CHAPTER III.

Now, which of our five senses, I would ask—even if developed into extraordinary acuteness in the insect—would account for such an exhibition of clairvoyance as this?

May not, then, this undiscovered sense, whatever may be its nature, reside in the antennæ? for it is a remarkable fact, that the very moths, such as the Eggers, the Emperor, the Kentish Glory, &c., which display the above-mentioned phenomenon most signally, have theantennæ in the malesamplified with numerous spreading branches, so as to present an unusually large sensitive surface. This seems to point to some connexion between those organs and the faculty of discovering the presence, and even the condition, of one of their own race, with more, perhaps, than a mile of distance, and the sides of a wooden box, intervening between themselves and their object.

Whilst writing this, the current number of the "Entomologist's Weekly Intelligencer" has arrived, and I there read that Dr. Clemmens, an American naturalist, has been lately experimenting on the antennæ of some large American moths, for the purpose of gaining some information as to their function. The article, though very interesting, is too long for quotation here; but it appears that with the moths in question, a deprivation of the whole, or even part of the antennæ, interferes with, or entirely annihilates the powerof flight, so that the creature when thus shorn, but not otherwise injured, if thrown into the air seems to have no idea of using his wings properly, but with a purposeless flutter tumbles headlong to the earth. Still this merely goes to prove that the antennæ are the instruments of some important sense, one of whose uses is to guide the creature's flight; but as many wingless insects have large antennæ, this evidently is not their only function.

The antennæ are also often styled the "feelers;" but with our present incomplete knowledge of their nature, the former term is preferable, as it does not attempt to define their use as the word "feelers" does.

Considerable variety of form exists in the clubbed tip of the antennæ in various butterflies, as will be seen by reference toPlate II., where three of the most distinct forms are shown considerably magnified. Fig. 12 is the upper part of the antenna of the High-brown Fritillary (Argynnis Adippe), the end suddenly swelling into a distinct knob. Fig. 13 is that of the Swallow-tail Butterfly (Papilio Machaon), the enlargement here being more gradual; and fig. 14 is that of the Large Skipper Butterfly (Pamphila Sylvanus), distinguished by the curved point that surmounts the club. These differences in the forms of the antennæ are found to be excellent aids in the classification of butterflies, and I shall therefore have occasion to refer to them more minutely in describing the insects in detail.

The stems of these organs are found to be tubular,and at the point of junction with the head the base is spread out (as shown at fig. 15), forming what engineers call a "flange," to afford sufficient support for the long column above.

Thelegsare the last portions of the butterfly framework that require especial notice, on account of a peculiar variation they are subject to in different family groups.

It may be laid down as an axiom, thatall true insects have six legs, in one shape or another; and butterflies, being insects, are obedient to the same universal rule, and duly grow their half-dozen legs; but in certain tribes the front pair, for no apparent reason, are so short and imperfect as to be totally useless for walking purposes, though they may possibly be used as hands for polishing up the proboscis, &c. So the butterfly in this caseappears, to a hasty observer, to have onlyfourlegs.

This peculiarity is a constant feature in several natural groups of butterflies, and therefore, in conjunction with other marks, such as the veining of the wings and the shape of the antennæ, its presence or absence is a most useful mark of distinction, in classifying or searching out the name and systematic place of a butterfly.

WHAT BUTTERFLIES NEVER DO—GROUNDLESS TERROR—A MISTAKE—USES OF BUTTERFLIES—MORAL OF BUTTERFLY LIFE—PSYCHE—THE BUTTERFLY AN EMBLEM OF THE SOUL—THE ARTIST AND THE BUTTERFLY.

Among thenegativeattributes of butterflies, I may state positively, thatno butterfly whatever can either sting or bite in the least degree; and from their total harmlessness towards the person of man, conjoined with their outward attractiveness, they merit and enjoy an exemption from those feelings of dread and disgust that attach to many, or, I may say, to almost all other tribes of insects; even to their equally harmless near relatives the larger moths. At least, it has never been my misfortune to meet with a person weak-minded enough to be afraid of a butterfly, though I have seen some exhibit symptoms of the greatest terror at the proximity of a large Hawk-moth, and some of the thick-bodied common moths—"Match-owlets," the country folk call them.

Once, also, I listened to the grave recital—by a classical scholar too—of a murderous onslaught made by a Privet Hawk-moth on the neck of a lady, and how it "bit a piece clean out." Of course I attempted to prove, by what seemed to me very fair logic, that themoth, having neither teeth nor even any mouth capable of opening, but only a weak hollow tongue to suck honey through, was utterly incapable of biting or inflicting any wound whatever. But, as is usual in such cases, my entomological theory went for nothing in face of the gentleman's knock-down battery offacts—ocularfacts; he hadseenthemoth, and he hadseenthewound: surely, there was proof enough for me, or any one else. So, I suppose, he steadfastly believes to this day, that the moth was a truculent, bloodthirsty monster; whilst I still presume to believe, that if any wound was caused at the moment in question, it was by the nails of the lady attacked, or her friends, in clutching frantically at the terrific intruder; who, poor fellow, might have been pardoned for mistaking the fair neck for one of his favourite flowers (alily, perhaps), while the utmost harm he contemplated was to pilfer a sip of nectar from the lips he doubtless took for rosebuds.

