Chapter IV: Part 4

Let us see. Yes, May's aphids produce the white powder instead of honey dew.

That is _their_ way of getting rid of the waste matter.

May says she is glad to know that; she thought her aphids had something the matter with them. They seemed to be falling to pieces.

No, May, they are not falling to pieces; that powder can all be rubbed off, and there are your aphids whole and sound beneath it.

Do you know that some species of your funny little tree hoppers secrete honey dew also, and even have ants to attend them? See if you can find some of these this summer.

Sometimes aphids live on the roots of plants as well as on the leaves.

Yes, indeed, May, they are very destructive insects. We have to spray our house plants to get rid of them, and often our garden flowers as well, and they do a great deal of damage to fruits and vegetables, and one of them, the phylloxera, has nearly destroyed the vineyards of France. It lives on the leaves of some species of grapes and on the roots of others. We have to be very careful about getting grape vines from Europe to plant in this country on account of the phylloxera.

What have you found now, John? Ah, yes, an alder branch, with a white, cottony substance on it. You have been poking into it with a little stick, and you think there are insects beneath it.

What, May, you always thought that white stuff was a plant growth, like mould?

We can easily find out. Get out some of the little things inside if you can, John. It is not easy to separate them from their cottony covering without crushing them, but now we can see quite well with the magnifying glass--and yes--you see they are little insects.

We call them the woolly aphids.

They also secrete honey dew.

You say the ground below the alder bush was all sticky and black, John?

That was the honey dew, blackened by a little plant something like mould, that grows on it.

We often see woolly plant lice in the summer-time on different plants, and one species injures apple trees. It gets on the roots as well as on the tender bark of young trees and kills them.

Yes, indeed, Mollie, the aphids are bugs. They belong to the bug order, which is a very large and important insect family, and contains some members that are exceedingly troublesome to us.

SCALE BUGS

What, May, you are tired out?

What have you been doing?

Oh, yes, washing the scales off the leaves of your mother's window fern.

It must indeed have been a task; what did you wash them off with? Why did you use soap suds?

Because your mother told you to; well, that is a good reason, but why do you think she told you to use soap suds?

You say you don't know, but you think very likely these scales are some sort of bug, as everything nowadays seems to be bugs.

Well, I don't know about everything being bugs, but those scales certainly are. They are scale bugs.

Did you stop to look at them under the magnifying glass?

No, but you brought a piece of the fern for us to look at.

It will be necessary to put it under the microscope.

There, now look.

Yes, that scale looks like a tiny mussel shell; but look carefully, and you will see it has legs.

Lift it up with the point of a pin, and under it you will find a mass of eggs. Yes, Ned; it is like a quantity of eggs under a dish cover.

The cover is the female scale bug, and she has laid all those eggs.

Yes, the scales we see on so many plants are the scale bugs.

They are not all alike in shape, or size, or color; here is a different kind, you see.

But they are all very prolific; that is to say, they produce a great many young, and do it in a short time.

Yes, John, the tiny, dark-colored scales that look like little oyster shells on the skins of oranges are a form of scale bug, and a very troublesome one, too, to the orange grower.

But though most of these insects are troublesome, the family is redeemed by a few members that are of great value to us.

One of these is the scale bug that supplies shellac, and all that comes from it to our markets. These curious bugs give forth a resinous substance that envelops the eggs and glues them to the twigs whose juices the bug sucks out. It is this resinous substance that is collected by breaking off the twigs where the insects are. It is used for varnishes, as you know, and for polishing wood and other substances.

There are other scale bugs that secrete wax, and some of them produce it so abundantly, and of such good quality, that it has become an article of commerce. China wax, which is wax of a very fine quality, is secreted by a Chinese scale bug, and the wax is used for making fine candles, as well as for other purposes.

In Mexico we have the cochineal insect, which is a scale bug that lives on a cactus that grows in Mexico.

Like many others of the scale bugs, the cochineal males have wings and are not so scalelike as their helpless mates.

But they are of no use to us. It is only the female cochineal we use.

She is raised in great numbers in cactus gardens planted on purpose.

