Chapter IV: Part 4

Perhaps not more than a half-dozen species of Lepisma are known to exist in this country. Our commonest form is very abundant in the Middle States under stones and leaves in forests, and northward in damp houses, where it has much of the habits of the cockroach, eating clothes, tapestry, silken trimmings of furniture, and doing great mischief to libraries by devouring the paste and mutilating the leaves and covers of books. Our heat-loving form, which is apparently allied to the _Lepisma thermophila_ of Europe, and which may be an imported species, is quite as destructive as its nearest of kin _Lepisma saccharina_. It does not confine its ravages to closets and pantries, and feed upon sugar and cake and pastry, but has latterly taken to bookcases, where it leads an easy, comfortable life, without fear of molestation.

So delicately constructed are the Lepismas, and so seemingly feeble the breath of life which animates their frail houses of clay, that nature has endowed them with qualities of mind and body which eminently fit them for the part they have to play in the world. She has made them lovers of darkness rather than light, endowed them with keenness of vision and hearing truly wonderful, and given them a celerity of movement which enables them to outstrip in speed the fleetest of their insect-enemies, and even to baffle the well-directed efforts of man for their destruction. The silver-coated armor with which they are invested is so glossy and smooth that they can slip into a crevice in the wall or floor with the utmost ease and facility. From their actions it would seem that they were always on the alert, for when peril is imminent they do not run aimlessly about for a place of security, but know just where to find it with the least possible expenditure of time and physical strength. Every nook and cranny of their appropriated domain is as well known to these very humble of God’s creatures as some forest-tract of country to one skilled in wood-craft. Never have I studied the behavior of Lepisma that I have not been deeply impressed with the intelligence of its actions. There have always been displayed a purpose and an aim, which showed as plainly as could be that no blind instinct was the cause of a conduct so rational and human-like.

YOU-EE-UP.

Hardly a person living in a sandy country district can be found who has not seen or heard of the queer little insect called You-ee-up, a name which the books do not give, and of which writers on entomological subjects seem to be ignorant. The learned call him Myrmeleon, or Ant-lion, and very appropriately too, because, like the great king of beasts, he never attacks his prey in the open field, but by stratagem while lying in wait in some hidden retreat or secret covert.

Should you chance, on a warm summer day, where sunny slopes abound on the outskirts of a woods, or by the side of a frequented path or road, look carefully about and soon will you descry a small funnel-like opening, scarce two inches in depth and in width, upon a bare patch of sand in the midst of an ocean of verdure. This little cavity is the intentional work of the larva of the Ant-lion. A very close scrutiny will show, by the presence of a pair of fierce jaws, the Ant-lion at home.

Would you know the ingenious builder? Lift him out tenderly from his burrow of sand, and when you have placed him upon the palm of your wide open hand, note with the most careful exactness the peculiar make-up of his structure, so that in the future you may have little difficulty in recognizing him should you again meet.

His short, flat head, armed with powerful mandibles, heavy-set chest, and large, soft, fleshy abdomen, amply protected on the sides with stiff, bristly hairs, added to his compact, robust form, the forward projection of his front and middle legs, and the backward prolongation of the stronger and less movable hind ones, which eminently adapts them to a backward manner of walking, are characters which so deeply impress, that we cannot fail to call up, when occasion demands, the possessor of so wonderful a mechanism.

As He Appears in Youth and Old Age.]

Now that you have become familiar with the odd creature in form and in mien, set him once more upon his proud realm of sand, and seat yourself on the bank close by to watch and enjoy his curious behavior. In a minute or two his fears will have subsided, and he in control again of his accustomed indifference. See, he moves. Round and round he turns in the loose grey sand, burying himself deeper and deeper, and throwing the grains out from the hole he has made by his twistings, using his short, flat head for a shovel. The sand, as it is thrown over the side of the burrow, forms quite a margin, and when all is completed the Ant-lion sinks himself deep into the bottom of the trap he has digged, leaving only the tips of his mandibles in sight, which are extended and ready to seize any insect that is so luckless as to fall into their reach.

The unfortunate ant that ventures too close to the margin sets the sand off rolling, and it immediately begins to struggle against falling down, but the Ant-lion throws a few shovelfuls of sand against it, and it soon comes tumbling down to the bottom of the funnel, when it is instantly seized between the sharp mandibles in waiting, which, being perforated by slender tubes, enable their blood-thirsty owner to suck out its juices.

Country children, and adults as well, manifest a deep interest in these strange beings. They call them, as has been intimated before, You-ee-ups. How the name originated, and when, I do not pretend to know, nor have I been able upon inquiry to find out from the oldest inhabitants of the regions they affect. Old men and old women in the seventies and eighties knew these insects by this name when they were children, and I have been informed that they were always so spoken of by _their_ fathers and mothers.

Even the insects themselves are believed to know the odd name by which they are designated. So fixed is the belief in the minds of the many that, to contradict it, is sure to subject the person so rash and presumptuous to the grossest abuse from the friends of the strange little creature. They have seen him in his sandy retreat, and have called him by name, and he has never been known to decline a response. “You-ee-up, you-ee-up,” cries one, with his mouth just over the opening, and up comes the strange “crittur” as obedient as a lackey. “You-ee-down, you-ee-down,” says the same childish voice, and down he goes to his den to await, as is thought, the giving of further orders.