Utilitarians may, perhaps, inquire theusesof butterflies—what they do, make, or can be sold for; and I must confess that my little favourites neither make anything to wear, like the silkworm, nor anything to eat, like the honey-bee, nor are their bodies saleable by the ton, like the cochineal insects, and that, commercially speaking, they are just worth nothing at all, excepting the few paltry pence or shillings that the dealer gets for their little dried bodies occasionally; so they are of no more use than poetry, painting, and music—than flowers, rainbows, and all suchunbusinesslike things. In fact, I have nothing to say in the butterfly's favour, except that it is a joy to the deep-minded and to the simple-hearted, to the sage, and, still better, to the child—that it gives an earnest of a better world, not vaguely and generally, as does every "thing of beauty," but with clearest aim and purpose, through one of the most strikingly perfect and beautiful analogies that we can find throughout that vast Creation, where—

"All animals are living hieroglyphs."[5]

The butterfly, then, in its own progressive stages of caterpillar, chrysalis, and perfect insect, is an emblem of the human soul's progress through earthly life and death, to heavenly life.

Even the ancient Greeks, with their imperfect lights, recognised this truth, when they gave the same name, Psyche (Ψυχή), to the soul, or spirit of life, and to the butterfly, and sculptured over the effigy of one dead the figure of a butterfly, floating away, as it were, in his breath; while poets of all nations have since followed up the simile.

And this analogy is not only a mere general resemblance, but holds good through its minute details to a marvellous extent; to trace which fully would require volumes, while in this place the slightest sketch only can be given.

First, there is the grovelling caterpillar-state,emblematical of our present imperfection, but yet the state of preparation and increase towards perfection, and that, too, which largely influences the future existence.

Many troubles and changes are the lot of the caterpillar. Repeated skin-shiftings and ceaseless industry in his vocation are necessary, that within his set time he may attain full growth and vigour.

Then comes a mighty change: the caterpillar is to exchange his worm-like form and nature for an existence unspeakably higher and better. But, as we have seen, to arrive at this glory there is only one condition, which is, that the creature must pass through another, and, as it might seem, a gloomy state—one anything but cheerful to contemplate; for it must cease to eat, to move, and—to the eye—to live. Yet, is it really dead now, or do we, who have watched the creature thus far, despair and call it lost? Do we not rather rejoice that it rests from its labours, and that the period of its glorification is at hand?

In the silent chrysalis state then ourPsychesleeps away awhile, unaffected by the vicissitudes around it; and, at last, when its appointed day arrives, bursts from its cerements, and rises in the air a winged and joyous being, to meet the sun which warmed it into new life. Now it is abutterfly,—bright emblem of pleasure unalloyed.

This happy consummation, however, is only for the chrysalis which has not within it the devouring worm, the fruit of the ichneumon's egg, harboured during thecaterpillar state—and emblem, in the human soul, of some deadly sin yielded to during life, and which afterwards becomes the gnawing "worm that dieth not." For in this case, instead of the bright butterfly, there issues forth from the chrysalis-shell only a swarm of black, ill-favoured flies, like a troop of evil spirits coming from their feast on a fallen soul.

If a caterpillar were gifted with a foreknowledge of his butterfly future, so far transcending his inglorious present, we could imagine that he would be only impatient to get through his caterpillar duties, and rejoice to enter the chrysalis state as soon as he was fitted for it. How short-sighted then would a caterpillar appear who should endeavour, while in that shape, to emulate the splendour of the butterfly by some wretched temporary substitute, adding a few more, or brighter stripes than nature had given it; or, again, if one whose great change was drawing near, should attempt to conceal its visible approach by painting over the fading hues of health, and plastering up the wrinkles of its outward covering, so soon to be thrown off altogether; instead of striving for inward strength and beauty, which would never decline, but be infinitely expanded in the butterfly—and regarding the earthly beauty's wane as the dawn of the celestial.

VI.

With these and similar reflections before us (which might be multipliedad infinitum), we shall no longer look upon the caterpillar as a mere unsightly and troublesome reptile, the chrysalis as an unintelligible curiosity, and the butterfly as a pretty painted thing and nothing more; but regard them astogetherforming one of those beautiful and striking illustrations with which the book of Nature has been so profusely enriched by itsGreat Author; not to be taken assubstitutesfor His revealed Word, but as harmonious adjuncts, bringing its great truths more home to our understandings, just as the engravings in a book are not designed as substitutes for the text, but to elucidate and strengthen the ideas in the reader's mind.

While the poet draws from the butterfly many a pleasant similitude, and the moralist many a solemn teaching, the artist (who should be poet and moralist too) dwells upon these beings with fondest delight, finding in them images of joy and life when seen at large in the landscape, and rich stores of colour-lessons when studied at home in the cabinet.

