from the insect world; and where man should have seen only beauty and
wisdom, he has often found terror and dismay. The yellow and brown
tailed moths, the deathwatch, our snails, as mentioned in p. 231, and
many others, have all been the subjects of his fears; but the dread
excited in England by the appearance, noises, or increase of insects,
are petty apprehensions, when compared with the horror that the presence
of this acherontia occasions to some of the more fanciful and
superstitious natives of northern Europe, maintainers of the wildest
conceptions. A letter is now before me from a correspondent in German
Poland, where this insect is a common creature, and so abounded in 1824,
that my informer collected fifty of them in the potato-fields of his
village, where they call them the “death’s-head phantom,” the “wandering
death-bird,” &c. The markings on its back represent to these fertile
imaginations the head of a perfect skeleton, with the limb bones crossed
beneath; its cry becomes the voice of anguish, the moaning of a child,
the signal of grief; it is regarded not as the creation of a benevolent
being, but the device of evil spirits, spirits enemies to man, conceived
and fabricated in the dark; and the very shining of its eyes is thought
to represent the fiery element whence it is supposed to have proceeded.
Flying into their apartments in the evening, it at times extinguishes
the light, foretelling war, pestilence, hunger, death to man and beast.
We pity, rather than ridicule these fears; their consequences being
painful anxiety of mind and suffering of body. However, it seems these
vain imaginations are flitting away before the light of reason and
experience. In Germany as in England, they were first observed on the
jasmine, but now exclusively upon the potato, though they will enter the
bee-hives, to feed on the honey found in them. This insect has been
thought to be peculiarly gifted in having a voice, and squeaking like a
mouse, when handled or disturbed; but in truth no insect that we know of
has the requisite organs to produce a genuine voice. They emit sounds by
other means, probably all external. The grasshopper and the cricket race
effect their well-known and often wearisome chirpings by grating their
spiny thighs against their rigid wings; and this acherontia atropos
appears to produce the noise it at times makes, which reminds us of the
spring call of the rail or corncrake, by scratching its mandible, or the
instrument that it perforates with, against its horny chest. The object
of this noise is apparently a mere sexual call. Heavy and unwieldly
creatures, they travel badly, and from the same cause fly badly and with
labor; and as they commonly hide themselves deep in the foliage and
obscurity, without some such signal of their presence a meeting of the
parties would seldom be accomplished.
Another of the ravenous creatures that infest our pools is the great
water-beetle (ditiscus marginalis); and perhaps it is the most ferocious
of any of them, being adapted by every provision for a life of rapine,
endued with great muscular power, armed with a thick and horny case over
its body, and having its eyes large to observe all the creatures about
it, and powerful mandibles to seize and reduce them to fragments. It
riots on the polyphemus of the pool; and having thinned its herd in one
place, is supplied with wings to effect a removal to a fold better
furnished. It even eats the young of the frog; and its bite is so
powerful, as to be painfully felt by the hand that holds it a captive,
though defended by a glove. In the larvæ state it is almost equally
destructive; it swims admirably; its hinder legs are long and brawny,
beside being aided by a fringe of hairs, so that they are powerful oars
to propel its body with celerity and ease. Nor must we omit a
peculiarity attending the constitution of this beetle, which marks it as
a creature especially endowed for the station in which it is placed.
