Chapter 2

Poppy-flower cut by the Bee.

This bee, in forming the future abode of her young, begins by scooping out a burrow in some pathway, which she bores to the depth of two or three inches. She then smooths the walls of this cavity, and all being now ready for putting up the hangings, she betakes herself to the fields, and alights upon some fresh-expanded poppy flower, just displaying its crimson cheeks to the light of day. Here she quickly plies the scissors which she has been armed with for this purpose, and in avery short time cuts out of the bright petal on which she rests, a smooth portion of a definite size. She then returns home, and, by means of the scissors and her legs, she cuts and smooths the piece until it lays quite flat upon the bottom of her cell. This done, she flies for more, and in a short time, could we peep in, we might find her mansion all over-spread with tapestry, more bright in colour, and more delicate in point of finish and texture, than human art can by possibility produce. The apartment being thus not only decorated, but rendered, both to the eye and senses, warm and comfortable, she then stores up in it a quantity of pollen and honey, until she has filled it to the height of half an inch, when she deposits the egg, for whosewants and, as we might say, even luxuries, she has thus elegantly provided, folding some of the hangings carefully over it. The remainder of the cavity is filled with loose earth. We have taken it for granted, in this account, that the insect really takes a pleasure in the brilliant colours with which she ornaments her cell; but it is only right to say, in addition, that we have, of course, no positive proof that such is really the case. For aught we know, her motives may be very different; it is, however, an amusing way to consider these actions, be the explanation of them what it may.

Finished Cell.

We fear, however, we dare not promise our readers the same success as that which attended M. Réaumur and his companions. It has been thought, that this interesting insect is not a native of our island, and it is certain it has not been commonly observed amongst us; but Mr. Rennie, in his work on Insect Architecture, says, that at a beautiful sea-bathing village in Ayrshire, he oncefound in a footpath a great number of the perforations of the tapestry-bee. At all events, they deserve looking for.

Leaf tubes.

Although we have, perhaps, lingered long enough over the insect cradle, we must spare room for one or two more remarks on this subject, and it were almost a shame, while speaking thereon, to omit a notice of one of the most elegant cradles of all—one made with rose-leaves! As Réaumur's account of the manner in which he first became acquainted with these egg depositories is very pleasantly written, we shall extract the substance of it from his work. It was one day in July, 1736, that a gentleman of rank, accompanied by his suite and his gardener, who was in a state of great alarm, waited upon an eminent naturalist in Paris. The gardener had left his master's country-seat, near Rouen, to proceed with all haste to the metropolis, in order to communicate to his master the terrible tidings, that his ground was bewitched! He had the courage, however, to pick up the spells, or charms, which the sorcerer had placed in the earth, and to carry them to his master, in full belief that they were sufficient to convince all the world of the reality of the enchantment. He had, indeed,in the first instance, taken them to the parish priest, begging his counsel, and both came to the same conclusion—that, without doubt, the garden was now enchanted ground! When the gentleman saw the little things his gardener called charms,—which are here represented,—he was much perplexed, although his good sense led him to ridicule the idea of the bewitchment of his property by such means. He applied to his medical adviser for a solution of this problem; but, alas! he was no entomologist, and could not enlighten him; but he directed him to the naturalist of whom mention has been made, and whose name was M. Nollet. On being admitted to the presence of this gentleman, the terror-stricken gardener hastily put on the table the little rolls of leaves he considered to be spells, and which had been made, with some evil design, as he doubted not, by the malevolent hands of somesorcerer. Fortunately, M. Nollet had in his museum some rolls of leaves formed with equal art by beetles; he produced them, and showed them to the affrighted man, assuring him, that, without doubt, they had been formed by insects, and that it was therefore highly probable that the rolls in question were the productions of some other insects of a different species. The gardener looked incredulous, being apparently unwilling to give up his alarm, until M. Nollet, greatly to his horror, took up one of those little leaf-rolls which had caused him so much uneasiness, and carefully unfolding it, drew from thence a fat little larva. The moment the gardener saw the little creature, his fears and troubled aspect vanished, and an air of cheerfulness spread over his face, such as one might imagine as the result of deliverance from some fearful peril. The only reward M. Nollet would receive from the poor man for thus dissipating his cares and fears was, that he should leave the leaf-rolls with him, and, collecting more of them, should send them to M. Réaumur's address, for him to examine. This little anecdote affords us a good illustration of the connexion of superstitious fears with ignorance on points of naturalhistory, and sets before us, in well-relieved contrast, the foolish terrors of the unlearned gardener with the collected bearing of the learned naturalist. Would that this anecdote stood alone in the records of natural history! We have already seen that it does not; and that the most groundless apprehensions have taken their rise in the most innocent and trifling of natural causes.

The Bee with a leaf cut.