The owners of many a name great in the arts have been enthusiastic collectors of butterflies. Our distinguished countryman, Thomas Stothard, was one of their devotees, and the following anecdote, extracted from his published life, shows how he was led to make them his special study:—

"He was beginning to paint the figure of a reclining sylph, when a difficulty arose in his own mind how best to represent such a being of fancy. A friend who was present said, 'Give the sylph a butterfly's wing, and then you have it.' 'That I will,' exclaimed Stothard; 'and to be correct I will paint the wingfrom the butterfly itself.' He sallied forth, extended his walk to the fields, some miles distant, and caught one of those beautiful insects; it was of the species called the Peacock. Our artist brought it carefully home, and commenced sketching it, but not in the painting room; and leaving it on the table, a servant swept the pretty little creature away, before its portrait was finished. On learning his loss, away went Stothard once more to the fields to seek another butterfly. But at this time one of the tortoise-shell tribe crossed his path, and was secured. He was astonished at the combination of colour that presented itself to him in this small but exquisite work of the Creator, and from that moment determined to enter on a new and difficult field—the study of the insect department of Natural History. He became a hunter of butterflies. The more he caught, the greater beauty did he trace in their infinite variety, and he would often say that no one knew what he owed to these insects—they had taught him the finest combinations in that difficult branch of art—colouring."

The above doubtless has its parallel in the experience of many artistic minds, whose very nature it is to appreciate to the full the perfections set forth in a butterfly, admiring—

"The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,The silken down with which his back is dight,His broad outstretched horns, his airy thigh,His glorious colours and his glistening eye."Spenser.

"The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,

The silken down with which his back is dight,

His broad outstretched horns, his airy thigh,

His glorious colours and his glistening eye."

Spenser.

BUTTERFLIES IN THE CABINET—HOW TO CATCH THEM—APPARATUS—GOING OUT—WEATHER—LOCALITIES—LOCAL BUTTERFLIES—INCOGNITOS—FIELD WORK—FAVOURITE STATIONS—BEWARE OF THE BRAMBLE.

The mention of butterflies "in the cabinet" leads at once to the question, how to get them there; or, in other words,How to catch a Butterfly.

This is a question often less difficult to answer in words than in action, for many of our butterflies are gifted not only with strong prejudices against the inside of a net, but with very strong powers of escaping from that unpleasant situation. Still, by aid of proper apparatus, a sure eye and hand, and often, of a good pair of legs, there is no butterfly, however fleet and wary, that we may not feel ourselves a tolerable match for.

Firstly, then, as to the out-door apparatus required.

This is simple enough, anetandpocket-boxes, with a fewpins, being the only essentials.[6]

Variously constructed nets are used, according to fancy, but the choice may lie between two chief forms: theClap-netand theRing-net.

Nets.

The former certainly gives more power in a fair chase, but the latter has the advantage of being thelighter, more portable, and less conspicuous of the two. Both of these instruments are shown in the accompanying figures.

The clap-net (fig. 1) usually has the sticks that compose the framework made each in three separate pieces, joined by ferrules—a couple of light fishing-rods will do excellently, a piece of bent cane being substituted for the top joint. The manner in which the gauze is extended between, and fitted on, these rods will be sufficiently obvious on looking at the cut, which represents the net half open. In taking an insect, one handle is held in each hand, the net opened wide, and thrown over, or made to intercept the insect, when, by suddenly closing the handles together, a closed bag is made, and the little prisoner is secured.

Frame for a ring-net.

The ring-net (fig. 2), which is the implement most generally in vogue, may be constructed in several ways. The cheapest, and at the same time a highly serviceable one, is made by getting from a tinman a tin "socket" of this form, the larger end fitting on to the end of a straight stick, and the two smaller tubes receiving the ends of a hoop of cane, which carries the net, it being passed through a loose hem round the top of the latter. The cane, taken out of the socket, can be rolled up closely with the net and carried in the pocket to the scene of action, while the handle may be a strong common walking-stick, amost useful auxiliary in getting across country, and thus this net becomes really no incumbrance to the tourist, who may have other matters in hand besides butterfly hunting—perhaps sketching and botanizing—when the larger clap-net becomes quite embarrassing.

Another form of this net has the ring made ofmetal, andjointedin several places, so as to fold within a small pocketable compass, and arranged to screw into a brass socket on the top of the stick. This is a very commendable net—not so easily home-made as the last, certainly, but it can be readily procured complete from the London dealers (or "naturalists," as they style themselves).

A net that has been a good deal used of late opens and shuts on the umbrella principle, and with the same celerity, forming a ring-net when open—when shut going into a case like that of an umbrella.

Some entomologists, nervously sensitive to public opinion, are, however, somewhat shy of sporting these umbrella nets, for should rain perchance come down while he is on the road, the villagers may be astonished at the insane spectacle of a man scuttling along through the torrent and getting drenched through, while he carries a good-looking umbrella carefully under his arm for fear it should get wet; and if, on the other hand, the weather be fine, the carrying such a protective would seem an equally eccentric whim. But only theverythin-skinned would be driven from the use of a good weapon by such a harmless contingency as I have here supposed.

Other necessary equipments for the fly-catcher are two or threelight wooden boxes, as large as can conveniently be carried in the pockets, and having either the bottom, or, if deep enough, both bottom and top lined with a layer ofcork, about one-eighth of an inch in thickness.

A pin-cushion, well furnished withentomological pins, should also be carried, and will be found to be most accessible when suspended by a loop and button (or otherwise) inside the breast of the coat.