Multitudes of insects exist in the larva state for a certain space of
time in water, and, having accomplished a given period in this state
perfecting their forms, they take wings and become aërial creatures,
after which a return to the element whence they sprang would be death to
them. But this beetle, when it has passed from the larva state and
obtained its wings, still lives in that water which nourished it to this
state of perfection, without any inconvenience, as long as it suits its
inclination; when weary of this place, or its food becoming scarce, it
wings its way to another pool, into which it immediately plunges, and
recommences its life of rapine. Having deposited its eggs in autumn, we
suppose it to die in the winter; yet many may survive this season, and,
arising from the mud in the spring, be undistinguished from the recently
perfected larvæ. Such little notices and indications of the habits of
these obscure creatures, though certainly unimportant, are not perhaps
wholly unprofitable; for we so darkly see our way, and proceed so slowly
in acquiring intelligence of the paths of nature, that nothing should be
considered as beneath regard that we meet with in them, and every
advancing step must elevate the mind, as it affords additional knowledge
of the solicitude and provision of the great Architect of creation in
the appointment and endowment of his creatures; since, though we are
very rarely able to comprehend even the object of existence, we see
sufficient to convince us, that such care and such powers were not
bestowed except for some wise and good purpose. It seems hardly possible
that mankind can ever obtain anything approaching to the comprehension
of the motives of Providence, because they have not, as far as is
apparent to us, individual and separate bearings, but are connecting and
in concordance with a series of influences, and consequently the whole
should be seen, fitly to understand a part; and this mighty mechanism
what human mind can embrace? Heaven metes out to man by degrees
something of its laws and ordinances; but no life, no period, can
exhaust that store of hidden wisdom, by which these mandates have been
decreed, every little transitory view that we obtain should be received
with gratitude as an advance in knowledge, a progress in the wisdom of
Him who hath ordained all things in truth.
The eye of the naturalist, prying about in places where those of
indifferent persons are rarely fixed, sees many things, that others do
not notice, or observe without interest, from forming no connexion with
any previous subject of pursuit. Few perhaps would stay to inspect the
clay hairworm (gordius argillaceus), yet it is a very curious creature.
We find it at the bottoms of drains and ditches, chiefly in the spring
of the year. Its color is a pale yellow; and it appears like some long
vegetable fibre, or root, coiled up and twisted together. The whole body
of the animal consists of numerous annulations, or rings, by means of
which it has the power of contracting its substance, as it has likewise
of extending it, until it becomes nearly a foot in length, and smooth as
a wire. The extreme points are transparent and tapering, formed of
apparently harder materials than the body. The designation of most of
our small land and water creatures, in the economy of creation, is very
obscure; and owing to the places they frequent, and the secrecy of their
actions, amidst mud and vegetation, we have little opportunity of
becoming acquainted with their habits. This hairworm, however, is rather
less mysterious in its movements than some others; and there is cause to
suppose that its chief occupation is that of forming perforations and
openings in clayey soils, admitting by this means water to pervade the
mass, and open it; the finer roots of vegetables then find entrance, and
part it yet more, or decay in it, and meliorate and fertilize the
substance.
Wonderful as all the appointments and endowments of insects are, there
is no part of their economy more extraordinary than the infinite variety
of forms and materials to which they have recourse in the fabrication of
their nests; and, as far as we can comprehend, their expediency for the
various purposes required. Among those, with which I am acquainted, none
pleases me more than that of a solitary wasp (vespa campanaria), which
occasionally visits us here. It is not a common insect; but I have met
with their nests. One was fixed beneath a piece of oak bark, placed in a
pile; another was pendent in the hollow of a bank of earth. The
materials, which composed these abodes, seemed to be articles scraped or
torn from the dry parts of the willow, sallow, or some such soft wood,
and cemented again by animal glue, very similar in texture to that
provided by the common wasp, which makes great use of the halfdecayed
wood of the ash, and will penetrate through crevices in the bark, to
abrade away the dry wood beneath. They seem to have but small families,
ten or twelve cells only being provided. These are situate at the bottom
of an egg-shaped cup, contracted at the lower end, where an orifice is
left for the entrance. This again is covered, in the part where the
cells are placed, by a loose hood, or shed, extending about halfway down
the inner one. The pendent situation of the whole, and this external
hood, round which the air has a free circulation, are admirably
contrived for securing the cells from injury by water. The nest, when
hanging in its proper situation, is like the commencement of some paper-
work flower, and can never be observed but with admiration at the
elegance of its structure; and the unusual appearance of the whole must
excite the attention of the most incurious observer of such things.