That the Ant-lion does seem to respond when called, cannot be denied, for I have tried the experiment myself, and others have tried it in my presence, and always with the same successful results. But people go through the world not only with their eyes closed and their ears sealed, but also with their minds forever locked against thinking, lest, by thinking, they might do themselves serious injury. Had but a little of thinking been done, or some common sense exercised, the solution of the insect’s strange actions could have been reached without any great difficulty.

Let me briefly explain. One cannot talk, as is well known, without some motion being imparted to the outlying air. This moving air impinging upon the loosely arranged sand piled up around the margin of the tiny pitfall, dislodges some particles, and these, falling into the jaws of the hidden Ant-lion, bring him to the surface, for he ascribes the commotion to some ill-fated ant, or other such insect, that has, in its anxious searching for food, tumbled unconsciously into his artfully-laid trap. In a moment the mistake is discovered, and, with all possible dispatch, he backs himself down into his den to await further developments. His appearance on the occasion is greeted by “you-ee-down, you-ee-down,” and as he goes down apparently in obedience to the order, but really because it is a matter of business so to do, it is claimed by the unlearned and unwise that his movements are responsive to the command of the person by whom he is addressed.

Two years of larval life, and the subject of our sketch is lost to the sight of the rural folks. A new life, where feeding is no longer necessary, awaits him, but one in which the most radical changes must occur if he is to fulfil the existence which nature designed in her grand scheme of creation. From a silk-gland, which, unlike those of the butterflies and moths, is situated at the end of the body, he spins a cocoon, but there being so little of silk to spare, he needs must supply the deficiency by the utilization of a quantity of sand, which he glues into the walls of his house. Here he dwells a comparatively inactive pupa for three brief weeks, retaining his large, powerful mandibles to the last, which he uses in cutting his way out of the cocoon, when he is ready to emerge as a winged neuropter. In the adult form he resembles the dragon-flies in flight, flapping wildly and irregularly about, as if his muscles were too weak to wield his great stretch of wings. But in repose his alar appendages are folded above each other, forming an acute-angled roof above the long, slender abdomen. The antennæ or feelers are short, stout and club-shaped, and the wings long, narrow and densely veined.

_Myrmeleon obsoletus_, a name given to this insect by Thomas Say, a naturalist of repute, who lived in Philadelphia in the early half of the present century, is by no means a rare species, if search is made in the proper places. In the cut the larva is found to the right of the burrow, while deep in the bottom, with the jaws only in view, is another, prepared to receive the small ant just above should it lose its foothold and tumble into the trap. On the wing, a little in the background of the picture, may be seen the adult insect, represented in hawking for prey over a meadowy expanse of country.

TOWER-BUILDING CICADA.

Closely allied to the bugs is a group of remarkable insects to which naturalists now apply the name of Cicada, but which are generally, though improperly, designated Locust by the common people. They are readily distinguished by their broad heads, large prominent eyes, with three eyelets triangularly placed between them, and delicately transparent, veined wing-covers and wings. The abdomen is short and pointed, and the legs are short, the anterior femora being much thickened and toothed beneath. The hinder extremity of the body of the female is conical, and the under-side has a longitudinal channel for the reception of the ovipositor, or piercer, which is furthermore protected by four short-grooved pieces which are immovably fixed to the sides of the channel. The piercer itself consists of two outer parts grooved on the inside and slightly enlarged and angular at the tips, which are externally beset with small saw-like teeth, and a central spear-pointed borer which plays between the other two, thus combining the advantages of an awl and a double-edged saw, or rather of two key-hole saws cutting opposite to each other. A hard, horny substance, called chitine, the same as exists in the stings of bees and wasps, is the material of its composition. It would be impossible to conceive of anything more exactly fitted for its required uses than is this beautiful complicated instrument.

But the most peculiar characteristic of this family, however, consists in the structure of the mechanism by which the males make the trilling sound for which they have been so long famous. In the male of the Seventeen-year Cicada the musical instrument consists of two stretched membranes, one on each side of the body, which are plainly to be seen immediately behind the wings. These membranes are gathered into numerous fine plaits, and are played upon by muscles or cords fastened to their under surfaces. When these muscles contract and relax, which they do with great rapidity, the drum-heads, which the membranes resemble, are alternately tightened and loosened, the effect of this alternate tension and relaxation being the production of a rattling sound very much like that caused by a succession of quick pressures upon a slightly complex and elastic piece of tin-plate. Certain cavities within the body of the insect, which may be seen on raising two large valves beneath the abdomen, and which are separated from each other by thin transparent partitions of the brilliancy of mica or highly polished glass, tend to increase the intensity of the sound.

In the winged state _Cicada septendecim_, as the subject of our sketch was named by the immortal Linnæus, is of a black color, with transparent wings and wing-covers, the thick anterior edge and veins of which being orange-red. Near the tips of the latter there is a dusky zig-zag line which resembles in shape the letter W. The eyes, when living, are also red, while the legs are a dull orange, which color is conspicuous along the edges of the rings of the body. The wings expand from two and a half to three and a quarter inches.