The pins here mentioned, which are an important item among butterfly-collecting requisites, are of a peculiar manufacture—very small-headed, long and thin, but strong. Any good London dealer will supply them on application, or send them by post into the country.

Armed with the above simpleparaphernalia, viz. net to catch, boxes and pins to contain and detain, the insect hunter may sally forth on any fine summer's day, with a pretty sure prospect of sport, and the chance, at least, of a prize. Much depends, however, on the choice of a day, and the nature of the locality that is to form the hunting ground.

As to weather, it must be remembered that winged insects have a great objection to face a north, or north-east wind, during the prevalence of which you will probably find hardly one stirring, however prolific the locality may at other times be.

Butterflies, as a rule, do not appear to be at allinfluenced by an eye for the picturesque and romantic in the choice of their favourite haunts. Often have I been disappointed in this way, finding a delicious spot, basking in sunshine, and bedight with all manner of flowers such as a butterfly loves, yet with scarcely a stray butterfly to enliven it; while, on the other hand, a piece of the most unpromising flat waste land will be all alive with insect beauty. Those, for example, who would see those splendid creatures, the Swallow-tail butterfly and the large Copper (if this exists with us at all now), must go to the dreary fen districts that form their almost exclusive haunts.

It is, in fact, very hard to say what influences bring a swarm of butterflies together, to populate one particular spot, to the utter neglect of others close at hand, and, to all appearance, just as eligible.

Some species are most remarkable for their excessivelocalness(as it is called), or, limiting their range to an exceedingly small circumscribed space; so much so, that some rare species have been known to haunt just one corner of one particular field, year after year, while not a single specimen could be found in all the neighbouring fields, though precisely similar, to all appearance. This phenomenon is quite inexplicable with regard to insects endowed so pre-eminently with locomotive powers as butterflies are.

The local nature of his game should, however, induce the collector to leave no nook or corner unexplored when he is "working" a district; as the passing over (or rather, neglecting topass over) a single field may lose him the very species it would joy him most to find.

VII.

I would also advise the beginner—and, indeed, all but the very experienced hands—to catch, not necessarily for slaughter, but for inspection, every attainable individual whose species he cannot positively declare to when on the wing, lest he pass by some rarities unawares. Thus the valued Queen of Spain, and the much-disputedDiaFritillaries, theMelitæas, the Brown Hair-streak, and (on the mountains) the rareErebias, perhaps some new to this country,—any of these might be mistaken by a novice for some of the commoner brown species. Among the "Whites," too, the Black-veined White, that great prize, the Bath White, and the white varieties of the Clouded Yellow and Clouded Sulphur, might share the same fate, or fortune rather, of being reckoned as "Cabbage Whites."

Then, with the "Blues." Who is there that could at once distinguish with certainty the very rare Mazarine Blue (P. Acis) from the common Blues when on the wing? Perhaps it would turn out to be less rare than supposed, if all the Blues in a fresh locality were netted as they came near, and set at liberty after passing muster.

Why, only last season a very curious Blue,[7]never before observed in this country, was captured nearBrighton by a collector, who, at the moment, thought it was only a Common Blue, so precisely similar did it look when flying.

As to the manipulation of the net, it will be better to leave the young collector to find that out for himself, which, if he has the use of his hands, he will quickly do when he gets into the field. He will soon perceive that with most of the swifter butterflies, it is of no use to make a rush at them. A surprise answers better than a charge; for they easily take alarm at open violence, and then go off straight ahead at a pace that renders pursuit, over bad ground especially, most trying, if not hopeless work. So the "suaviter in modo" principle is best here as elsewhere:—gently follow up and watch your butterfly till he pauses over or settles upon a flower, or whatever it may be; then, with caution, you can generally come within striking distance without giving alarm, and one vigorous, well-aimed stroke usually settles the matter; if, after that, he is outside of your net instead of in, you will find it a difficult matter to get another chance, at least, with most of the larger and strong-flying kinds. But there is much diversity of disposition among these creatures, and some are unscared by repeated attacks. These points of character the collector will soon learn when he has been among these lively little people for a season.

The different species have also their own favourite positions, on which they delight to perch.

Thus the Clouded Yellow loves the low flowers ofthe railway-bank and the down; often seen toying with a breeze-rocked flower as yellow-coated as himself, as though he had mistaken it, in its fluttering, for one of his mates.

Then the Peacock and Red Admiral are attached to several plants of the composite order, such as the thistles, teazle, and above all (as far as I have observed), to that fine, stalwart plant that frequently abounds in thickets, &c., and known as Hemp Agrimony (Eupatorium cannabinum). I seldom, at the proper season, visit a clump of this growing in a sunny opening, without finding, besides a store of other insects, one or both of these grand butterflies enthroned on the ample purplish flower-heads, andfanningtheir gorgeous wings, after the custom of their genus, then launching into the air, and, after a few circling evolutions in that element, returning to the self-same flower-heads, their chosen seats.

Both of these flies are easily captured when in this position, as they allow a near approach, and can be without hindrance swept off by a rapid side-stroke of the net.

The glorious Purple Emperor is celebrated for his predilection for a throne on the oak, though some other lofty trees, such as the ash, are occasionally honoured by the imperial presence; but his habits andlocalewill be referred to more particularly hereafter.