By and by, after a little careful investigation, the true artificer of these spells was discovered, and proved to be a lowly insect, which has been since called the rose-leaf-cutter bee. On closer examination, these rolls of leaves,—which are almost as long and as large as a tooth-pick case,—were found to be made up of six or seven cells, each separate from the rest, placed end to end, and covered with a common coating of leaves. The manner in which the roll is formed is as follows:—The insect sometimes makes a perforation in decayed wood, sometimes in the well-trodden earth of a footpath; this she drives to the depth of, perhaps, nine inches, and she then proceeds to hang this apartment with its green tapestry,—for it must be understood, it is not the leaves of the flower, but of the stem of the rose-tree,—or,in other words, the green leaves, that she selects for this purpose. The insect alights upon what she considers to be a suitable leaf, and begins with her sharp jaws to cut out a piece of a crescent form from its edge. When she has cut, perhaps, half-way round, or rather more, she sets her wings in motion, so as to keep her balanced in the air, lest she should drag away the half-cut piece before it was properly divided from the leaf. When cut, she places it in a perpendicular position between her legs, and flies away with it to her cell. She then simply folds it into a proper form, and overlays the cell walls with this leafy covering, not using any cement to make it retain its form, but relying upon the natural elasticity of the leaf to keep it close pressed against the wall in the manner in which she places it. Repeating this process several times, she finally completes each cell with exquisite art and care, and taking the precaution of arranging all her joints and seams so that they shall not present themselves in the same place, but covering them over with pieces of leaf, so as to strengthen them, and in many otherrespects exhibiting an amount of mechanical and mathematical skill never sufficiently to be admired, she now deposits the minute egg in it which is to become the toilsome, busy, patient, and clever being,—the full-grown insect of her own species. Mindful of its future wants, she then compounds a delicate mass of pink conserve, which she collects from thistles, and subsequently stops up each cell with thin pieces of leaf, as exactly round as if they had been cut out with a punch, or by means of some mathematical instrument.

Réaumur says he often, in the month of May, on looking at his rose-trees, detected these insects at their work; all he had to do was, to stand and patiently watch by the side of a tree, the leaves of which exhibited the singular marks made by this insect. Many times have the same appearances arrested our attention, and without doubt that of the reader. The spectacle of insect ingenuity which it affords well promises to repay a little exertion in endeavouring to find out the nest to which the pieces are conveyed, and some neighbouring post or footpath will probably discover it to us after a sharp scrutiny. Sometimes the insect makes a bad choice of a leaf; it may be, perhaps,too tough for her; but she soon discovers her mistake, and leaves it, half cut, to seek a better on the same branch.

A Rose-branch cut by the Bee.

The nest formed by a species of moth for depositing her eggs in, is one equally interesting todescribe. From the resemblance of her actions to the well-known account of those of the eider-duck, whose maternal love strips her breast of down for the purpose of protecting her eggs, we might almost venture to call this moth the eider-moth, were it not that it is known under another and far less appropriate name—the gipsy-moth. Indeed, in the care of the insect the mother's love is, as we might say, even more powerful than in the bird; for, while the latter has the pride and pleasure of seeing her little ones grow up around her, the poor insect, after stripping herself of her own soft, warm down, thus testifying her love to her offspring even to death, presently expires. The insect in forming her nest first plucks off, by means of a singular instrument, like a pair of tweezers, with which she is provided, a little portion of down from her body; seated upon a tree, she attaches this to its trunk, and then deposits an egg in it, which immediately adheres to the down, and becomes coated with it. The remainder of her operations, until she has deposited the entire number of eggs, are but repetitions of the same actions. When the process is at an end, she begins to form a regular tile or covering to her nest, and this she effects with a degreeof skill not unworthy of the most consummate thatcher. She arranges the hairs of the down just as the thatcher does his stems of straw for the cottage roof, so that they all slope downwards, resembling much the smooth pile of a hat. By this arrangement of the down, it is next toimpossible that in the most drenching shower the eggs, warmly wrapped up within, should be wetted or otherwise injured, and the down itself, being a material which, as we all know, is a non-conductor, preserves the eggs from the influence of the most severe frosts. In shape, this nest of eggs resembles a skittle, or a truncated cone, the broad end downwards. The engraving represents this form, and also shows the insect at work constructing the nest.

The Nest of the Gipsy-moth.

Eggs of Lackey-moth.(Natural size, and magnified.)

Let us now pass on, to mention, that many eggs are deposited without any special protection of the kind we have described, and without what would be with propriety termed a nest. A moth, called the lackey-moth, frequently ornaments the young twigs of trees in our gardens with exquisite bracelets of glistening white eggs, looking like beads. From two to three hundred of these eggs are glued on by the insect around the twig, by means of a tenacious waterproof cement, and are arrangedwith an accuracy of the most marvellous character, in a close spiral line upon the twig. The cement employed by the insect in uniting her eggs, and in varnishing them over, is so hard as to serve the purpose of a covering, which admirably casts off the rain, and preserves the eggs free from injury by the elements all the winter long. Many eggs are simply glued on irregularly upon the stems and leaves of plants, their shells or outer coating, together with the protecting varnish, being sufficient to preserve them from the inclemencies of the weather; but some are piled together with the most striking regularity, in regular columns of eggs.