Here is the picture of a cactus with cochineal insects upon it.

These insects contain a very brilliant, red coloring matter that is used by us in dyeing leather and wool, and in making paints. The insects are gathered and dried, and thus sent to market.

Although a few of them are useful to us, the scale bugs, on the whole, are a serious pest; and they are found on nearly all kinds of plants all over the world.

You should think all the plants would soon be gone, so many insects eat them?

Well, they would, only other things eat the insects.

Insects have a great many enemies, after all.

Sometimes the weather is bad for them, the season is too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry, and then they do not appear in large numbers.

Sometimes one kind of insect eats another kind.

Sometimes tiny plants, like moulds, grow on the insects and kill them; and birds destroy a very large number.

If the farmers only knew how much good the birds do them, they would never allow one to be killed. Even the crows that pull up their corn are worth many times the corn they eat in the insects they destroy. There is scarcely a bird but what is of value to the farmer.

The hawks that catch his chickens catch more mice and moles in his fields, than chickens in his barn-yard.

And as for the robins, the blue jays, and all the small birds, they do more to save the growing plants, than all the soap suds and kerosene emulsion that were ever made.

No one should ever shoot a bird. The birds are our natural protectors against the vast armies of insects, that, but for the birds, would soon destroy us by eating up our food plants.

What is that, May? You belong to an Audubon Society for the protection of the birds?

Yes, I know you do, and so do John and Ned and Mollie and little Nell.

I wish every child in the United States belonged to the Audubon Society. Then our birds would be safe. They would never be killed as they are now for foolish women to wear on their hats.

When the Audubon Society children grew up they would not wear dead birds, of course, and their children would be taught better, so that after a while the Audubon Society people would be the only ones left, and so the birds would be safe.

Let us get as many people to belong to the Audubon Society as we can.

What is that, Amy? You have learned more interesting things about birds in the Audubon Society than you ever knew in your life before?

Yes, I am sure you have, and what could be lovelier to study about than the birds.

What is that you are saying, Ned? You love to go bird hunting? Ah, I see your eyes twinkle, sir; I know how you go hunting. You hunt with your mother's opera glass! That is the proper way to hunt birds.

We can learn more from watching one bird with a glass than we could from shooting a hundred.

But you do shoot them, John? Yes, I know about that, too. I know what kind of a shooting instrument you got for Christmas, sir, and I have seen the birds you shot!

Yes, nearly all of us have seen them, and how well he does it!

What, Amy, you think John ought to be ashamed of himself to go about shooting birds, and we ought to be ashamed of ourselves to talk so about it?

There, now, don't be vexed with Amy, children. She has known us but a little while, and she has not seen John's birds, so I do not wonder she feels indignant.

What is that, May? You have one of John's birds right here in your school-bag? Show it to Amy.

Isn't it pretty! It is a very charming photograph of a catbird on its nest.

You see John shoots birds with a camera! His father gave him a beautiful one for Christmas, and he has made good use of it.

How long did it take you to get that bird, John?

Just hear! He spent more than a week getting acquainted with the bird so it would sit still on the nest while he took its picture.

I am sure that was a week well spent.

John says he feels better acquainted with the catbird than he would have been if he had read fifty books about it.

And I am sure he is right. The only way to enjoy a bird and to know it, is to watch it alive.

A camera is the very best gun in the world for catching birds. And it is really much better fun to take their pictures than to shoot and kill them.

It seems to me we have strayed a long way from bugs.

May says she thinks birds are much more interesting than bugs.

That may be, but still we want to know about bugs, too.

Do you think you will know a bug when you see it now?

No, I do not believe you can be sure of that. But at least you know something about a few bugs.

Some day you will study more carefully how insects are formed, and then you will understand better how we decide what order they belong to.

We group together the insects that are most like each other.

~NEUROPTERA~

~TRICHOPTERA~

THE HORNED CORYDALUS

No more bugs, if you please.

We are to make the acquaintance of another order of insect folk this time.

I think we can find some worthy members of this new order if we go with John to a brook he knows of.