Every-day events manifest to very superficial observation, that no
created being, from the monster of the ocean, “that makes the deep boil
like a pot of ointment,” to the insect that feebly creeps on the ground,
exists free from the persecutions or annoyance of another. Some may be
subject to fewer injuries than others, but none are wholly exempt: the
strong assail by power, and become assaulted themselves by the minute or
weak. This year (1826) the hornet (vespa crabro) abounded with us in
unusual numbers, and afforded constant evidence of its power and
voracity, that could not have been exceeded by any ravenous beast. In
our gardens the imperious murmur of four or five of them at a time might
be frequently heard about our fruit trees. They would occasionally
extract the sweet liquor from the gage, or other rich plums; but the
prime object of their visit was to seize the wasps, that frequented the
same places. This they not only did when the creature was feeding on the
fruit, but would hawk after them when on the wing; capture them with a
facility, to which their heavy flight seemed unequal; bear them to some
neighboring plant, and there feed on the insect, which seemed perfectly
overpowered by the might of the hornet. The first operation was to snip
off the head, then to cut away the lower part by the waist; and, when
near, we could hear them shearing away the outer coat from the body, and
crushing it with their strong mandibles; sometimes devouring it, but
generally only sucking the juices it contained. Their avidity for this
sort of food is very manifest when the grape ripens on the wall: being
commonly the only remaining fruit, the wasp abounds there; the hornets
flock to the prey, and we may see them in constant progress, bearing
their victims from the bunches. The wasp itself seizes the house fly;
but this seems rather the display of wanton power than for food, as it
bears the fly about with it for a length of time, and drops it
unconsumed. The fly, in its turn, is conducive after its manner to the
death of many an animal. We know not any insect that destroys the
hornet; but its power and being are terminated by some very effective
agent, as in particular years it is almost unknown.[65] Though we may
not often perceive the means by which certain races are reduced in
number, more than their multiplication effected, yet we are frequently
sensible that it is accomplished.
I do not recollect any creature less obnoxious to harm than the common
snail (helix aspersa) of our gardens. A sad persevering depredator and
mangler it is; and when we catch it at its banquet on our walls, it can
expect no reprieve from our hands. But our captures are partial and
temporary; and, secured in its strong shell, it seems safe from external
dangers; yet its time comes and one weak bird destroys it in great
numbers. In the winter season, the common song-thrush feeds sparingly
upon the berries of the white thorn, and the hedge fruits, but passes a
great portion of its time at the bottoms of ditches, seeking for the
smaller species of snails (helix hortensis and hel. nemoralis), which it
draws out from the old stumps of the fence with unwearied perseverance,
dashing their shells to pieces on a stone; and we frequently see it
escaping from the hedge bank with its prize, which no little
intimidation induces it to relinquish. The larger kind at this season
are beyond its power readily to obtain; for as the cold weather
advances, they congregate in clusters behind some old tree, or against a
sheltered wall, fixing the openings of their shells against each other,
or on the substance beneath, and adhering so firmly in a mass, that the
thrush cannot by any means draw them wholly, or singly, from their
asylum. In the warmer portion of the year, they rest separate, and
adhere but slightly; and should the summer be a dry one, the bird makes
ample amends for the disappointment in winter, intrudes its bill under
the margin of the opening, detaches them from their hold, and destroys
them in great numbers. In the summers of 1825 and 1826, both hot and dry
ones, necessity rendered the thrush unusually assiduous in its pursuits;
and every large stone in the lane, or under the old hedge, was strewed
with the fragments of its banquet. This has more than once reminded me
of the fable of the “Four Bulls;” united invincible, when separated an
easy prey; but, with the exception of this season, and this bird, I know
no casualty to which the garden snail is exposed.
Ignorant as we are of the scope, limitation, and even existence, of
certain faculties in animals, we can frequently do little more than
conjecture the means whereby they perform many of the functions of life.