Adult, Chrysalis-Case, Pupa, Entrances to Burrows and Egg-Nests.]

About the middle of June the perfect insects make their appearance, and as they generally come in large numbers they do a great deal of damage. In some localities they congregate to such an extent upon the trees as to bend and even to break down the limbs by their weight. The din of their discordant drums resounds in the woods and orchards from morning to evening. As their life is of rather short duration, not lasting for a longer period than a month, they soon begin to pair, and it is not long afterwards that the females may be seen preparing nests for the reception of their eggs. Branches of moderate size are selected for this purpose. Their manner of perforation is curious and interesting. Clasping the branch on both sides with their legs, and bending the ovipositor at an angle of forty-five degrees, they repeatedly thrust it into the bark and wood in the direction of the fibres, at the same time setting the lateral saws at work, thereby detaching little splinters of wood at one end, which are intended to serve as a kind of fibrous cover for the nest. The hole is bored obliquely to the pith, and by a repetition of the same operation is gradually enlarged until is formed a longitudinal fissure of sufficient extent to receive from ten to twenty eggs. The side-pieces of the piercer act as a groove to convey the eggs to the nest, where they are deposited in pairs, but separated from each other by a narrow strip of wood. When two eggs have been thus placed, the piercer is withdrawn for a moment, and then inserted till two more eggs are dropped in a line with the first, and thus the operation is repeated until the fissure has been filled, when the insect removes to a little distance and commences to make another nest to contain two more rows of eggs. It takes about fifteen minutes to prepare a groove and fill it with eggs. As many as twenty grooves are sometimes made in a branch by a single insect, and when the limb has been sufficiently stocked she goes from it to another, or from tree to tree, until she has got rid of her complement of from five hundred to seven hundred eggs. So weak does she at length become, in her continued endeavor to provide for the succession of her race, as to fall, in an attempt to fly, an almost lifeless lump to the earth, where her spirit soon goes out never more to enliven its frail house of clay.

Although Cicadas abound most upon the oaks, yet there seem to be no trees or shrubs that are exempt from their attacks, unless it be the various species of pines and firs. The punctured limbs languish and die soon after the eggs are laid, and as often happens are broken off by the winds; but when this is the case the eggs never hatch, for the moisture of the living branch seems necessary for their proper development.

The eggs are one-twelfth of an inch in length, and one-sixteenth of an inch through the middle, but taper to an obtuse point at each end. They are of a pearl-white color. The shell is so thin and delicate that the form of the inclosed insect can be seen before the egg is hatched. One writer claims that fifty-two days, and others that fourteen days, constitute the period required for the hatching of the egg.

When it bursts the shell the young insect is one-sixteenth of an inch long, and is of a yellowish-white color, excepting the eyes and the claws of the fore-legs, which are reddish. It is clothed with small hairs. In form it is grub-like, larger proportionally than the parent, and provided with six legs, the first pair being very large, shaped like lobster-claws, and armed beneath with strong spines. Little prominences take the place of wings, and under the breast is a long beak for suction. Its movements, after leaving the egg, are very lively, and nearly as quick as some of the ants. But after a few moments their instincts prompt them to reach the ground. They do not attain this end by descending the body of the tree, nor by casting themselves off precipitately, but, running to the side of the limb, deliberately loosen their hold and drop to the ground, making the perilous descent with the utmost safety. This seems almost incredible, but it has been repeatedly observed by scores of honest witnesses.

Line Below Shows Natural Size.]

On reaching the ground the young insects immediately burrow their way into the soil, using their broad and strong fore-feet pretty much after the fashion of the mole. They apparently follow, in their descent, the roots of plants, fastening their beaks into the most tender and succulent, and thus imbibing their juices, which constitute their sole aliment. They do not descend very deeply into the ground, probably not more than ten or twelve inches, although accounts have been published of their discovery at a depth of ten or twelve feet, but their occurrence at such great distances from the top of the ground is doubtless the result of accident.

The only alteration to which the insects are subject during the seventeen years of their subterranean confinement, is an increase in size, and the more complete development of the four small scale-like prominences of the back, which contain their future wings.

When the time of its transformation draws near, the larva, in which stage the insect passes the greater part of its existence, works its way up towards the surface, oftentimes in a very circuitous manner, for local changes make it necessary for it to bore through hard woods and between stones well beaten down. The burrow which it thus produces is cylindrical, about five-eighths of an inch in diameter, and firmly cemented and varnished so as to be water-proof. The upper portion, to the extent of five or six inches, is empty, and serves as a habitation till the period of its exit arrives, while the lower is filled with earthy matter removed by the insect in its progress. In this cell it remains during several days, ascending to the top for the benefit of the sunshine and air when the weather is auspicious, even venturing to peep forth occasionally, but descending on the occurrence of cold or wet weather. But when the favorable moment to leave their subterranean retreats arrives, the Cicada-grubs, or more properly pupæ, for such they are now to be considered, although they still retain something of the grub-like form, issue from the ground in great numbers as evening draws on, crawl up the trunks of trees, the stems of herbaceous plants, or on to whatever is convenient, which they grasp securely with their claws. After resting awhile, their skins, which have become dry and of an amber color, are by repeated exertions rent along the back, and through the slit formed the included Cicada pushes its head and body, and withdraws its wings and legs from their separate cases, and, crawling to a short distance, leaves its empty pupa-case fastened to the tree. At first the wing-covers and wings are small and opaque, but in a few hours they acquire their natural size and shape. It is not, however, for three or four days that the muscles harden sufficiently for them to assume their characteristic flight. The males make their appearance some days in advance of the females, and also disappear sooner. During several successive nights the pupæ continue to issue from the ground, and in some places, as was the case in May of 1868, when these insects appeared in great numbers in the vicinity of Philadelphia, the whole surface of the soil was made by their operations to assume a honey-combed appearance.