That lovely butterfly, the Silver-washed Fritillary, has apenchantfor settling on the bramble, whichjustifies the preference by proving itself the insect's best friend; but withal a most provoking opponent to his would-be captor, who may get him safely within the net's mouth at the first stroke, when, ten to one, the trusty bramble-hooks clutch into the gauze, and effectually prevent the quick turn of the net that should close it, while the prisoner, seeing his chance, darts out with a sharp rustle that one's irritated feelings easily interpret into a derisive laugh.

But experience will in time teach the fly-catcher the required adroitness to avoid this humiliating defeat.

HOW TO KILL A BUTTERFLY—AN APOLOGY—A TEST FOR LUNACY—CHARGE OF CRUELTY AGAINST ENTOMOLOGISTS—THEIR JUSTIFICATION ATTEMPTED—PAINLESS DEATH—CHLOROFORM—SETTING BUTTERFLIES—CABINETS AND STORE BOXES—CLASSIFICATION—LATIN NAMES—SAVING TIME AND MONEY.

Having complied with the old adage, "First catch your hare," the next point naturally is—how to cook it. So, having caught our butterfly, what are we to do with him?—a question that generally resolves itself firstly into

HOW TO KILL A BUTTERFLY.

This truculent sentence may, I fear, look like a blot on the page to some tender-hearted reader, and, in truth, this killing business is the one shadow on the otherwise sunshiny picture, which we would all gladly leave out, were it possible to preserve a butterfly's beauty alive; but this cannot be done, and yet we have made up our minds to possess that beauty—to collect butterflies, in short; there is but one way for it, and so a butterfly's pleasure must be shortened for a fewdays, to add to our pleasure and instruction, perhaps for years after.

In the time of the great Ray, in such mean repute was the science of entomology held, mainly, I believe, on account of thesmall sizeof its objects, that an action at law was brought to set aside the will of an estimable woman, Lady Glanville, on the ground ofinsanity, the only symptom of which that they could bring forward in evidence was herfondness for collecting insects!

But this was some two centuries ago, and matters have greatly mended for the entomologist since then. Now he may collect butterflies, or other flies, as he pleases, without bringing down a commission "de lunatico" on hishead, but still the goodness of hisheartis sometimes called in question, and he has to encounter the equally obnoxious charge ofcrueltyto the objects of his admiration—that, too, from intelligent and worthy friends, whose good opinion he would most unwillingly forfeit.

He, therefore, is naturally most anxious that those friends should be led to share his own conviction, that the pursuit of entomology—the needful butterfly killing and all included—may be not only not cruel, but actually beneficent in theory and practice.

So I will briefly try to act as apologist for the "brotherhood of the net," myself included.

In the first place, I will state roundly my sincere belief thatinsects cannot feel pain. This is no special pleading, or "making the wish the father to the thought,"but a conviction founded on an ample mass of evidence, on my own observations and experiments, and strengthened by analogical reasoning. I wish I had space to lay this evidence in full before the reader; but this being here impracticable, I will not damage the argument by taking a few links out of a chain of facts which depend on their close connexion with each other for their strength and value.

There is, however, one fact which may be taken by itself, and goes a long way in our favour, that I must mention here.

Insects, when mutilated in a way that would cause excessive pain and speedy death to vertebrate animals, afterwards perform all the functions of life—eating, drinking, &c. with the same evidentgustoand power of enjoyment as before. Plenty of striking instances of this are on record, and, as an example, I have seen a wasp that had been snipped in two, afterwards regale himself with avidity upon some red syrup, which, as he imbibed, gathered into a large ruby bead just behind the wings (where the stomach should have been); but really the creature's pleasure seemed to be only augmented by the change in his anatomy, because he could drink ten times his ordinary fill of sweets, without, of course, getting any the fuller. I could almost fancy a scientific epicure envying the insect his ever fresh appetite and gastronomic capabilities.

After all that can be said on this subject, there will still probably be misgivings in the mind of many, bothas to the question of insect feelings and also as to our right to shorten their existence, even by a painless death.

As to the first point, we have now the means of giving any insect an utterly painless quietus, be it capable of feeling pain or no.

In regard to the second, I think few will deny that man enjoys a vested right to make use of any of the inferior animals, even to the taking of their life, if the so doing ministers to his own well-being or pleasure, and practically every one assumes this right in one way or another. Game animals are shot down (and they assuredlydofeel pain), not as necessaries of life, but confessedly as luxuries. Fish are hooked, crabs, lobsters, shrimps perish by thousands, victims to our fancies. Unscrupulously we destroy every insect whose presence displeases us, harmless as they may be to our own persons. Theaphideson our flowers, the moths in our furs, the "beetles" in our kitchens—all die by thousands at our pleasure. Then, if all this be right, are we not also justified in appropriating a little butterfly life to ourselves, and does not the mental feast that their after-death beauty affords us at least furnish an equal excuse for their sacrifice with any that can be urged in favour of any animal slaughter, just to tickle the palate or minister to our grosser appetites? To this query there can be, I think, but one fair answer, so we may return with a better face to the question, "How to kill a butterfly."

VIII.