This ignorance leads us naturally at times to refer these powers to the
agency of senses like our own; but, in most instances, probably without
any foundation in truth. No creature seems less qualified to commit the
depredations which it does, than the garden snail. We grieve to see our
fruit mangled and disfigured by these creatures, but cannot readily
comprehend by what means they obtain the knowledge that its maturity is
approaching—though we find that they must be endued with some faculty
capable of accomplishing the purpose; for no sooner does a plum, a fig,
a nectarine, or other fruit, begin to ripen on the wall, and long before
any sensible odor can be diffused from it, even before an experienced
eye can detect the approach to maturity, than those creatures, the slug
and the snail, will advance from their asylums, though remotely situate,
and proceed by very direct paths to the object. This cannot probably be
by the guidance of any known faculty. Eyesight was once considered to be
situate on the summit of their horns; but this is now known to be
erroneous, and we do not know that they have any vision. The acoustic
organ of worms and insects is unknown; and it is not by any means
ascertained that these creatures ever hear.[66] If they possess the
faculty of smelling, in them it must be a very exquisite sense, beyond
any delicacy we can comprehend. Thus, excluding human means of
comprehension, which appear inadequate, we more reasonably conclude them
to be endowed with intelligences for effecting intentions, of which we
have no perception, and which we have no capacity for defining. The
contemplative man finds pleasure in viewing the ways and artifices of
creatures to accomplish a purpose, though he knows not the directing
means; and it fortifies the convictions of the believer, by giving him
fresh evidences of the universal superintendence of his Maker, that even
the slug and the snail, which are arranged so low in the scale of
creation, are yet, equally with all, the object of his benevolence and
care.
Connected with this subject of snails, a circumstance that took place in
this neighborhood is brought to my remembrance, which discovered yet
latent in a few of us, notwithstanding our boasted enlightenment, some
leaven of the superstition of darker ages; and that any occurrence, not
the event of every coming day, may be made a subject of wonder by the
ignorant, and a means for the artful to deceive the credulous. A little
banded snail (helix virgata) is a very common species on most of our
arid, maritime pastures, and the sheep-downs of many inland places. It
happened, from some unknown cause, that those inhabiting a dry field in
an adjoining parish were in one season, a few years ago, greatly
increased, so as to become an object of notice to a few, then to more,
till at length this accumulation was noised about as a supernatural
event. The field was visited by hundreds daily from neighboring villages
and distant towns. People who could not attend purchased the snails at a
half-penny each; and there were persons who made five shillings a day by
the sale of them. As this increase of the creature was not certainly to
be accounted for, some had the impudence to assert that they had
witnessed their fall from the clouds; and many declared their belief
that some great public or private misfortune was indicated by it. The
proprietor of the field being supposed not to maintain the same
sentiments as the commonalty upon a political circumstance, which at
that moment greatly agitated the country, it was considered as a
manifestation of heavenly displeasure, precursive of malady, misfortune,
death. However, autumn came, these snails retired to their holes in the
banks, and the worthy man lived on,—and long may he live, esteemed and
respected by all, unscathed by snails or misfortunes.
Little obnoxious to injury as this garden snail appears to be, there is
another creature, and that a very important one in the operations of
nature, that is surrounded by dangers, harassed, pursued unceasingly,
and becomes the prey of all: the common earth-worm (lumbricus
terrestris). This animal, destined to be the natural manurer of the
soil, and the ready indicator of an improved staple, consumes on the
surface of the ground, where they soon would be injurious, the softer
parts of decayed vegetable matters, and conveys into the soil the more
woody fibres, where they moulder, and become reduced to a simple
nutriment, fitting for living vegetation. The parts consumed by them are
soon returned to the surface, whence, dissolved by frosts, and scattered
by rains they circulate again in the plants of the soil,
“Death still producing life.”