In addition to these, it is proper to state, that some insects lay their eggs in the body of the young of others. Of these, those which are most dreaded by the insect tribe are the little but terrible flies, called Ichneumons. They are so called because in their actions they agree with the popular account of those of the ichneumons of Egypt, which were venerated as the destroyers of the eggs of serpents and crocodiles. "Such," say Messrs. Kirby and Spence, "is the activity and address of the ichneumons, that scarcely any concealment,except perhaps the waters, can secure their prey from them; and neither bulk, courage, nor ferocity, avail to terrify them from effecting their purpose. They attack the ruthless spider in his toils; they discover the retreat of the little bee, that for safety bores deep into timber; and though its enemy, the ichneumon, cannot enter its cell, by means of her long ovipositor (organ for depositing the egg), she reaches the helpless grub, which its parent vainly thought secured from every foe, and deposits in it an egg, which produces a larva that destroys it. In vain does the destructivececidomiaof the wheat conceal its larvæ within the glumes that so closely cover the grain; three species of these minute benefactors of our race, sent in mercy by Heaven, know how to introduce their eggs into them, thus preventing the mischief they would otherwise occasion, and saving mankind from the horrors of famine. In vain, also, thecynips, by its magic touch, produces the curious excrescences on various trees and plants, called gulls, for the nutriment and defence of its progeny. This parasite insect discovers its secret chamber, pierces its wall, however thick, and commits the destroying egg to its offspring." Invain, also, might we add, does the sand-wasp excavate her deep cell for her young ones; for when once the ichneumon has discovered the retreat, the destruction of the young larvæ is inevitable. She pierces through the defences piled over the mouth of the cavity, with all the precision and patience of a higher creature, and rests not until she has thrust down her long ovipositor, and placed the egg in the body of the helpless prisoner below, when she flies away, confident that the days of her victim are numbered, and having thus doomed him to be eaten up alive! The common caterpillar, which, by its ravages in our cabbage rows, makes itself a little too familiar to us, has a fierce enemy in these flies; they dart upon it, pierce its body in many places, laying an egg in each wound; these in due time become hatched, and eat their way out of the body of the poor caterpillar, who soon dies, while the larvæ, after undergoing their proper transformations, become perfect insects themselves, fully equipped to proceed to the same work in some other individual of the caterpillar kind.

To man, this ordinance of the Creator, that some insects should lay their eggs in the bodiesof others, and so destroy them, is of inestimable benefit. It is quite impossible to imagine what would be the result, were weevils, caterpillars, and such like insects, to be permitted to multiply without a check. Produce of all kinds would soon be consumed, and the desolations of an universal famine would overwhelm man and beast. But God has been pleased to ordain it otherwise. In proportion to the increase of the destroyers is the increase of those that prey upon and destroy them. Thus, what has been well called the balance of creation is preserved, and by means of the insects in question, conjoined to other causes, is the command to the destroying powers enforced—"Hitherto shall ye come, but no farther."

CHAPTER II.

STRUCTURE AND CONTENTS OF THE EGG.

In the past pages we have now considered shortly the various methods of depositing the eggs of insects, and have seen that the nursing place where the young being is produced, differs widely both in point of its position, and of the external circumstances which variously affect it. For some are the deep-bored galleries in timber; for some, the hard-wrought tunnel, scooped by an insect out of a rock; for some, the ingeniously-formed boat or raft, which is to carry its cargo of life buoyant on the dancing waters "all the days of its appointed time, waiting until its change come;" for some, the cell of earth lined with painted hangings, exquisite in make and colour; for some, the little leaf-case, curiously folded together; but for others, none of those works of insect art are provided; they, hid in a rain-proof covering of varnish, lie open to every eye, or scattered here and there onall and every kind of flower and herbage, lie at the mercy of every wandering foot. While, lastly, others are buried with a cruel yet merciful art, in the bodies of myriads of unsuspecting members of the insect community, lying, like the seeds of evil in the heart of the infant, dormant awhile, but destined to grow with its growth and to strengthen with its strength.

The time has, therefore, now come that we should speak a little more particularly upon the nature and character of the eggs of insects. The shape of an insect's egg, although frequently something of an oval in its outline, is very various; in fact, were the egg of some peculiar species placed in the field of a microscope, probably not one general observer out of a hundred could in the least imagine what the object at which he was looking really was. Sometimes they are oval and exactly resemble the form of the egg of the bird; but in other instances they are of the most irregular and fantastic appearance. Some look like pill-boxes tied over and down their sides with string; others look like tiny flasks, with many raised ribs upon their surface; others have lids and springs. The gnat's egg resembles achemist's phial, or one of the new bottles for holding aërated waters; and those of the dung-fly have two little pieces sticking out at the top on each side to prevent them sinking too deep into the matter upon which they are deposited.

Various forms of Eggs.

Eggs of Lace-winged Fly.

The eggs of some insects strikingly resemble the little shells like turbans with which we are most of us familiar. A very singular variety of egg which has often caused much perplexity to naturalists is the egg of the lace-winged fly. Réaumer says, "I had observed them several years without actually knowing what they were. Others as well as myself had noticed that on the leaves and twigs of many trees were a number of minutestalks placed together, scarcely as thick as a hair, their colour was nearly white, and they were about an inch in length; there were sometimes ten or twelve placed in a bunch; the end of each stalk bore a small head of an egg-like or oblong figure. They appeared to me to be fungi, the little head precisely resembling the appearance of moulds as seen under the microscope; but they were larger in size." They were, in fact, the eggs of the fly in question. When the larva escapes from them they have much the appearance of little vases; and the same author assures us that they were once described and engraved by a naturalist as some curious minute flower growingon the leaves of the elder, for which he was unable to account. The representation of them in the cut will enable the reader to form his own opinion as to the difficulty of ascertaining whether they were flowers or the nests of an insect.

Manner of depositing the Egg.

The manner in which these eggs are thus regularly placed by the insect is interesting. Placing herself upon the leaf in the attitude represented, she fastens a thread to the leaf, draws it out in the same way as a spider does her lines, and when it has got sufficiently firm the wise insect then puts forth the egg, glueing it to the extremity of the stalk; this done, she quits it and begins to form another, repeating the same actions until the proper number is laid. Poised on the summitof these slender pillars the eggs are secure from every invader but man himself, and in time there comes from them the larva which is to become the beautiful insect, the "lace-winged fly," in all the elegance of its form.