I have alluded above to a painless mode of doing so, doubtless applicable to all insects. I know it answers admirably with the large moths, so tenacious of life under other circumstances. This potent agent ischloroform, whose pain-quelling properties are so well known as regards the human constitution.

There is a little apparatus[8]constructed for carrying this fluid safely to the field, and letting out a drop at a time into the box with the captured insect, taking care that the drop does not go on to the insect. Or a wide-mouthed bottle may be used, having at the bottom a pad of blotting-paper, or some absorbent substance, on which a few drops of chloroform may now and then be dropped. The insect being slipped into this, and the stopper or hand being placed over the bottle's mouth, insensibility (in the insect) follows immediately, and in a few minutes, at most, it is completely lifeless.

But the usual and quickest mode of despatch is bya quick nip between the finger and thumb applied just under the wings, causing, for the most part,instantaneous death: and this can be done through the net, when theinclosed butterfly shuts his wings, as he usually does when the net wraps round him.

Now take one of your thin pins, and pass it through the thorax of the butterfly, while open or shut, and put it into the corked lining of your pocket-box. So secured, the butterfly will travel uninjured till you reach home; but a heap of dead butterflies in a box together will, in the course of a long walk, so jostle together, as to entirely destroy each other's beauty, rubbing off all their painted scales, when, of course, they are as butterflies no longer.

When you get home, take out all the pins, excepting such as may be stuckperpendicularlythrough themiddle of the thorax, and as soon as possible proceed to "set" your captures.

Setting-board.

Preparatory to this, some articles calledsetting-boardsmust be provided. A section of one of these is shown in the accompanying cut; but in reality they are made much longer, so as to accommodate a column of half-a-dozen butterflies or more: the breadth may vary,according to the width of the butterflies that are to be set thereon.

The bottom is usually a thin slip of deal, on which are glued two strips of cork, bevelled off towards the edges, with a slightly curved face. Sometimes, however, the whole board is made of soft pine, with a groove planed down the middle, and with care will answer pretty well; but the corked board is far preferable.

The mode of "setting" the insect with card "braces" transfixed with pins, which retain the wings in their proper position, will be also readily seen by reference to the figure.

A great point in "setting" is to take care that all the wings are symmetrically arranged, or diverging from the body at equal angles on each side. Let theantennæalso be carefully preserved, as on their integrity much of the specimen's value depends.

It will be needless to say that any handling of thewingsis to be avoided, as a touch will sometimes destroy their bloom.

The setting-board, when filled, should be put away into a secure, dust-proof, and dry place; and in a few days, more or less, according to the dryness or otherwise of the atmosphere, the butterflies will have dried and set in their positions, and are then ready for transference to the store-box or cabinet.

The choice of this receptacle is a serious question for the beginner, who is often in want of a guide to the judicious expenditure of his money, if money he meansto spend in this pursuit. To preserve insects, it isnotabsolutely necessary to have either a cabinet or the regularly-made store-boxes; for, with a little contrivance, any close-shutting, shallow box may be extemporized into a store-box. The bottom may either be lined with sheet-cork (such as is used by shoemakers)—which, however, is a rather dear commodity—or common wine-corks may be sliced up, and cut into little square patches that may be attached in straight rows to the bottom of the box with strong gum or other cement. The first specimens, the nucleus of the future great collection, can be kept here well enough, till a real cabinet can be compassed.

A cabinet, however, need not be bought all at once; it may be arranged to grow with the collection—and, it may be, with the collector too—by having one or two drawers made at a time; till, in course of time, a sufficient number is obtained, when the whole may be fitted into a case at a small additional expense, and then there is a first-rate cabinet complete; for, to make this plan really advantageous, the drawers should be well made and of good material. Of course, all the drawers must be made to the same "gauge," to insure perfect fitting when the cabinet is made up.

These drawers may be made by any clever joiner, but as their construction is peculiar, and not easily described, it is necessary, either that the maker should be accustomed to this speciality, or that he be furnished with a pattern, either by buying a single drawer at a dealer's,where that can be done, by borrowing one out of a friend's cabinet, or by making therefrom a good working drawing (in section, &c.).

The glasses which cover in the drawers should always have separate frames for the more perfect exclusion of dust and mites.

Well seasoned mahogany or deal may be the material for the drawers, but on no account let them be of cedar, a material often used by ignorant or unprincipled makers, to the great detriment of the collection, and mortification of the collector, as resinous matter after a short time exudes from the pores of this wood, dropping down on to the glasses below in a gummy shower, and the effluvium seems to condense upon the contained insects, whose wings are gradually discoloured and disfigured by greasy looking blotches. The drawers are lined at bottom with cork, covered withpure whitepaper, which should be attached withthinpaste.

The butterflies are then to be arranged in the drawers in perpendicular columns, and in accordance with some system of classification. If there be room it is well to have a considerable number of specimens of each species, especially when it is one liable to much variation. At least one of each sex should always be given, and also one of each sex showing theundersurface. When the chrysalis can be procured, that also should be pinned down with its fellow-butterfly, and a good coloured drawing of each caterpillar would be a valuable addition to the series. Between the columns, lines should beruled varying in distance according to the breadth of the butterflies, and small labels should be pinned down at the foot of each species giving itsspecificname; the name of the genus being placed at the head of thefirstspecies of the genus. The names of the families and sub-families under which thegeneraare classed are also generally given in their respective places.