Here we are, and it certainly is a lovely brook, whether we find a dobson in it or not.

Yes, Nell, the dobson is the new insect we shall try to find.

Now, be careful and not get your clothes too wet, but we have to turn over the stones along the edge of the brook until we find what we are after.

Mollie wants to know how she is to know it if she finds it.

Well, Mollie, whatever you find that is interesting you must show us. Even though it is not what we are searching for, we shall enjoy seeing it.

Look at little Nell! She has tumbled into the brook. Her foot slipped, and down she went.

Don't cry, deary, you are not wet enough to do any harm. The warm sun will soon dry you.

No, indeed, you will not have to go home.

Perhaps you will be the first one to find a dobson after all.

Hurrah! hurrah! hear John shout!

He must have found the first dobson.

Yes, he has.

What, May? It is a horrid monster, and you have a good mind to scream?

Well, scream if you want to; that won't do any harm.

It _isn't_ pretty! but we shall like to look at it. You see it is a larva and a big one, dark gray in color and with a thick leathery skin.

Mollie says it reminds her a little of the larva of the May fly; that is, in shape.

Let us look at a picture of the May-fly larva.

You see it has a head, a thorax to which is attached the six legs and the rudimentary wings, and an abdomen, all distinctly separated from each other.

The dobson has a head, but no thorax.

The body behind the head is divided into segments that all look very much alike, and there is a pair of legs attached to each of the first three segments.

The dobson eats other larvæ that it chews up with its strong jaws.

It lives almost three years in the larval state, so you see it has plenty of time in which to grow. Of course it moults. It is usually to be found under stones in swift, running water. Those two pairs of hooks at the tip of its body are its anchors.

It clasps them about a bit of stone or a stick that is firmly lodged, and then it can bid defiance to the swirling stream.

Ned wonders why it is always found hiding under stones.

Listen to John, he says fishes are very fond of dobsons, and that is why they hide away.

Fishermen hunt the dobsons for bait; so you see they have a hard time in spite of their large size and their strong jaws.

When they have lived nearly three years in the water they crawl out on the bank and hollow out a place under a stone.

Here they lie, apparently dead, but they are not dead.

They are undergoing a wonderful transformation.

It takes about a month for this transformation, or _metamorphosis_, as it is called, to be completed.

All of our other insect friends have changed gradually from larval to adult form. At each moult they became a little more like their parents, and finally at the last moult, without any resting period, out sprang the perfect insect.

Not so the dobson. It goes into its hole in the bank a larva, almost exactly like the larva that hatched from the egg, only, of course, it is larger. There is no hint of wings. It has no separate thorax and abdomen. Could we see under the bank where it has crept, to undergo its great metamorphosis, we should find, not a larva, but a strange-looking, motionless object.

Here is the picture of one. See its little wing pads. And now it has a thorax and an abdomen.

It seems to have changed and been turned to some hard substance.

In this state it is called the _pupa_, which means doll. Is it not a cunning insect doll? But it is not really a doll. Although so still and apparently lifeless, yet it lives.

Some day it will burst its pupa shell and pull itself out--not a larva now, not a pupa, but a strong-winged insect.

In its adult form, it is known as the horned corydalus.

There! I thought John was saving one for us. He had it in a box in his pocket. Now see what a--a--what shall I say? A beauty? or a monster? That is just as you feel about it.

It certainly is an alarming-looking insect.

This one is a male, as we can tell by the long, curved jaws that look very dangerous; but in this instance the creature's appearance is worse than its bite, and the real biter is the female whose jaws are smaller but very useful in nipping tormentors or biting prey.

Now here she is--a fit mate for her formidable-looking companion.

John, you were fortunate in your hunting.

In spite of its terrifying appearance, see what wonderful wings the corydalus has.

See! John has spread out the wings of the female.

They are indeed beautiful.

May cannot understand how those great wings came out of those little wing pads.

When the wings were first pulled out of the wing pads they were small, but they rapidly expanded and became thin and broad and long as the air touched them.

You will understand that better after a while.

The corydalus differs from all the other insects we have studied, in its metamorphosis.