From what has been already stated, the surface of the eggs of insects, it will be perceived, is by no means in all cases smooth and polished as in the case of birds. Far otherwise. To look at some of them by the help of a magnifying glass we should imagine that they were covered with very fine lace net, others appear as if some clever engraver had been chasing some intricate design upon their surface. The eggs of a species of butterfly are studded over with an infinite number of little knots or tubercles; and those of another are capped at the top with sculptured work disposed in the form of a circular tiling or roof to the egg. Some also closely resemble embossed buttons.

He who has thus adorned these minute objects with beauty of form and carving, has likewise bestowed upon them the most beautiful and variegated colours—colours such as no human art can imitate. But from the small size of theeggs it is difficult to appreciate this beauty in them except when they occur in a mass. The most common tints are white, yellow, and green, but the richer and rarer hues are also to be found among them. Thus, the eggs of a moth are of a beautiful blue colour, banded in the most delicate manner by three zones or rings of brown, the contrast being very pleasing. Another moth, which loves to deposit its eggs in the bark of the willow, produces them tinged with a purple more delicate than ever Tyrian lady wore as the finest produce of the dyer's art. In the deep crevices of the bark of the elm, and only, therefore, to be found by sharp scrutiny, another moth lays eggs of a lovely pink. Messrs. Kirby and Spence write, "We remember once being much surprised at seeing the water at one end of a canal in our garden as red as blood; upon examining it further we found it discoloured by an infinite number of minute red eggs." Sometimes eggs are spotted, and thus resemble the eggs of many birds; and, strange to say, sometimes they change colour in a very remarkable manner; so that, as far as colour is concerned, an observer could scarcely believe that the egg was the same he beheld, perhaps, a few days previously. Theeggs of the chameleon fly, as we are told by the gentlemen last quoted, are at first pure white; then change to green, and finally turn to a deep olive-green. Others are at first mouse-coloured, then reddish, and, lastly, black. The eggs of a kind of moth we have seen first of the colour of sulphur, then becominggreen, after thatrose-colour, and lastly,black. In the instances of the common gnat and silk-worm, similar changes of colour take place. The eggs of the gnat are first white, then green, and finally gray; and those of the silk-worm are in the first instance of a pale yellow, and ultimately take on a violet tint.

Having thus noticed these points in connexion with the Life of an Insect, we are led to that most important of all periods, the dawn of life in the egg, or, in common terms, the period of hatching. But before proceeding to the subject, may we not pause and wonder as we behold the varied manifestations of the Creator's wisdom in the actions of the minute, and, as we often call them, insignificant creatures of whom we have spoken? Should David say, when he beheld the sun, moon, and stars, as the work of a Divine hand, "Lord, what is man, that thou consideresthim, or the son of man, that thou regardest him!" And shall not we, as we contemplate the few particulars here set down of the wonders of insect-life, exclaim, with even greater astonishment, "What are these, that thou considerestthem?" Let no one then say, that entomology, or any other natural science whose field of study lies chiefly among the minute portions of creation, are profitless sciences, when they can reveal to us such a display of the power, wisdom, and love of God, as is exhibited even in this small portion of the Life of an Insect.

Let us then take up one of these eggs, so minute, but containing within it the rudiments of a being which is in time to assume a form of considerable magnitude, by comparison, and to be adorned with colours richer than art can boast of, and let us examine it on the field of a tolerably powerful microscope. We need not look far for a specimen. In the dark corner of the ceiling in a neglected room, after removing the mass of dust-filled webs that have accumulated there for months, we may find without difficulty a spider's nest of eggs. A more pleasant place to search for insects' eggs is, perhaps, the garden; and if in the crevices of the bark of the trees, or attached to twigsor branches, none can be found, we can almost certainly promise success if the reader will carefully and patiently search the angles of the garden walls, particularly if he has noticed in the preceding autumn many of the beautiful webs of the garden-spider. There, in some sheltered recess, where the pattering rain-drops may be heard, but never venture in, and where few eyes would detect them, may be found little round yellow balls, of the size of a small cherry, made of the most beautiful golden-coloured silk, and attached by a slender stalk to the wall, or perhaps, to a twig. Sometimes they exhibit the more elegant and curious appearance shown in the figure on the next page, resembling an inverted wine-glass or pear.

Nests of Garden-Spider.

On taking our prize in-doors, by the aid of a very sharp penknife we may succeed in cutting it smoothly open, and in turning out some of the delicateeggs which lie warmly covered up at the bottom. Taking one of them up on the point of the knife, and laying it on the microscope-field, we shall be able to see something of the anatomy of an insect's egg.

First, we may notice what seems to be the shell; that is, the outer covering of the egg. This is very different to the hard, calcareous eggshell of birds. It is stated not to contain any lime in its composition as the shells of birds do; for when the eggs of insects are put into very weak sulphuric acid and water, which would act on the lime if it were present in their composition, they are not affected by it. Although, therefore some eggs of insects are very hard: so hard indeed as to resist severe pressure with the nail, they do not owe their hardness, as do the eggs of birds, to any lime in their chemical composition. The outer coat or shell is apparently simply membraneous, frequently varying greatly in thickness, being sometimes as dense and horny as we have mentioned, and at others, so delicate as to burst with the gentlest touch.

Nests of Spiders.