Thus eminently serviceable as the worm is, it yet becomes the prey of
various orders of the animal creation, and perhaps is a solitary example
of an individual race being subjected to universal destruction. The very
emmet seizes it when disabled, and bears it away as its prize: it
constitutes throughout the year the food of many birds; fishes devour it
greedily; the hedgehog eats it; the mole pursues it unceasingly in the
pastures, along the moist bottoms of ditches, and burrows after it
through the banks of hedges, to which it retires in dry seasons: secured
as the worm appears to be by its residence in the earth from the capture
of creatures inhabiting a different element, yet many aquatic animals
seem well acquainted with it, and prey on it as a natural food, whenever
it falls in their way; frogs eat it; and even the great water-beetle
(ditiscus marginalis) I have known to seize it when the bait of the
angler, and it has been drawn up by the hook. Yet notwithstanding this
prodigious destruction of the animal, its increase is fully commensurate
to its consumption, as if ordained the appointed food of all; and
Reaumur computes, though from what data it is difficult to conjecture,
that the number of worms lodged in the bosom of the earth exceeds that
of the grains of all kinds of corn collected by man.
Worms, generally speaking, are tender creatures, and water remaining
over their haunts for a few days drowns them; they easily become frozen,
when a mortification commences at some part, which gradually consumes
the whole substance, and we find them on the surface a mucilaginous
mass: and their retiring deeper in the soil is no bad indication of
approaching cold weather; but no sooner is the frost out of the earth,
than they approach the surface to feed on decayed vegetable matter.
Greatly beneficial as these creatures are, by drawing leaves and decayed
matters into the earth, where their dissolution is accomplished, yet
they are sad tormentors to us gardeners, and occasion the loss of more
young plants than even the slug, by drawing in the leaf, which throws
out the root; so that in the morning we find our nursling inverted. It
is the same propensity, or ordination, for removing decayed matters,
that influences them in these actions; as they are the faded leaves that
are seized by them, such as newly removed plants present before the root
draws nutriment from the earth. Even stones of some magnitude are at
times drawn over their holes. The horticulturist perhaps encounters more
mortification and disappointment than any other laborer upon the earth
from insects, elementary severity, the slug, and the worm; yet, if the
depredations of this last creature do at times excite a little of our
irascibility, we must still remember the nightly labors, and extensive
services, that are performed for the agriculturist by this scavenger of
the earth, and manurer of the soil.
Besides, worms are essentially useful in draining our lands from
superfluous moisture, which in many cases, without their agency, would
be detained upon or near the surface of the earth, chilling and
deteriorating our pastures. A few inches of soil, resting upon a
substratum of clay, would commonly, without some natural or artificial
drainage, be soaked with water after heavy rains, and thus become a bog,
or produce coarse water herbage rather than good grasses; but these
worms greatly facilitate the passage of the water by draining
horizontally along the bed of clay, and aid the emission of the water by
this means, as I have often observed in the trenches, which we cut in
our retentive soils, numerous worm-casts on their sides a few days after
they had been made, being the exits of the horizontal runs, and through
these the water drains into the trenches, and runs off. I do not assert
the water would not in any case be discharged without the agency of
worms; but that the passages which they make expedite it, which, in
situations where the operation would be subjected to delay from the
position of the ground, or the under stratum, is of infinite advantage.
Thus the soil is not only rendered firm, allowing the admission of
cattle, but the good herbage, which the long residence of water would
vitiate or destroy, is saved from injury, and the aquatic and useless
plants starved or checked in their growth; but after great gluts of
rain, when the supply of water is greater than can be speedily carried
off, it becomes stagnant, and those worms, which cannot burrow beyond
its influence, soon perish, and we lose the benefit of these very
beneficial creatures. Drainage is therefore one of the most important
operations in our agricultural concerns. As by irrigation we turn a
quantity of nutritive water over our lands, or by reason of its higher
temperature foster the growth of grasses; so, by draining cold and
superfluous moisture off, we promote the growth of valuable vegetation.
I would advocate the cause of all creatures, had I the privilege of
knowing the excellency of them; not willingly assigning vague and
fanciful claims to excite wonder, or manifest a base pride by any vaunt
of superior observation; but when we see, blind as we are, that all
things are formed in justice, mercy, truth, I would tell my tale as a
man, glorying as a Christian, and bless the gracious power that
permitted me to obtain this knowledge.