Longitudinal Section Showing Pupa in Two Positions.]

In localities where the soil is low and swampy, a remarkable chamber is built up by the larva, where the pupa may be found awaiting the time of its change to the winged state. These chambers were first noticed by S. S. Rathvon, at Lancaster, Pa., and are from four to six inches above the ground, and have a diameter of one inch and a quarter. When ready to emerge the insect backs down to an opening which is left in the side of the structure on a level with the surface of the ground, issues forth and undergoes its transformation in the usual manner. This peculiar habit of nest-building, which is so unlike what is customary with the Cicadidæ, or with Hemiptera in general, points to a high degree of intelligence among these insects, showing a remarkable ability to adapt themselves to environing circumstances. Undue moisture would be prejudicial to the pupa, as the larva seemed to know, through the guidance of the same dumb and unerring instinct which teaches it to cement its underground dwelling, but would that same instinct teach it to construct so wonderful a dome-like house as the one described for the preservation of its after-life, and one so eminently fitted by its position, shape, size and entrance to secure the necessary shelter, warmth and air for its protection and development? I apprehend not. Nothing short of a reason, similar to that in man, but differing in degree, would enable it to grasp the situation in which it found itself to be placed when nearing its final change, and plan with the view of carrying out the ultimate aim of its existence.

Fortunately, these insects are appointed to return at periods so distant that vegetation has a chance to recover from the injuries which they inflict. Were they to appear at shorter intervals, our forest- and fruit-trees would be entirely destroyed by them. They are, moreover, subject to many accidents, and have many enemies, which contribute to diminish their numbers. Their eggs are eaten by birds, and the young, when they leave the egg, are preyed upon by ants, who mount the trees for that purpose, or take them upon the ground as they are about to enter upon their protracted larval career. Blackbirds eat them in the spring when turned up by the plough, and hogs, when allowed to run at large in the woods, root them up and devour large numbers, especially just before the arrival of the period of their final transformation, when they are lodged only a few inches below the surface of the soil. Many perish in the egg by the closing up of the bark and wood that constitute the walls of the perforations, thus burying the eggs before they have hatched, and others, no doubt, are killed by their perilous descent from the trees.

As its name implies, this insect generally requires seventeen years to complete its transformations, a fact that was first pointed out many years ago by the botanist Kalm. The late Prof. Riley, who had given this species a great deal of study, was the first to work out the problem of its periodical returns. He found that there are also thirteen-year broods, and that both sometimes occur in the same locality, but that in general terms the thirteen-year brood might be called the southern form, and the seventeen-year the northern form. At the limits of their respective ranges these broods overlap each other. The shorter-lived form he named provisionally _Cicada tredecim_. It was the existence of this brood that led entomologists to doubt the propriety of Linné’s name, because, in calculating each appearance as occurring in any locality at the end of every seventeen years, they could not make the dates of its periodical returns correct. But it was Prof. Riley that cleared up the matter. It happened in the summer of 1868 that one of the largest seventeen-year broods occurred simultaneously with one of the largest thirteen-year broods. Such an event, so far as these two particular broods are concerned, has not taken place since 1647, nor will it take place again till the year 2089. There are absolutely no specific differences between the two broods other than in the time of maturing. There is, however, a dimorphous form that appears with both these broods. It is smaller, of a much darker color, has an entirely different voice, appears a fortnight sooner, and is never known to pair with the ordinary form. Dr. J. C. Fisher, in 1851, described it as _Cicada cassinii_, but the specific differences are not sufficiently well defined to entitle it to rank as a species.

HONEY-DEW.

That aphides secrete, or rather excrete, a saccharine fluid, called honey-dew, which constitutes an important part of the food of ants, is a fact well known to naturalists. It must not be supposed, however, that this was its primitive use. But that it is in some way connected with the preservation of the tender creatures by which it is elaborated, there can exist not the slightest doubt.

Concerning its origin and application, and the benefit which it secures to its authors, various opinions have been hazarded, but they have all been too unsatisfactory to merit more than a passing notice. That it was of some advantage to young aphides was surmised by many, but the proofs necessary to sustain such a surmise were unfortunately wanting. It was left to the latter half of the nineteenth century to throw correct light upon the subject.

Whilst engaged some few years ago in the study of the species that affects the blossoms of one of our gourds--the _Cucurbita ovifera_ of botanists--certain phenomena were observed, which promised an easy and speedy solution of the problem.