Could we now do, what it is so easy to do with the egg of a fowl,—carefully take off a little portion of this outer shell, we should be able to inspect its contents more accurately. But in the case of most who read this book, this extremely delicate task will prove after many trials probably a hopeless failure. Let us state, therefore, what some expert and talented observers have found within the insect's egg. It appears, then, that although there is both a "yolk" and a "white" in the tiny egg before us, that they are not quite so distinct as in the bird. Yet, they are sufficiently separate from one another to make their differences complete. Probably the reader has noticed in the hen's egg a little round spot in the middle of the "yolk" or yellow portion; from this the future bird is produced. Although from their extreme minuteness it is difficult to detect anything of this kind in the eggs of insects, some observers state they have seen a similar little spot in them also. Thus, M. Herold says, that in the eggs of the very insect whose nest we have robbed, the garden spider, "this little spot can be seen as a minute white point immediately under the shell, and in the middle of its circumference." This was seen by holding it up to the light, and the spot wasmore carefully examined by gently pressing the contents of a spider's egg upon a watch-glass. Mr. Rennie says, that "the point where the caterpillar originates, answering to the scar in the eggs of birds, we can readily distinguish even by the naked eye in the larger species of eggs, as it lies always immediately under the shell." But it may be doubted whether, without the assistance of some one versed in entomology, many who make the same attempt, will succeed. So much depends in looking at any object upon whether we know what to look for or not, so that things which are as clearly seen as possible by the eyes of the initiated, are not seen at all by any others. To perceive some things in natural history, and many in science, the senses of sight, hearing, and touch, require to be well educated, and they then become apparent enough.

And is this all that we can mention about the structure of an egg? This indeed is all. Can it be possible? Is there no striking and broad difference to mark the nature of the future insect? Is the egg of a spider the same in the number and nature of its parts as that of a butterfly, or the egg of a gnat as that of a beetle? Surely, as we should imagine, there must be some importantdifferences between these, otherwise why such immense differences in the perfect insect? Could any one imagine that a grasshopper and a house-fly, so strangely unlike each other in their perfect forms, originated in eggs to either of which the same description of an insect's egg would accurately answer, and leave nothing out? However great our amazement, the fact is unquestionable. The egg of every insect at first consists of an outer covering, a white, a yolk, and the little spot we have alluded to. We might have thought that in creating so many different species of insects, which differ so surprisingly in form as the insect tribes do, the great Creator would have formed their eggs essentially different too. But, except in the matter of shape, all are originally alike; and the wisest philosopher is unable to inform us of any essential difference in the eggs of insects at first. The eye of God, who knows the end from the beginning, sees some difference inappreciable to the eye of man. He said to this kind, "Be thou thus," and to that, "Be thou different;" but until the time comes when the young insect is much more advanced, it is not possible for us to recognise those marks of variety which His hand has laid upon them from the beginning.

CHAPTER III.

LIFE BEGINS IN THE EGG.

The eggs of birds are, in most instances, hatched by the warmth of the mother, who sits for a certain time covering them with her wings and downy breast. But the exception to the rule in insects is that the mother has anything to do with rearing her young brood; the cases in which this takes place will be noticed in our next chapter. Generally speaking, the eggs of insects are hatched by the increasing temperature of the air in spring. The following sketch, extracted from Mr. Darwin's interesting Journal of the Voyage of the Beagle, sets before us, in a very pleasing manner, the awakening influence of this season to all nature:—"When we first arrived at Bahia Blanca, September 7th, 1832, we thought nature had granted scarcely a living creature to this dry and sandy country. By digging, however, in the ground,several insects, large spiders, and lizards, were found, in a half-torpid state. On the 15th a few animals began to appear, and, by the 18th, (three days from the equinox,) everything announced the commencement of spring; the plains were ornamented by the flowers of a pink wood-sorrel, wild peas,œnotheræ, and geraniums; and the birds began to lay their eggs. Numerous beetles were crawling about, while the saurian tribe, the constant inhabitants of a sandy soil, darted in every direction."

As to the torpid animal and buried seed, so to the carefully laid up egg, the returning warmth of the air is the signal for the commencement of life. The winter-clouds roll reluctantly back, as the genial days of spring advance, and the changes which are to have their accomplishment in the production of a living being out of the minute object before us, are set in movement as the days grow bright and pleasant. That the hatching of the egg, in most cases, is due chiefly to the stimulating influence of heat, is now well ascertained. The school-boy who has ever amused himself with silk-worms can well assure us of this fact, for he is in the habit of hatching the insect's eggs bycarefully wrapping them in paper, and keeping them in his waistcoat-pocket, where they have all the comfort and warmth of his body to bring them forward. In countries where the silk-worm is reared, women carry them in their bosom, and by this means cause the young larva to come forth from the egg in much less time than it would naturally occupy. By removing a twig of a plant upon which in the preceding autumn an insect may have been found to have deposited its eggs, into a warm room, an opportunity will be had of putting this operation practically to the test. In a short time it will be found that the eggs are all hatched, and that a number of minute larvæ are crawling actively about, while their brethren in the snow-covered fields are yet safely asleep in the shell.