It begins life far more unlike its parents than the other insects we have been looking at, for they had the thorax and abdomen distinct from the beginning. Instead of changing gradually and remaining active all the time up to the final metamorphosis, our corydalus goes into the pupa state, and in that motionless condition transforms to the perfect insect.

This is called a complete metamorphosis.

When the change is gradual, without any pupa form, any stopping place as it were, the change is said to be an incomplete metamorphosis.

Yes, the metamorphosis of the grasshoppers is incomplete, and of the katydids and the crickets and all the other insects we have studied until we came to the dobson.

Another name for the larva of insects that undergo an incomplete metamorphosis is _nymph_. Some books speak of the nymph of the grasshopper, and never of the larva of the grasshopper. Such books use the word _larva_ only in speaking of the young of insects that undergo a complete metamorphosis.

Yes, Ned, they would speak of the nymph of the dragon fly, and the nymph of the May fly and the nymph of the cricket and the katydid, but they would speak of the larva of the corydalus.

Egg, nymph, adult,--those are the stages of insects that have an incomplete metamorphosis.

Egg, larva, pupa, adult,--those are the stages of insects that have a complete metamorphosis.

No, it is not wrong to say larva instead of nymph. I only want you to know how the word nymph is used, so that when you see it in reading about insects you will know what it means.

The corydalus lays its eggs near the water, and it lays a great many--sometimes nearly three thousand. Think of that! The young larvæ crawl into the water as soon as they are hatched, and those that escape the hungry fishes grow into these large larvæ and finally metamorphose into the big-horned corydalus.

It is such a remarkably fierce-looking creature that it has received many names that are neither complimentary nor beautiful, such as conniption bug, alligator, and dragon, and numerous others equally expressive.

Now, we must go home. Let us put the dobson back into the brook.

It does no harm, and we will not kill it.

Yes, Ned, there are smaller insects like the corydalus that are near relatives to it, and I am sure you have often seen them.

FAIRY LACEWING

Here is our little Lacewing.

May says it is a darling, like a woodland fairy clad all in green.

And, oh, its eyes! Are they not beautiful? They shine like gold.

Do its wings not remind you a little of the wings of the corydalus?

May says no, indeed; that has ugly brown wings.

But look again, May. See how these wings are veined, and do you not remember how you admired the silvery wings of the corydalus when we spread them out?

Yes, it belongs to the same order as the corydalus.

The name of the insect order to which they both belong is Neuroptera, from _neuron_, a nerve, and _pteron_--who remembers what _pteron_ means?

Yes, a wing. Nerve-winged.

What does that mean?

It means that the wings are crossed by many nerves or veins. Yes, that is what gives them their lacelike appearance.

Pretty golden eye, why do we not oftener see you on the trees and bushes? It is only by accident we found you to-day, down in the grass.

The truth is, this pretty fairy hides by day and comes out at night to lay its eggs. Like the May fly, the adult lacewing does not eat. It is a helpless little beauty, though it has one powerful means of defence, as you will discover if you touch it.

Ah, yes; you have already detected it! It gives forth such an offensive odor that nothing, one should think, could have the hardihood to eat it.

May says she supposes the larva of the lacewing is a little monster like that of the corydalus.

But you will not expect to find it as large as a dobson.

I think if we hunt about a little, we can find one.

Here is one on the leaf. See what a little fellow! And how fast it runs!

We shall have to take it captive, in order to get a chance to see it.

It is a funny little larva, with jaws that are _tre-men-dous_ for one of its size.

Why do you suppose it has such jaws?

May says, for the usual reason, to eat up other larvæ.

Yes; but wait till I tell you another name for this larva.

It is also called the aphis lion.

Aphis, you know, is the same as aphid, or plant louse. In other words it is the plant-louse lion.

Ah, yes; you are quite willing it should devour the aphids.

And it does. It is very fond of them, though it will also devour any unlucky insect it is strong enough to overcome.

It has a terrible appetite, this child of the pretty lacewing.

It would even eat its brothers and sisters before they hatched out of the egg if it could get at them.