Gathered in compact masses, like companies of soldiery preparing for a foray, hundreds of aphides were seen, busily feeding, all over the flowers. There were old and young, not an indiscriminate mingling of ages and sizes, but an orderly arrangement of families, each family preceded by its own appropriate head. First came the very young of each family, only to be followed by those that were older, leaving the oldest of all to lead up the rear.

Mother-Aphis and Her Army of Children on Tube.]

Here, it was apparent, was a most wonderful manifestation of intelligent design. The newly-born, needing the mother’s earliest attention, were in closest proximity, while the almost mature were the farthest removed from her essential presence.

All this seemed to indicate the dearest relationship subsisting between mother and offspring, but judging from outward appearances, little, if any, love existed. It is true that maternal instinct, which is seldom so far gone as to shut its ears to the beseechings of suffering offspring for food, was far from being absent. Instances of its presence were momentarily noted.

But a stimulus seemed, in some cases, quite necessary to its manifestation. There were times when the honey-glands acted without any provocation. It was only, however, when the very tender were a-hungry, that pressure was brought to bear upon the mothers. A few gentle reminders served to arouse them from the apathetic indifference which possessed them. The antennæ of the young were the means employed for this purpose. Two or three caresses almost immediately brought a discharge of honey. Again and again was the process observed, and always with the same invariable result.

Never for a longer period than two days were the very young dependent upon this manner of feeding, for their digestive organs were too weak and delicate to assimilate earlier, without injury, the powerful juices of the food-plant.

But what of the older offspring? That they were far from being disregarded by parental provision, subsequent developments only too plainly showed. The excretion, though less urgent in their case than in that of the very young, was quite as indispensable. Were it not so, what reason can be assigned for their very strict adherence to the course over which the maternal head had already passed in feeding?

From what has been said, there can be no doubt that the newly-born aphis derives material advantage from the excretion. But as the supply is clearly above the requirements, why the excess? It is evident nature does not need it as a kind of compensation for losses sustained through aphides. Then what purpose does it serve? It becomes in part the pabulum of the stronger of the young, and this it accomplishes by mixing with the natural juices of the plant, thereby rendering them fit for use.

To serve as food for the young is then the primary object of aphis-excretion. That a secondary purpose, namely, the preservation of the species, is also subserved, there can be no question. How this is effected, it shall now be my endeavor to show.

Ants, it is well known, are fond of sugar, gums and saccharine solutions, as well as the rich juices and tender tissues of animals. But their appetite for sweets is stronger than for all other diets. To them aphis would prove quite as toothsome a morsel as it is to Coccinella, and would be as eagerly hunted for by them were it not for this matter of sweets.

Way back in the history of time, things were perhaps different from what they are now. Aphis was then a racy tidbit, and shared, no doubt, the murderous assaults of Formica, as it did of other carnivores.

For ages this may have been going on, but how long conjecture only can tell. But there came a time when affairs were changed. A new order of things was initiated. Earth was growing better and impressing new features upon its life. An Ant, more wise than any of its fellows, or any that had ever lived before, doubtless stepped upon the scene, and a new era for Aphis inaugurated.

Finding by accident, or otherwise, the delightful qualities of aphis-excretion, it would not be slow to communicate the information to its companions. And as news travels rapidly, and ants are by no means reticent creatures, but a short time would be necessary to carry it everywhere, till all the families, near and remote, of the great world of the Formicidæ would be made acquainted with the important discovery.

Now, as ants are endowed with a high degree of intelligence, considering the position they occupy in the grand scale of created existences, they would soon perceive that their highest good would be attained by taking under their protection the little creatures which are the authors of this excretion. From this time the ants would begin to abandon their sanguinary propensities and manifest some regard for the aphides. The latter, in return, perceiving the former’s friendly disposition, would cease to fear them, and learn to cater to their wants. Thus would be developed, in time, those amicable relations which subsist between the two great, yet widely differentiated, families.

MILCH-COWS OF THE ANTS.

While much has been written upon the social relations subsisting between ants and aphides, yet the subject never grows uninteresting or threadbare. New facts are brought to light as observations widen and extend, some tending to confirm, and others to subvert old notions.

That aphides excrete a sweet, viscid, honey-like fluid, which affords food for many species of ants, has been long known to naturalists. Any one can convince himself of this truth if he will but put himself to the trouble of examining the leaves or branchlets of any plant at the proper season of the year. Scattered upon the foliage and tender twigs thereof will be found millions of aphides, and close beside them countless ants, that ever and anon will be seen to caress, by means of their antennæ, the little creatures for the sweets within their bodies. It has even been asserted that some species of ants keep aphides as human beings do cows, but this by the many has been doubted, or deemed imaginary.

When a young man the writer was disposed to drift with the popular opinion in this particular, but a few facts that fell under his notice whilst searching for carabi and other beetles that live under stones and decayed logs, changed the bias of his mind and established in him the idea that with one species of ant this was at least the case.

It was on an occasion while exploring a neighboring thicket for the objects of his search, that he discovered, underneath a large flat stone which he had raised, a nest of a small red ant, which he took to be the _Lasius flavus_ of the books. The ground was covered all over with pits, and divers communicating roads, and round about were hundreds of ants, larvæ in various stages of development, pupæ and eggs, and innumerous flocks of a white aphis, all of which were being tenderly cared for by a large army of thoughtful nurses.

Neuters About Their Work.]

No sooner did the intrusion occur than the colony was a scene of busy activity. Interested in what was before him, the writer seated himself upon a small mound overlooking the nest, where could be clearly observed the minutest details of ant-life. The neuters were everywhere to be noticed, but not a single male or female ant. All the work devolved upon the neuters. These were divided into three sets, each set having a definite part to perform in the unexpected drama before it. Some neuters had the exclusive charge of the mature larvæ, others of the pupæ and very young grubs, and the rest of their aphidian herds.

But it is to those that had the care of the aphides that we shall particularly invite attention. At the time of the disturbance, these specialized neuters were busy milking their cows, which they did by rubbing their long, pliant feelers against the anal nipples of the latter, drawing therefrom, as it seemed, a drop of the coveted fluid with each antennal stroke. No aphis was known to be visited in this business twice in succession, but the ants would go from one to another, and only return to the first when sufficient time had elapsed for the replenishing of its store. So intent were they upon their task, that several minutes must have passed before they took in the danger to which they were exposed.

You should then have seen their anxiety, and the presence of mind they exhibited. Conscious as of attack, and knowing the peril that beset them, they did not flee to their underground galleries, or to the adjoining grasses, for shelter, and thus leave their flocks to the mercy of the invader, but they manifested the deepest concern for the little creatures, so unable to defend themselves, that had so willingly catered to their temporal wants. Not an ant was seen to desert its post, but all remained on duty till the last of their protegés was carried to safe and comfortable apartments in the ground beneath.

What clearer evidence is wanted to show the love these neuters bear the tender objects of their care? It must be plain that man bestows not half the attention upon his flocks than do these ants on theirs. It is true they do not bring them food, but that they build their homes where food, the roots of herbs and grasses, abound, there is no doubt. It may be, too, that they are carried to their pasture-grounds, when that necessity occurs, but this cannot with truth be said. When some would stray, they were returned within the fold, which shows the watch these ants do exercise.

Concluding then, this much may be averred: food, wholesome, sweet, nutritious food, the aphides supply to ants, the neuters and the young, but specially the young. And that they lead most happy, prosperous lives, the ants their masters, must surely be, or looks deceive.

LIVING ARTILLERY.

No more remarkable creature exists, perhaps, than the little _Brachinus fumans_, which is so very common in the early spring. Damp situations are affected by it, but it is seldom met with except by insect-hunters, for it conceals itself generally under stones, as many as a half-dozen individuals often being found in company in a single locality. Banks of tidal rivers afford excellent hunting-grounds in England for Brachinus, but in America low, dank woods and borders of streams are the places where one must look to discover its presence.

When once you have made the acquaintance of so remarkable a stranger you can never afterwards fail to recognize him in your travels. He is peculiar, but not at all distinguished in looks, as some of his brethren. Picture a yellowish-red beetle, with a bluish frock-coat, which his wing-covers resemble, and possessed of a short, narrow head, a heart-shaped prothorax, as the front of the chest-segments is called, and a long, broad abdomen, three times the size of the rest of his body, and you have a tolerably fair idea of Brachinus.

But it is not so much his odd shape as a most extraordinary property he possesses, which is singularly unique in the animal kingdom, that makes him an object of interest and curiosity. Deep down in his most marvellous body a fluid, highly volatile in its nature, is elaborated, which the little creature can retain or expel at his pleasure. It is only, however, when alarmed that he utilizes this fluid in small quantities in defense, but its effect is wonderful, for in coming into contact with the atmosphere it immediately volatilizes and explodes, looking very much like a discharge of powder from a miniature artillery. In consequence of this phenomenon the insect which produces it is popularly called the Bombardier Beetle.

His Curious and Unique Method of Defence.]

So small a coleopter, being scarcely one-fourth of an inch in length, and so comparatively weak, is likely to be attacked by the larger Geodephaga, or Earth Devourers, and especially by the Carabi, which inhabit similar retreats. But for this curious defence the smaller insect could have but the barest chance of living in the struggle for existence. Often have I seen a Carabus in hot pursuit of Brachinus. The chase is always an interesting one, and never fails, however frequently it has been observed, of attracting attention and exciting admiration. But the wide-awake, ever watchful Brachinus never loses his head for a second when thus pursued, but like the clever artilleryman that he is, awaits the opportune moment, and then pours a heavy discharge of his fulminating fluid into the very face of the enemy. Baffled, alarmed, Carabus desists from the attack, and backs slowly away from the tiny blue smoke, while Brachinus, in the confusion that ensues, escapes to some place of security for rest and protection.

Most skilfully has the artist delineated the scene. _Carabus serratus_, the pursuing beetle, is chasing the Bombardier, and has nearly effected his capture, when, all of a sudden, a discharge of artillery has stopped the pursuit, under cover of which the Bombardier will make off. Meanwhile the Carabus, exchanging his rapid advance for a retreat quite as rapid, throws back his antennæ, a sign of his defeat, and skulks away to recover his wonted self-possession.

The volatile fluid, which produces such curious effects, is secreted in a small sac just within the end of the abdomen. Not only is it capable of repelling the larger beetles by its explosion and cloud of blue vapor, but it is also powerful enough to discolor the human skin, as many who have captured Bombardier Beetles by the hand know only too well. Should the fluid get within the eyelids, the pain and irritation produced are very distressing. Some years ago the writer, while searching for carabi underneath stones and in creviced rocks, met for the first time with Brachinus, but was ignorant as a child of his obnoxious property. Placing a little fellow upon his hand for close examination, he soon experienced a burning and painful sensation of the ball of the eye, but did not for a long while attribute the cause to a discharge from the Beetle. Repeated investigations at very short ranges by means of a microscope were attended with similar results, till eventually an inflammation of the visual organs set in, accompanied by a blurring of the sight, which debarred him from reading and study for nearly a fortnight. One learns wisdom by experience, and the wisdom thus acquired serves for a lifetime.

Even Brachinus has learned by experience, doubtless, to be economical in the use of his resources. The whole of the contents of his tiny magazine are not ejected at one discharge, but there is sufficient to produce a series of explosions, each explosion being perceptibly fainter than its predecessor. By pressing the abdomen of the dead Beetle between finger and thumb these explosions may even be produced. In hot countries, where exceedingly large species abound, the explosions are said to be very loud, and accompanied with quite a cloud of blue vapor.

BRIGHT AND SHINING ONES.

Probably more than ninety thousand different species of beetles exist in the world, first and foremost among them standing the Cicindelidæ, or Tiger Beetles. From their high position in the coleopterous world they may well demand our attention, but they have other claims upon our consideration. They are beautiful, courageous little creatures, and accomplish a vast amount of good to man. The name Cicindela, by which they are known to scientific people, tells us that they are the “bright and shining ones;” while the cognomen of Tiger Beetle reveals to all English-speaking nations the story of the incessant warfare which they wage upon their fellows.

The Cicindelæ love the merry sunshine. On any bright summer day they may be found running and flying about sunny banks, or revelling in sandy places where the day-god smilingly rejoices. They mostly avoid vegetation, as it checks their easy rapid movements, although some kinds affect grassy spots among the trees. They are the most predaceous of the coleoptera, and behave like the tigers among mammals, the hawks among birds, the crocodiles among reptiles and the sharks among fishes. In the tropics some few genera seek their food on the leaves of trees, but in temperate and sub-tropical regions, where the species are more abundant, they are terrestrial in habits.

Let us now take our instruments of capture and go in quest of some of the dozen or more species that have their home with us. The day is auspicious. Here is a likely spot. See there upon the ground are some specimens of our commonest species--the _Cicindela vulgaris_ of naturalists. Go for that one. He sees you as quickly as you see him, and is off for a few yards, but suddenly drops to the grass from his flight, but always with his head towards the enemy. Again and again you start him, but at last, tiring of the chase, he takes a longer flight that usual. This is a _ruse_ of his, and knowing what it means, you hurry back to where you first saw him in time to see him all unsuspectingly alight, and you easily take him captive in your toils. Now that you have him secure, examine him closely. Watch how savagely he moves his mandibles and tries to pinch. You need not be afraid, for his bite is inoffensive and not very painful. You measure with the eye his size, and you rightly decide that he is not much over an inch in length, and scarcely one-fourth in breadth. His head you will find very large and brainy, his jaws powerful and long and curved, two scimitar-like weapons, which are admirably fitted for cutting and carving the quivering bodies of his prey. His eleven-jointed antennæ are long, slender and graceful. In color his back is dull purple, but beneath he is resplendent in a bright brassy green. Three whitish, irregular bands adorn his wing-covers. His legs, long and slender, are just the things on which to hunt the active insects upon which he feeds.

His next of kin, the Purple Tiger Beetle, is nearly as large as he, and often joins him in company. Beautifully robed in purple he usually is, but sometimes in a greenish garb arrayed. From the outer almost to the inner margin of each wing meanders a reddish line, while lower down a dot, and still another at the farthest tip of the inner border, enhance his beauty. Cold spring days delight him best, and he is often seen when snow is yet upon the ground.

More beautiful by far than either, and no less active, is _Cicindela sex guttata_, or the Six-spotted Tiger Beetle, whose dress, a brilliant metallic green, flecked with six small silver spots, renders him a pretty sight when you flash the rays of light athwart his burnished armor. Hot, June-like days and dusty road-sides suit him best, and there, what time the sun looks down in all his burning ardor, our little friend is met, his purpose bent on slaughter. Other species might be instanced, for North America contains at least a hundred, but enough have been given for our present object.

Larvæ in Burrows. Two Other Species in Background.]

Tiger Beetles may well be called beneficial insects. Although they do not, like that brilliant murderess, the dragon-fly, clear the atmosphere of the gnats and flies that torment mankind, but still, with their powerful curved daggers, which serve them for jaws, they accomplish a swift and almost incredible havoc among the smaller insects. We should take care of them, and respect them, for they are an invaluable auxiliary to the farmer.

The ferocity of these insects is remarkable. No sooner have they taken their prey, than they quickly strip it of wings and legs, and proceed at once to suck out the contents of its abdomen. Often when they are disturbed in this agreeable occupation, not wishing to leave their victim, they fly away with it to a place of uninterrupted security, but they are unable to carry a heavy burden to any great distance.

They are true children of the earth. The eggs are laid in the earth, and in the earth the grubs are hatched, and in the earth they spend their days, and in the earth they prepare their shrouds, and, wrapped therein, sleep their pupa-sleep through the long, dreary winter, and with the returning warmth of spring crawl out of their earthy chambers to run and sport on earth, seldom using their new-formed wings to fly away from their beloved mother.

The grubs are hideous hunchbacks, but possessed of brains and stomach. They live in the same localities as their parents, the anxious mother, with wise precision, having carefully deposited her eggs where food would be readily attainable by her children. Have you a desire to examine a larva? There is a hole that has been made by one of these creatures. Place down into it a small straw or a bit of fine twig. The cranky little hermit, who is always wide-awake, resists most fiercely such unprovoked insolence, and instantly seeks, by the aid of his broad, expansive head, to eject the intruding object. Now is your time. When he shows himself, quickly seize him with your fingers. You will find him a perfect Daniel Quilp, with head enormous, flat, metallic in color and armed with long, curved jaws. His legs are six in number, and on the back, half-way between the legs and tail, are two curious, odd-looking tubercles, each terminating in a pair of recurved hooks. The head and first body-division are horny, the rest of the creature being soft and very sensitive.

While the larval Cicindela has all the desire for slaughter which his parents manifest, yet his delicate skin, long body and stubby legs not only prevent him from chasing prey, but also from attempting a struggle with an insect of any size; nevertheless this imperfectly armed creature manages to secure his food without exposing himself to any serious risk. With his short, thick spiny legs he loosens the earth, and with his flat head, which he uses as a shovel, and turning himself into a z-shaped figure, hoists up the clay and upsets it around the mouth of his intended dwelling. With head and legs, and with a perseverance that is truly surprising, he sinks in a very short time a shaft a foot in length and as large in diameter as an ordinary lead-pencil.

Especial pains are taken to see that the tunnel is sufficiently wide, so that the little creature can crawl in with ease. If he wishes to remain set fast, he sticks the back of his body against the sides and rests safely with the aid of his hooks. In this position he can poke his head out of the ground, thus closing the entrance of his burrow, while in patient waiting for some unsuspicious wayfarer to pass over. As soon, however, as the luckless insect touches the top of his head, he relinquishes his hold within the tunnel and descends with great precipitation to the bottom, and thus his victim falls into the hole, where it is seized by the powerful jaws and its juices absorbed in a quiet, leisurely manner. The loose earth around the opening of the tunnel gives way on the approach of an insect, and thus the success of the cunning Cicindela is doubly insured.

Sometimes in the construction of a burrow, after a certain depth has been reached, the young Cicindela meets with a difficulty which he had not expected. A flat stone is encountered, and thus further progress in a vertical direction is prevented. If the obstacle, on account of its size, cannot be gone round, and the shaft is not deep enough for his purpose, it is not unusual for him to desert it and attempt the tunnelling of a home in some more desirable spot. He does not undertake a very long journey, for he knows too well the risk which he runs by so doing, as he is in danger of being assaulted by secret foes in the rear, an attack which the peculiar conformation of his hinder body ill fits him to resist. On land he is timid and cowardly, and well might he be, but within the protecting walls of his underground castle, with a pair of powerful swords with which to defend himself, he is the impersonation of fearlessness and courage.

When fully grown the larva closes up the mouth of its abode, and in quiet and solitude undergoes its metamorphosis, lying dormant during the winter months. But when the breath of warm spring days has melted the icy coldness of the earth, and filled the air with vivifying influences, then comes it forth in all the pomp and splendor of its nature--a winged existence.

It has been seen what a beautiful adaptation of means to an end is shown by the young Cicindela. Even the adult, or mature form, with its long, slender legs, so admirably formed for silence and fleetness of movement, which are alike necessary to pursuit of prey and escape from enemies, displays the wisdom of Him who breathed into all animated nature, no matter how small or how humble, the essence of His being, and endowed one and all with qualities of mind and body which should respond to environing conditions and thus prepare them to survive in the struggle for existence.

QUEEN OF AMERICAN SILK-SPINNERS.

No insect affords a better proof of high art in nature, and of the transcendent beauty of the Creator’s thoughts, than the Luna moth, which is as preëminent above her fellows as her namesake, the fair empress of the sky, above the lesser lights that dominate the night. Her elegant robes of green, set off with trimmings of purple, and jewelled with diamonds, added to her queenly grace and personal charms, will always distinguish her from the _profanum vulgus_ of the articulata.

And now for a short biographical sketch of this remarkable beauty from the cradle to the grave, and beyond, after she has assumed her resurrection-attire, to the day when, her appointed work on earth being ended, she quietly lays her body down to mingle with its native clay.