On the other hand, eggs which would otherwise be hatched the same year are arrested by the advancing cold of the winter season, and are now compelled to wait until the ensuing spring, before their time of hatching arrives. Evidently, therefore, to the commencement of the life of an insect the condition of the external temperature is an all-important consideration. Before proceeding immediatelyto consider the nature of the changes, it may be mentioned as an interesting fact, that although the eggs of insects are very quickly sensible of a slight increase of heat, and in consequence of its application to them very soon begin to live, yet they will endure the most severe degrees of cold almost without injury. As an illustration of this point we may transcribe a few sentences from a paper by the great Spallanzani upon this subject:—

"The year 1709, when the thermometer fell to 1° Fahrenheit," or thirty-one degrees below freezing point, "is celebrated for its rigour and its fatal effects on plants and animals. 'Who can believe,' exclaims Boerhaave, 'that the severity of this winter did not destroy the eggs of insects, especially those exposed to its influence in the open fields, on the naked earth, or on the branches of trees? Yet, when the spring had tempered the air, these eggs produced as they usually did after the mildest winters.'" He adds further on, "I have exposed eggs to a more rigorous trial than the winter of 1709—those of several insects, and among others the silk-worm, moth, and elm-butterfly, were enclosed in a glass vessel, and buriedfive hours in a mixture of ice and rock-salt, the thermometer falling 6° below zero. In the middle of the following spring, however, caterpillars came from all the eggs, and at the same time as from those which had suffered no cold. In the following year, I submitted them to an experiment still more hazardous. A mixture of ice and rock-salt, with the burning spirit of nitre, reduced the thermometer 22° below zero, that is, 23° lower than the cold of 1709, or 52° lower than the point at which water freezes. They were not injured, as I had evident proof—by their being hatched."

When it is known that many seeds will not endure these degrees of cold without injury, and those even of some tolerably hardy plants, it is the more surprising to find such apparently delicate and readily damaged objects as the eggs of these members of the insect tribe thus resisting an intensity of cold to which, in a state of nature, they are scarcely ever exposed. It is impossible to assign any rational explanation of these singular facts. It is undoubtedly owing to this power of resisting the generally deadly influence of extreme cold that we find insects reappear in spring, evenin countries where the winter is much prolonged, and is of extreme severity. Thus, in Lapland we should have probably thought that the rigour of the climate would have been fatal to all insects in winter, in any condition, whether in the egg, or in other forms; but, as the poor inhabitants know to their cost, it is far different. The mosquitoes swarm in that country in numbers so prodigious that they have been compared to a fall of snow, or to the dust of the earth. The wretched natives cannot take a mouthful of food, or lie down to sleep in their cabins, unless they are fumigated to a degree almost dangerous to life. They fill the mouth and nostrils, and, minute though they are, render existence almost a burden by their blood-thirsty propensities. Not even thick plasters of the most offensive compounds,—tar, oil, and grease, are sufficient to shield the Laplander's skin from their attacks. The great John Hunter considered that this power of resisting cold was, in some unexplained manner, connected with the existence of a living principle in the egg, which had the effect of withstanding a degree of cold that would otherwise have been fatal to it; but, after all, this is only an apology for an explanation. When weare unable to clear up the difficulties of a natural history question like this, although we cannot explain, we are not prohibited from admiring, and can clearly perceive, that in thus endowing the eggs of insects with a self-preservative power, God has manifested his wisdom and forethought; for had it been otherwise, the lapse of a few seasons would have depopulated the insect world, leaving us, it is true, without a gnat or a mosquito to annoy us, but also without a silk-worm, or a bee, to supply us with the precious products of insect industry.

The frosts have disappeared, the air brightens, the sun loses its pale aspect, and glows with a more golden face. The days lengthen, the breeze has lost its penetrating chilliness, gentle showers descend and water the earth, and there is a general voice heard all over creation,—"Spring has come!" The eggs of a thousand insect species have already perceived its presence, and the newly-awakened beings within hasten to welcome it by bursting from the shell, their long occupied, but now for ever forsaken dwelling-place. Sometimes the young larva bursts through the thin walls of the shell by main force, or eats its way through by meansof its jaws, which is occasionally a task of many hours' duration. "In many instances, however," write Messrs. Kirby and Spence, "the larva is spared this trouble, one end of the egg being furnished with a little lid, or trap-door, which it has but to force up, and it can then emerge at pleasure. Such lids are to be found in the eggs of several butterflies and moths. The eggs of a species of bug, besides a convex lid, are furnished with a very curious machine, as it would seem, for throwing it off. This machine is dark brown, of a horny substance, and of the shape of a crossbow; the bow-part being attached to the lid, or pushing against it, and the handle, by means of a membrane, to the upper end of the side of the egg."

But if, in our account of the various attendants on the opening of spring, we had mentioned every circumstance that takes place at that time, alas! for any poor insects, or, at least, for a large number of them, who should be hatched at that time. The warm air and gentle shower, and brighter sky, would ill satisfy them in the absence of allfood, and they would be born, by a cruel destiny, only to starve and die. We well know this is not the case; but there are, probably, fewpersons who have ever thought much upon the admirable arrangement by which the occurrence of such a calamity to many of the insect tribes is avoided. We need scarcely remind the reader that in the opening sentence of the last paragraph there is one most important omission in the sketch of the phenomena of returning spring; that is, that there is no mention of what takes place inplants,—of the putting forth of their young and tender leaves. Now, as a majority of insects in the larva state are vegetable-feeders, we can easily understand that the unfortunate little beings if hatched before the appearance of leaves would, without doubt, quickly perish for lack of proper food. Yet the returning warmth of the air is all that is requisite to call the insect into existence, and if by the time it is ready to burst from the shell there is not food all prepared for it, it must die. The difficulty has been beautifully provided for; and perhaps, few other instances of the wisdom of the Creator in forming the insect world are so full of instructive thought as this. It has been ordained, then, that soon as winter is over, the plant isfirstto obey the voice of spring, and to awake; and the bursting buds on its lower boughs are already fullcharged with sap long before the young insect being that is to be fed therewith has left the shelter of the egg.