I have in this little work followed the system of classification used in thepubliccollection of British butterflies at the British Museum, which seemed to me more intelligible and natural when applied to our very limited number of butterflies, than did the system of Doubleday adopted in the great world-wide collection which exists in the private entomological room of the British Museum.

The following table gives the first-mentioned arrangement of all the British species under their respective genera, sub-families, and families. The most authentic of thereputedspecies are also here inserted in their proper places.

It will be seen by the above list that seventy species are given as British. Of these, five species, viz.Papilio Podalirius,Erebia Ligea,Argynnis Dia,Chrysophanus Chryseis, andPolyommatus Bœticus, have been so rarely taken as to be refused a place among theregulardenizens of our island. So that we can only reckon up the small number ofsixty-five species of true British butterflies.

These it now remains to describe individually, but, prior to entering on that task, I would say a few wordson the acquirement of scientific nomenclature and systematic arrangement, a knowledge of which will facilitate even our recreations in natural history, while it is absolutely essential to carrying out the really scientific study of any department.

It is true, that the painting of a butterfly and the fragrance of a flower can give deep pleasure to a mind quite unconscious of their Latin names, their genus, order, or anything of the kind; but the interest of natural objects is, I am sure, greatly augmented when we acquire some insight, however dimly, into the wonderful mechanism of creation's plan, its infinite gradation of forms, and their curious, subtle relationships, to which agoodsystem of classification serves, in some degree, as an index. I say, "in some degree," as a system framed in perfect accordance with that of nature is a discovery rather to be desired than hoped for, with the limited knowledge at present permitted to us.

Though these Latin names are generally considered as unwelcome excrescences on the pages ofpopularnatural history works, I would yet advise the young entomologist to master them for once, and accustom himself well to their use. He will not find the task a very difficult one, if I may judge from the repeated instances in which I have heard the almost infantile progeny of my naturalist friends glibly mouthing these redoubtable words, and applying them with the most precise accuracy.

Among collectors it is customary in familiarconversation to use only the second, orspecificname of the insect's Latin title; thus, in speaking of the common Swallow-tailed Butterfly, they call it "Machaon" only, which at once distinguishes the one they mean from the other, or scarce Swallow-tailed Butterfly, which they would speak of as "Podalirius." The Pearl-bordered Likeness Fritillary may be called "Athalia," and so on. I think it will be allowed that these Latin names are not harder to learn, remember, or pronounce, than the long-winded English titles; and, when acquired, bring their possessor the advantage of being able to converse with precision on their subject with all naturalists, whether British or Continental; for these names of science are current in all European languages.

Another piece of advice is: don'twaste timein trying to puzzle out themeaning, the why or the wherefore of butterflies' scientific names. Now and then, certainly, they have some allusion to the insect's appearance, or to the plant on which it feeds; thus, for instance,Gonepteryx Rhamni, the entomological name of the Brimstone Butterfly, means the "Angle-winged(butterfly)of the Buckthorn," and this is very appropriate and descriptive; but in general there is no more connexion between the name and the character of a butterfly, than there is between a ship's name—the "Furious," the "Coquette," or the "Pretty Jane," as it may be—and the moral disposition or personal appearance of the vessel that bears it.

Also, don'twaste moneyand encourage dishonesty, bygiving the absurdly large prices put uponBritish, orpretendedBritish specimens of butterflies, or other insects that are rare in this country though common on the Continent; when, for all purposes of science, or the pleasure derived from their beauty,avowedContinental specimens, at one-twentieth of the price, will do just as well. In putting these into your cabinet, however, always attach to the pin underneath the insect a label, bearing some mark to denote the specimen's foreign origin.

THE BRITISH BUTTERFLIES SEPARATELY DESCRIBED.

THE SWALLOW-TAILED BUTTERFLY. (Papilio Machaon.)

(Plate III. fig. 1.)

There is no possibility of mistaking this noble insect for any other of our native species, after a glance at its portrait. Its superior size, conjoined with the possession of a pair oflongtails on the hind wings, would at once mark it distinctly, independently of the peculiar markings and colour.

In the colouring of the wings, a broad simplicity prevails, the general ground-tint being a clear creamy yellow, with the bars and marginal bands of the deepest velvety black. The broad bands of black on the front wings are powdered towards the centre withyellowscales, and those on the hind wings withbluescales. The only other colour on this side is a spot of rust-red at the inner angle of the hind wings.

The under side is very similar in colouring to the upper, but the black markings are less decided and sharp, and there are several additional rust-red spots on the hind wings.

Thecaterpillar, which is a very handsome creature, is found feeding on various umbelliferous plants; among which, its chief favourites in this country appear to be the Wild Carrot (Daucus Carota), the Marsh Milk-parsley (Selinum palustre), and Fennel (Anethum Fœniculum). In colour it is bright green, with velvet-black rings, which are spotted with red. A distinguishing mark of this caterpillar is a reddish-coloured forked appendage just behind its head, which, when the animal is alarmed, gives out a strong-scented fluid, supposed to be for the purpose of alarming some of its enemies.