The pretty lacewing knows what an appetite her ever hungry larvæ will have, and so she protects them against each other.

Clever little mother! she lays the eggs in such a way that the larvæ that hatch out first cannot devour the rest of the eggs.

How do you think she manages it?

Here are some of her eggs on this leaf.

Yes, John; each one is on top of a slender stalk.

The stalk is of stiff silk.

There they are, like a little forest, with an egg for each tree top.

When an egg hatches the young aphis lion drops down to the leaf and runs about like a ravening lion seeking some living thing to devour.

Above his head, quite unsuspected by him, are the eggs out of which his brothers and sisters have not yet hatched.

What a feast he could have if he knew about it!

And what a sad little cannibal he would be!

The larva of the aphis lion has no distinct thorax. Its legs are attached to the upper segments of the body, and its metamorphosis is like that of the corydalus.

When about to become a pupa, it makes for itself a little covering of white silk. Here it lies quite motionless and undergoes the final transformation.

Yes, its metamorphosis is complete.

It bites an opening through its silken walls, and out steps--not the hungry, little, all-devouring aphis lion, but this elegant lady with her pale-green lacelike wings and her large, golden eyes.

You see the aphis lion is our very good friend.

It helps us get rid of the aphids, and we should never kill a lacewing or a child of the lacewing.

THE ANT LION

John has found something he wants us all to see.

We will go with him.

Now we will sit down on this sand bank and look at what he has to show us. See! those smooth little funnels in the sand.

Those are what we have come out to see.

Let us watch them a while.

Mollie says an ant is walking close to the rim of the funnel she is watching. Now the ant slips over the edge and slides down the smooth sides of the funnel.

And see! from the bottom of the funnel leap out two curved jaws and--good-by, ant!

The ant has been dragged down out of sight through a hole in the bottom of the funnel.

What a strange proceeding!

Who can be living down there at the bottom of the funnel?

We are sorry to disturb such a pretty piece of work, but we shall have to dig out one of the funnels. We shall have to be quick, too.

There, there, under the trowel! No, it is gone. There it is again. Dig fast, Ned. That is right. He has put it with a trowelful of sand into our box.

We will gently shake out the sand until we uncover it.

Mabel says it is just what she thought it was--a larva.

Yes, it is a larva.

You see it looks a little like the lacewing larva, and it, too, belongs to the Neuroptera.

What jaws!

How do you suppose it makes its tunnel?

If we give it plenty of sand, and keep very quiet, perhaps it will go to work.

There! it is throwing the sand about.

May says it is using its own head as a trowel. Yes, it is shovelling the sand away with its head.

Why is Ned laughing? Oh, see the ant lion he is watching! An ant slid part way down its funnel and tried to climb out again, and the ant lion down below is flinging sand at it.

There! it has succeeded in making the poor ant slip; down it goes, and now the ant lion has seized it and dragged it down under the ground.

It is easy to find these pit-falls of the ant lion in sand banks in the summer-time.

Yes, May, the ant lions eat many ants, and they moult and grow, and, finally, they, too, make a little cocoon about themselves.

Yes, the little silken room they weave we call a cocoon, but the ant lions make theirs of silk and sand.

Within the cocoon they become motionless pupæ, and finally appear as silver-winged little creatures that bear no resemblance to the large-jawed, ever hungry, ant lion.

May says she thinks the Neuroptera differ from all the other orders in the way the larvæ transform.

That is true, May, they do.

In no other order that we have studied do the insects go into the pupal state to undergo the final transformation.

Who remembers what the young of insects that undergo an incomplete metamorphosis are sometimes called?

Dear me, you all remember!

Yes, the young are sometimes called nymphs.

The nymphs do not change into pupæ.

The young grasshoppers do not change into motionless pupæ, they just keep on growing until they are perfect adults.

Young grasshoppers are sometimes called nymphs instead of larvæ.

THE LITTLE CADDICE FLIES

Here we are in the woods again.

How sweet it smells!

Let us sit down by this brook and look into it.

It is such a clear little stream, with fine sand and little pebbles at the bottom.

What has Nell found that pleases her so?

She says she sees some little bars of sand moving about.

Ned says they are not sand bars but tubes of sand, containing a little live thing.

The truth is, this sand bag is a house, and its occupant is a larva.

See the black head come popping out, and the tiny fore legs.

The larva does not come entirely out, you see, but pulls its house along with it, and when it is frightened it pops back into its little stone case.

Mollie says it reminds her of a hermit crab.

A hermit crab, you know, lives on the seashore and takes possession of an empty snail shell for a house.

It comes partly out dragging its house with it, but if you disturb it, it draws back, sometimes quite out of sight.

This little larva lives in a house, too, but it is a house of its own making.

It is the larva of the caddice fly, or case fly.

Let us put one of these little sand cases in the saucer here.

Please fill the saucer about half full of water, John. Thank you.

Now, Mollie, I see you have picked up a fine big caddice case.

Put it in the saucer, and let us watch the larva crawl about.

It never comes entirely out of the case, you see. It holds on to it with the hinder part of its body.

Its little black head is hard, but its body is soft, and that is why it does not like to expose itself to hungry larvæ that might be living in the water.

May says she wants to see the whole larva.

Suppose we carefully break away the little sand case.

No, indeed, little Nell, we are not going to hurt the larva; we are only going to open its house.

There, the larva is outside now, and you can see what a tender, pale little thing it is.

It does not like to have its soft body exposed.

See! it is already gathering little bits of sand together.

It seems to be sticking them fast to its body.

It is really binding them together by a saliva-like substance from its mouth.

It draws out little glistening threads that harden into silk as soon as they touch the water.

Queer saliva you think.

But the caddice larva does not find it queer. It is used to saliva that hardens into silk.

Yes, that is the way the larva of the aphis lion and of the ant lion made their cocoons. They spun out silk in this manner.

The caddice larva makes its house of silk and sand and also lines it with a beautiful covering of fine silk.

Yes, May, it papers its walls with silk.

You see it did not hurt the caddice larva to take away its house; it immediately went to work to build another.

Why not pull it out, instead of breaking its house to pieces?

Because if it had been pulled hard enough to come out, it might have been torn to pieces, it is such a tender little thing, and it holds fast so tightly.

So the best way to remove it safely is to break its case bit by bit from around it.

It does no harm to break its case if one is careful. It will soon build another.

Yes, this larva has no distinct thorax. It is like the larvæ of the dobson, the aphis lion, and the ant lion in that respect.

See! John has found one whose tube is made of quite large stones as compared with this tube of fine sand that we have broken open.

Some caddice larvæ build houses of wood instead of stone. They stick little twigs together, and some use little pieces of leaves.

Others again use tiny snail shells which, as you can imagine, make very pretty cases.

Our little caddice has made a neat little house of fine sand grains very nicely put together.

Some others make much rougher houses.

You will be apt to find the caddice larvæ in any brook and in some ponds, and I hope you will always look for them.

Notice the tracery in the soft mud of the brook.

Those lines that look as though some one had been ornamenting the bottom of the brook are made by our caddice larvæ.

They drag their cases along and thus make these lines.

Sometimes such lines are made by the little fresh-water snails; but you can always find the decorator by following along the lines he makes.

What, May? How is the delicate larva able to cling to the case tightly enough to pull it along? If you look at it very carefully, you will find a pair of tiny hooks at the tail end by which it can hold on to the silk lining; and some caddice larvæ have hard points on their backs which help them to hold fast.

The caddice larvæ are carnivorous; that is, they eat animal food.

Yes, May, their food is usually the larvæ of other insects, but you will be glad to know that some of them eat plants too.

They eat the larvæ of the May flies when they can find them and no doubt they build these strong cases about themselves to prevent the May fly larvæ from returning the compliment.

Frank has found some empty cases, yes, and some that are closed at both ends.

Now, let us look at this one closed at both ends. What do you suppose is in it?

We will open just one of these closed cases.

There! It is a pupa! Yes, Nell, a very pretty doll is this.

It has a thorax, you see, and an abdomen. