles,
should be gifted with an auxiliary aid to accomplish its object; while
of the many insects that perforate timber, most of them with inferior
means, no other possesses an equivalent agent to facilitate its labors;
for not one of them, as far as we know, is so supplied. Besides, if such
were the purpose, the discharge would be made only when required, and
thus this unpleasant odor not always perceptible. The microscope too
does not manifest the exudation of any fluid. The larva is furnished
with eight curious retractile processes on its under side, in the manner
of what entomologists call the “prolegs.” These are encircled with
little hooks, made use of probably to remove the fragments of the wood,
when broken off by the mandibles above, and clear the passages. The
strength of these jaws is so great, that they will very soon destroy any
common chip box in which the animal may be placed, by abrading the
edges, to effect its escape. With us they chiefly inhabit the ash; and
we very commonly see at the roots of our aged trees the fragments
removed by them in forming their passages. In breaking up the decayed
pollards, we not unusually find the grub in all the stages of its
growth; but more generally observe them without inhabitants, yet
perforated with paths large enough to admit the finger. I suspect that
these “augerworms” are the primary cause of the decay of the tree;
having often observed their perforations, and found them, both large and
small, in the solid spur or root of the tree, when the upper portion,
having been bored and in a state of decline, is abandoned by them. Those
that are full fed appear to form their cases in that part which has lost
coherency, while the younger and imperfected creatures mine their way,
and obtain nutriment in the solid timber, thus killing the tree by
inches; when rain and moisture find lodgment, and complete the
dissolution. One year’s preparation is the period usually assigned to
the larvæ of most insects, before they arrive at their perfect state;
but by the goat moth three years are required before it attains its
winged state from the egg. Consequently, for the larger portion of its
life it is occupied in these destructive operations; and thus this
creature becomes a very powerful agent in reducing these Titans of the
vegetable world, crumbling them away to their original dust: for what
was decreed to be the termination and punishment of man is found in
active operation throughout the whole chain of nature’s works, which are
but dust, and unto dust return, continuing an endless series of
production and decay, of restoration and of change. All these larvæ
which I have observed in the colder portions of our year, were hard,
stiff, and torpid, but soon became relaxed and animated by the warmth of
the hand: thus they probably remain quiet during the winter months, but
revive in spring, and recommence their ravage in the tree. The
caterpillar of this moth I believe to be the largest of any of those of
the British lepidopteræ; and when full fed exceeds in size that of the
death’s-head sphinx. To those who dislike the appearance of things of
this nature, it is particularly disgusting; not only from its magnitude
and smell, but from its color, which is a lurid red, so compounded with
a dingy yellow, as to give it a lividness of look, conveying the idea of
something raw. Common as the grub is in some years, I have seldom been
able to obtain the moth, without the often tedious process of feeding
the larvæ, and waiting for its change.
Of those caterpillars which feed upon the foliage of vegetation, a
considerable portion are picked off and consumed by the numerous little
birds which are constantly hunting after them, as food for themselves or
their young ones; and many of those which are supported by the roots of
plants, and remain covered in the soil, are detected by the perception
of rooks, and birds of that order; but those which feed upon the
internal parts of trees seem exempted from any of these causes of
destruction. This is possibly a reason that the larvæ of phalæna cossus
is so plentifully found; but yet it is pretty certain that some other
and equally fatal visitation assails them, and reduces their numbers
during the long period which is required to perfect their state: for
though, by feeding and care, (for they are very impatient of
confinement,) we can obtain the moth in numbers, yet few seem to survive
and become perfected by the common processes of nature, at least I have
seldom found them in this state, though the larvæ is so plentifully
seen.
The designs of supreme intelligence in the creation and preservation of
the insect world, and the regulations and appointments whereby their
increase or decrease is maintained, and periodical appearance
prescribed, are among the most perplexing considerations of natural
history. That insects are kept in reserve for stated seasons of action,
we know, being commonly made the agents of Providence in his visitations
of mankind. The locust, the caterpillar, the palmer-worm, the various
family of blights, that poison in the spring all the promise of the
year, are insects. Mildew, indeed, is a vegetable; but the wireworm
destroys the root, the thrips the germ of the wheat, and hunger and
famine ensue. Many of the coleopteræ remove nuisances, others again
encumbrances, and worms manure the soil; but these are trite and
isolated cases in the profusion of the animal world; and, left alone, as
we are, in the desert of mere reason and conjecture, there is no
probability that much satisfactory elucidation will be obtained. They
are not perhaps important objects of inquiry; but when we see the
extraordinary care and attention that has been bestowed upon this part
of creation, our astonishment is excited, and forces into action that
inherent desire in our minds to seek into hidden things. In some calm
summer’s evening ramble, we see the air filled with sportive animated
beings: the leaf, the branch, the bark of the tree, every mossy bank,
the pool, the ditch, all teeming with animated life, with a profusion,
an endless variety of existence; each creature pursuing its own separate
purpose in a settled course of action, admitting of no deviation or
substitution, to accomplish or promote some ordained object. Some appear
occupied in seeking for the most appropriate stations for their own
necessities, and exerting stratagems and wiles to secure the lives of
themselves or their offspring against natural or possible injuries, with
a forethought equivalent or superior to reason; the aim in some others
we can little perceive, or, should some flash of light spring up, and
give us a momentary glimpse of nature’s hidden ways, immediate darkness
closes round, and renders our ignorance more manifest. We see a
wonderfully fabricated creature struggling from the cradle of its being,
just perfected by the elaboration of months or years, and decorated with
a vest of glorious splendor; it spreads its wings to the light of
heaven, and becomes the next moment, perhaps, with all its marvellous
construction, instinct, and splendor, the prey of some wandering bird!
and human wisdom and conjecture are humbled to the dust. That these
events are ordinations of supreme intelligence, for wise and good
purposes, we are convinced; but are blind, beyond thought, as to
secondary causes; and admiration, that pure source of intellectual
pleasure, is almost alone permitted to us. If we attempt to proceed
beyond this, we are generally lost in the mystery with which the divine
Architect has thought fit to surround his works; and perhaps our very
aspirations after knowledge increase in us a sense of our ignorance:
every deep investigator into the works of nature can scarcely possess
other than an humble mind.
In all our pursuits we shall find in nature, wheresoever we can
penetrate, a formation, a faculty adapted to all the wants and comforts
of the creature, yet the objects of infinite wisdom in the creation of
this world of matter, animate and inanimate, will probably never be made
known to mankind; for though knowledge is in a constant progressive
state, and the attainments of science in latter years have been
comparatively prodigious, yet these acquirements are in fact but
entanglements: they lead us deeper into surprise and perplexity, and the
little perceptions of light which we obtain serve to show how hopeless
any attempt must be to penetrate the secrets of infinity, a conviction,
if we “dwell deep in the valley of humility,” that will in no manner
discourage our pursuits, but rather incite our ardor to investigate so
exhaustless a store, which will lead us, from contemplation, to
admiration, to devotion.
That pretty sparkler of our summer evenings, so often made the plowboy’s
prize, the only brilliant that glitters in the rustic’s hat, the glow-
worm[60] (lampyris noctiluca), is not found in such numbers with us, as
in many other places, where these signal tapers glimmer upon every
grassy bank; yet, in some seasons, we have a reasonable sprinkling of
them. Every body probably knows, that the male glow-worm is a winged,
erratic animal, yet may not have seen him. He has ever been a scarce
creature to me, meeting perhaps with one or two in a year; and, when
found, always a subject of admiration. Most creatures have their eyes so
placed as to be enabled to see about them; or, as Hook says of the house
fly, to be “circumspect animals;” but this male glow-worm has a
contrivance by which any upward or side vision is prevented. Viewed when
at rest, no portion of his eyes is visible, but the head is margined
with a horny band, or plate, being a character of one of the genera of
the order coleoptera, under which the eyes are situate. This prevents
all upward vision; and blinds, or winkers, are so fixed at the sides of
his eyes as greatly to impede the view of all lateral objects. The chief
end of this creature in his nightly peregrinations is to seek his mate,
always beneath him on the earth; and hence this apparatus appears
designed to facilitate his search, confining his view entirely to what
is before or below him. The first serves to direct his flight, the other
presents the object of his pursuit: and as we commonly, and with
advantage, place our hand over the brow, to obstruct the rays of light
falling from above, which enables us to see clearer an object on the
ground, so must the projecting hood of this creature converge the visual
rays to a point beneath. This is a very curious provision for the
purposes of the insect, if my conception of its design be reasonable.
Possibly the same ideas may have been brought forward by others; but, as
I have not seen them, I am not guilty of any undue appropriation, and no
injury can be done to the cause I wish to promote, by detailing again
such beautiful and admirable contrivances.
Glow-worms emit light only for a short period in the year; and I have
but partially observed it after the middle of July. I have collected
many of these pretty creatures on a bank before my house, into which
they retire during the winter, to shine out again when revived by the
summer’s warmth; but in this latter season, I have frequently missed
certain of my little protegés, and have reason to apprehend that they
formed the banquet of a toad, that frequented the same situation.
Observing above, that the glow-worm does not emit light after the 14th
of July, I mean thereby that clear, steady light, which has rendered
this creature so remarkable to all persons; for I have repeatedly
noticed, deep in the herbage, a faint evanescent light proceeding from
these creatures, even as late as August and September. This was
particularly manifested September the 28th, 1826. The evening was warm
and dewy, and we observed on the house-bank multitudes of these small
evanescent sparks in the grass. The light displayed was very different
from that which they exhibit in the warm summer months. Instead of the
permanent green glow that illumines all the blades of the surrounding
herbage, it was a pale transient spot, visible for a moment or two, and
then so speedily hidden that we were obliged, in order to capture the
creature, to employ the light of a candle. The number of them, and their
actions, creeping away from our sight, contrary to that half-lifeless
dullness observed in summer, suggested the idea that the whole body had
availed themselves of this warm, moist evening, to migrate to their
winter station. A single spark or so was to be seen some evenings after
this, but no such large moving parties were discovered again. If we
conclude, that the summer light of the glow-worm is displayed as a
signal taper, the appearance of this autumnal light can have no such
object in view, nor can we rationally assign any use of it to the
creature itself, unless, indeed, it serves as a point of union in these
supposed migrations, like the leading call in the flight of night-moving
birds. The activity and numbers of these insects, in the above-mentioned
evening, enabled me to observe the frequent presence and disappearance
of the light of an individual, which did not seem to be the result of
will, but produced by situation. During the time the insect crawled
along the ground, or upon the fine grass, the glow was hidden; but on
its mounting any little blade, or sprig of moss, it turned round and
presented the luminous caudal spot, which, on its falling or regaining
its level, was hidden again.
My laborer this day, July the 18th, in turning over some manure, laid
open a mass of snake’s eggs (coluber natrix), fifteen only, and they
must have been recently deposited, the manure having very lately been
placed where they were found. They were larger than the eggs of a
sparrow, obtuse at each end, of a very pale yellow color, feeling tough
and soft like little bags of some gelatinous substance. The interior
part consisted of a glareous matter like that of the hen, enveloping the
young snake, imperfect, yet the eyes and form sufficiently defined.
Snakes must protrude their eggs singly, but probably all at one time, as
they preserve no regular disposition of them, but place them in a
promiscuous heap. At the time of protrusion they appear to be surrounded
with a clammy substance, which, drying in the air, leaves the mass of
eggs united wherever they touch each other. I have heard of forty eggs
being found in these deposits; yet, notwithstanding such provision for
multitudes, the snake, generally speaking, is not a very common animal.
The kite, the buzzard, and the raven, which prey on it occasionally, are
too seldom found greatly to reduce the race; and its deep retirement in
the winter seems to secure it from fatal injuries by the severity of the
weather: yet in the warm days of spring, when it awakens from its
torpidity and basks upon our sunny banks, the numbers that appear are
not proportionate to what might be expected from the number of eggs
produced. Few creatures can assail it in its dormitory, yet its paucity
proves that it is not exempt from mortality and loss. The mole may
follow it in its retirement, but would hardly attempt to seize so large
an animal. The polecat and the weasel too can enter its runs; are
sufficiently bold and strong to attempt the conquest; and not improbably
in the winter season resort to such food, the poor snake having no power
of defending itself, or of avoiding the assault. The common snake of
this country is a very harmless, unobtrusive creature; so timid, as to
avoid the presence of man whenever he appears, hiding itself as much as
possible in bushes and rugged places from his sight. At times a strong
fetor proceeds from it; but this appears to be sexual, or made use of as
the means of annoying its enemies. It possesses no power to commit
injury, and has apparently no inclination to molest any thing beyond its
requirements for food, as frogs and mice. When a young man, I have
repeatedly handled it with impunity; and though often bitten, a
temporary swelling, with slight inflammation, was the only result; but
in these experiments the viper must not be mistaken for the common
snake. Yet this poor creature, under the curse of ignorance and cruelty,
never escapes unscathed from power and opportunity. All the snake tribe,
innocuous and pernicious, seem to be viewed with horror and aversion by
mankind. This horror, from the knowledge of their power of inflicting
harm in countries where such kinds are found, is natural, and often
preservative of life; but the aversion generally felt, and that
shuddering occasionally noticed at the sight of our harmless snake, is
like a deep-rooted principle. We imbibe in infancy, and long retain in
remembrance the impression of injuries from the wiles of the serpent;
and the “enmity between it and the seed of the woman” appears still in
full operation, and is possibly more extensively and insensibly diffused
among mankind than we are aware of. The harmless nature of our snake
seems to be fully known to the little birds of the hedge, as they in no
way give intimation of its presence by any warning of avoidance to their
young, or that insulting vociferation so observable when any really
injurious creature is perceived, but hop and sport about the basking
snake without fear or notice.
All the human race seem to have inherited the original anathema against
this creature; for though the capricious cruelty of man is very
frequently exerted to the injury of many that his power enables him to
tyrannize over, yet the serpent appears to be a peculiar object of his
enmity, as if it was understood to be an absolute duty to “bruise his
head,” whenever the opportunity should be afforded.
It is very remarkable how few noxious creatures, animals which annoy
man, inhabit with us; beasts and birds we have none, for the petty
depredations occasionally made on his property are undeserving of
attention. The gnat, and perhaps a few insects, may at times puncture
our skin, but the period of action is brief, the injury only temporary.
The wasp and the hornet, I believe, very rarely use their weapons
wantonly, only in self-defence and when persecuted; thus leaving the
balance incalculably in favor of innocency and harmlessness. But of all
the guiltless beings which are met with, we have none less chargeable
with criminality than the poor slow-worm[61] (anguis fragilis), yet none
are more frequently destroyed than it—included as it is in the general
and deep-rooted prejudice attached to the serpent race. The viper and
the snake, though they experience no mercy, escape often by activity of
action; but this creature, from the slowness of his movements, falls a
more frequent victim. We call it a ‘blind-worm,’ possibly from the
supposition that as it makes little effort to escape, it sees badly; but
its eyes, though rather small, are clear and lively, with no apparent
defect of vision. The natural habits of the slow-worm are obscure; but
living in the deepest foliage, and the roughest banks, he is generally
secreted from observation; and loving warmth, like all his race, he
creeps half torpid from his hole, to bask in spring time in the rays of
the sun, and is, if seen, inevitably destroyed. Exquisitely formed as
all these gliding creatures are, for rapid and uninterrupted transit
through herbage and such impediments, it is yet impossible to examine a
slow-worm without admiration at the peculiar neatness and fineness of
the scales with which it is covered. All separate as they are, yet they
lap over, and close upon each other with such exquisite exactitude, as
to appear only as faint markings upon the skin, requiring a magnifier to
ascertain their separations; and, to give him additional facility of
proceeding through rough places, these are all highly polished,
appearing lustrous in the sun, the animal looking like a thick piece of
tarnished copper wire. When surprised in his transit from the hedge,
contrary to the custom of the snake or viper, which writhe themselves
away into the grass in the ditch, he stops, as if fearful of proceeding,
or to escape observation by remaining motionless, but if touched he
makes some effort to escape: this habit of the poor slow-worm becomes
frequently the cause of his destruction.