One of the talented authors of the Introduction to Entomology relates a pleasing anecdote in reference to this simple, yet admirable arrangement, and mutual adjustment of these two events,—the awakening of life in the plant and in the insect. "On the 20th of February, 1816, observing the twigs of the birches in the Hull Botanic Garden to be thickly set, especially about the buds, with minute oval black eggs of some insect with which I was unacquainted, I brought home a small branch, and set it in my study, in which is a fire daily, to watch their exclusion. On the 28th of March I observed that a numerous brood ofaphideshad been hatched from them, and that two or three of the lower buds had expanded into leaves, upon the sap of which they were greedily feasting. This was full a month before either a leaf of the birch appeared, or the egg of anaphiswas disclosed in the open air." Thus showing that the coming to life of the branch and of the insects resting on it, was beautifully arranged to take place each at the proper time.

It is very singular to add, that as some trees acquire their leaves earlier or later than others, the eggs of insects which are deposited on them, never are hatched before the leaves appear, even while some of their companion eggs of a different species, and placed, therefore, on different trees, may have long since sent their young into the world. Thus, we learn that not only has God been pleased to arrangegenerallythe hatching of the eggs of insects, and the putting forth of the leaves of trees, so that the latter shall precede the former, but it has also been ordered that the eggs deposited on eachparticularplant shall be hatched just when the time of that plant's putting forth its leaves shall arrive, at whatever period that may be. This may be more readily comprehended by an example: thus, there is no difference, so far as we can perceive, between the eggs of the little insects just mentioned as feasting on the leaves of the birch, and those whose food is the leaf of the ash; yet the birch will be in leaf nearly a month before the ash-tree, and the eggs deposited on it will therefore be hatched a month before those placed upon the ash, although both trees are in the same position with regard towarmth, and may even, perhaps, be within a yard or two of one another. What a beautiful and mysterious link is this, between events so disproportionately important as the clothing of a great tree with its leafy garments and the coming to life of a little throng of beings, whose dwelling-place is a small twig, and whose world a green leaf! Yet it was not too insignificant a matter for Him to arrange whose dwelling-place is eternity, and who takes up the islands as a very little thing. Does God take thought for these, and will He not much more care for and arrange well every event in the lives of his faithful children? Surely, yes.

Speaking generally, the time taken up in hatching the eggs of insects is very variable. It is a general rule that the eggs which are laid in the autumn must abide the return of spring before they will be hatched. But when eggs are deposited in the summer, they are often hatched in a very short time. The eggs of the painted-lady butterfly are hatched in about eight days, those of the lady-bird in a little less, from five to six days; the eggs of another species of butterfly occupy a month, those of spiders three weeks, those of bees only three days, and those of the meat-fly shorterthan any—only a few hours; it has even been stated that in very warm weather the eggs of the meat-fly will be hatched in about two hours! In most of these cases much depends upon the weather; but even this does not operate beyond certain limits, for it has been said that in the month of June, even if silk-worm's eggs were placed in an ice-house, they would be hatched in spite of the cold, but this observation deserves to be repeated.

It would be impossible to make the exact nature of the changes which take place in the egg from first to last easily understood in a work of this kind. They have occupied the laborious investigation of talented observers with the highest powers of the microscope, and although much is now known on the subject, it is of a nature too abstruse to be dwelt upon in our unpretending volume. As we may well imagine, the changes are wonderful indeed which from a little drop of fluid matter, contained perhaps in a shell not larger than a pin's head, end in the development of the living and active larva, who makes his speedy escape out of his shell-cradle. But they must be studied in the scientific treatises which are written upon this subject, and they are sointeresting as amply to repay the task of investigation. It may be added, however, as a curious fact, that contrary to the general rule in the egg of birds, some of the eggs of insects actually grow larger before they are hatched, and frequently the shape alters also.

In our account of the nests made by insects for their eggs, the examples quoted, although they furnished us with many proofs of a mother's care and forethought on the part of the insect, yet there was no instance given of anything like the solicitude displayed by the hen over her eggs. Are there then no anxious mothers concerned in the well-being of their eggs among insects also? In the next chapter some instances of a mother's care over the young larvæ will be given; and before we conclude the present, mention may be made of some interesting observations upon this subject made by the eminent naturalist M. Bonnet. The insect upon which his observations were made was the spider, so commonly found on turning up a log of wood in the fields, or a clod of earth. She carries her eggs about with her in a little round white pouch of silk attached to her body. Well has it been said, "Never miser clung to histreasure with more tenacious solicitude than this spider to her bag. Though apparently a considerable incumbrance, she carries it with her everywhere." M. Bonnet found that he could not beat away the affectionate creature from her treasure, and on forcibly removing it from her she instantly lost her ferocious aspect and became tame. In this emergency she stops to look around her, and begins to walk at a slow pace, and searches diligently on every side for her lost eggs, nor will she fly if threatened by the bystander. If, however, out of compassion, the bag is restored to her, she darts forward, catches it up with all the intensity of a mother's love, and runs away with it as fast as possible to some secret place where she may again have the opportunity of attaching it to her body. In order to put this insect's affection for her eggs to a test, M. Bonnet threw a spider with her bag into the den of a ferocious insect, called an ant-lion, who lurks at the bottom, like the Giant in the "Pilgrim's Progress," waiting for poor insect-travellers to drop into the pit which it forms, and then, rushing out, devours them. "The spider endeavoured to escape, and was eagerly remounting the side of the pit, when Iagain tumbled her to the bottom, and the ant-lion, more nimble than the first time, seized the bag of eggs with his jaws, and attempted to drag it under the sand. The spider, on the other hand, made the most strenuous efforts to keep her hold, and struggled hard to defeat the aim of the concealed depredator; but the gum which fastened her bag not being calculated to withstand such violence, at length gave way, and the ant-lion was about to carry off the prize in triumph. The spider, however, instantly regained it with her jaws, and redoubled her efforts to snatch the bag from the enemy; but her efforts were vain, for the ant-lion being the stronger, succeeded in dragging it under the sand. The unfortunate mother, now robbed of her eggs, might at least have saved her own life, as she could easily have escaped out of the pitfall; but wonderful to tell, she chose rather to be buried alive along with her eggs. As the sand concealed from my view what was passing below, I laid hold of the spider, leaving the bag in the power of the ant-lion. But the affectionate mother, deprived of her bag, would not quit the spot where she had lost it, though I repeatedly pushed her with a twig. Lifeitself seemed to have become a burden to her since all her hopes and pleasures were gone for ever."

As this spider may be easily found in the localities we have mentioned, it may interest some of our readers to make trial of the mother's care for her eggs; but, let us hope, only in a gentle spirit. Never let us be guilty of the cruelty above narrated, and leave the disconsolate mother, after her hard struggle for her treasure, without restoring it back to her. Even in an insect, a mother's love, so faithful, self-devoted, and constant, is a sacred thing; and while, as an illustration of the care it has pleased the Creator to implant in it for its offspring, it may be lawful to put it to the trial, it is wrong and cruel to do more. Never let us, for our own amusement, give even to an insect that depth of anguish and despair so beautifully expressed in the words of Jacob, as translated in the margin of our Bibles: "And I, as I am bereaved of my children,—I am bereaved."

"In order to prove," says the author of Insect Architecture, "whether a spider of this species could distinguish her own egg-bag from that of astranger, we interchanged the bags of two individuals which we had put under inverted wine-glasses; but both manifested great uneasiness, and would not touch the strange bags. We then introduced one of the mothers into the glass containing her own eggs and the other spider; but even then she did not take to them, which we attributed to the presence of the other, as all spiders nourish mutual enmity. Upon removing the stranger, however, she showed the same indifference to her eggs as before, and we concluded that, after having lost sight of them for a short time, she was no longer able to recognise them."

The common earwig, a name at which some, who little know the beautiful traits in her character, are apt to shudder, still more closely resembles the affection of a higher animal than does the spider just mentioned. The following most interesting notice of her proceedings was published by a writer[B]in thePenny Magazinesome time since. He says: "About the end of March I found an earwig brooding over her eggs in a small cell scooped out in a garden border; and in order to observe her proceedings, I removed the eggs intomy study, placing them upon fresh earth under a bell glass. The careful mother soon scooped out a fresh cell, and collected the scattered eggs with great care to the little nest, placing herself over them—not so much, as it afterwards appeared, to keep them warm, as to prevent the too rapid evaporation of their moisture. When the earth began to dry up, she dug the cell gradually deeper, till at length she got almost out of view; and whenever the interior became too dry, she withdrew the eggs from the cell altogether, and placed them round the rim of the glass, where some of the evaporated moisture had condensed. Upon observing this, I dropped some water into the abandoned cell, and the mother soon afterwards replaced her eggs there. When the water which had been dropped had nearly evaporated, I moistened the outside of the earth opposite the bottom of the cell, and the mother, perceiving this, actually dug a gallery right through to the spot where she found the best supply of moisture. Having neglected to moisten the earth for some days, it again became dry, and there was none even round the rim of the glass as before. Under these circumstances, the mother earwig found a little remaining moisturequite under the clod of earth, upon the board of the mantel-piece, and thither she forthwith carried her eggs. The subsequent proceedings were not less interesting; for though I carefully moistened the earth every day, she regularly changed the situation of the eggs morning and evening, placing them in the original cell at night, and on the board under the clod during the day, as if she understood the evaporation to be so great when the sun was up, that her eggs might be left dry before night. I regret to add, that during my absence the glass had been removed and the mother escaped, having carried away all her eggs but one or two, which soon shrivelled up."

Our diligent little exemplars, the ants, are equally careful about their eggs. So soon as they are produced, the ants catch them up and convey them to a separate chamber, moistening them with their tongues, and incessantly turning them backwards and forwards. They are the objects of constant solicitude until they are hatched; they are carried hither and thither according as the temperature of the nest varies. On a sunny morning they are brought out and laid to bask in the warm air; but if the skybecomes overcast, and heavy clouds threaten rain, the careful nurses whip up the eggs and hasten with them down to the deepest recesses of the nest. They even appear to imitate the brooding of the hen, and sit upon the eggs to impart to them some of the warmth of their own bodies.

Before concluding this chapter, and entering upon the more striking manifestation of life in the form of the insect which will next come under our observation, it will be useful just to allude to the comparative number of eggs which some insects produce, which we shall place in the form of a table:—

The most enormous number of all is produced by the queen of the white warrior ants. She deposits sixty eggs every minute, which is at the rate of 31,557,600 eggs in the course of a year, if we allow that she goes on laying at the same rate constantly, which is, perhaps, scarcely correct.

Were all the eggs produced by insects to be hatched and to bring forth living progeny, we may well ask what would become of mankind? Unquestionably in a short time their numbers would multiply so excessively as to sweep every green thing off the face of the earth, and man and beast would experience all the horrors of famine. But they are the sport of a thousand accidents, which destroy them and keep down the threatened excess of population in this world of busy creatures. And when the young larva has been put forth, this check upon their tendency to over multiplication is still more prominently displayed, as we may presently have occasion to remark.

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