Thechrysalis, again, is a very pretty object, especially when of its ordinary colour, which is a lively green, shaded in some parts into bright yellow; but there is a frequent variety marked only with various shades of brown and buff. Living specimens of both of these are before me at this moment, and when they assume the perfect state, I shall be curious to mark whether these differences are continued in the respective butterflies.

These chrysalides are most interesting objects to keep during the winter months. As the spring advances, the colours of the butterfly begin to appear faintly through their thin green envelope, and the pattern of the upper wings, which only are visible, becomes at last distinctly perceptible, of course in miniature. When this is the case, we should begin to watch for the release of the beautiful prisoner.

If you visit his cage the first thing every morning (for his exit most frequently takes place in the early part ofthe day), you may be fortunate enough on one of these occasions, to find the creature either actually emerging, or just out of his case; cutting an odd figure, and evidently neither very proud of himself nor much at his ease, his wings being tiny things, hardly bigger than those of a humble-bee, and hanging limply from his comparatively ponderous and gigantic body; which they are nevertheless destined, ere many hours are over, to carry with most enviable celerity through the air.

The rapid increase in size of these organs is a matter of marvel; you can literally see them grow, and within about anhourthey will have reached their full expanse. The creature attaches itself, back downwards, to the lid of its cage, or to the under side of any convenienthorizontalsurface, that the wings, by their own weight, may aid in their dilatation, and that they may dry without creasing, as they will sometimes do, when the insect, being under a slippery bell-glass, for instance, is unable to reach the desirable point of suspension, which it always evinces extreme anxiety to do. By the time the sun is well out, our pet will have his wings thoroughly plumed for flight; and here a difficulty sometimes presents itself to the entomologist. What is to be done with our new-born Machaon? It is probably a splendid specimen for the cabinet, and the collector may long to grace his "series" with its virgin splendours. But then there will creep over him the unwelcome sensation, that it is a somewhat cowardly proceeding to foster a bright being into a life that might be all joyousness,and then, taking advantage of his domesticated position, to cut short that life, almost ere commenced, and to forbid those wondrous wings to carry their possessor to even one short day's enjoyment of sunshine and nectar, and the doubtlessly exalted pleasure of mere airy motion itself. Fairly chasing down a butterfly is all well enough; but this is quite another thing.

Every one must, however, choose for himself, as to taking the sentimental or the entomological view of the matter.

Each probably finds its followers, and to the occasional prevalence of the more tender sentiment, are probably owing many of those stray Swallow-Tails that turn up here and there in unlikely places.

The chrysalides, for rearing, may be obtained in the autumn or winter, either from entomologists resident in the localities of the butterfly, or more generally and certainly from the London or Cambridge dealers, who will send them into the country by post for a few pence each.

The flight of this species is rapid and powerful, and it has a habit of soaring loftily.

In this country its head quarters are in the fens of Cambridgeshire, Norfolk, and Huntingdonshire. It has been found in some abundance near Cambridge, Norwich, Yaxley, Whittlesea Mere, Burwell, and Hornsey Fens; also singly in Lancashire, at Battersea, Pulborough in Sussex, near Ashford in Kent, at Balcombe, Isle of Wight, Hampshire, near Chatham, at Southend, Essex, and on the Cliffs of the South Coast.

From its local character, this is of course one of the species that the collector can hardly expect to meet with, except he live in one of the districts given above as its head quarters. In these, however, it is abundant enough, and the first sight of a number of these grand insects on the wing must be enough to gladden the eye of any naturalist.

This butterfly comes out first in May, and is met with from that time till August.

THE BRIMSTONE BUTTERFLY. (Gonepteryx Rhamni.)

(Plate III. fig. 2.)

Though one of the commonest of our native butterflies, this, like numberless other very common things, is also one of the loveliest, both in the graceful outline of its wings, and in the lively hue that overspreads their surface; charms the more to be appreciated, as this insect is one of the few that do not wait for the full bloom of summer ere they condescend to make their appearance, but in the earliest, chill months of spring, and even in the dead winter season, the country rambler is sometimes gladdened by its gay flight; and in fact there is not one winter month that is not occasionally enlivened by this flying flower, when a day of unwonted mildness and sunshine tempts it from its winter retreat.

Until very recently it had always been stated by entomologists, that the Brimstone Butterfly was "double-brooded" (a term meaning that it went throughtwo whole cycles of existence, from theeggto theperfect insect, inone year), one brood appearing in May, and the other in the autumn.

But it is now established, on very satisfactory evidence, thatone brood only is produced, and that, the autumnal one. A considerable number of these survive the winter in some place of concealment, and coming out again in the spring form the so-called spring brood. Many of these hybernators are found to be in very fair condition in the spring, but in general they lack the perfect freshness and bloom of those taken in autumn; the wings of those I have taken at this period are often semi-transparent, from having lost feather, and frequently are spotted and discoloured, as if by mildew; a sign probably of their owners having wintered in damp lodgings.

Mr. Douglas states that they get very fat and full of honey before consigning themselves to their long winter's sleep; evidently an instinctive provision against the waste of substance that must of necessity accompany all, even the most sluggish vitality: in this respect following the same instinct that leads bears, and other hybernating animals, to fatten up to their utmost stretch before retiring for the season.

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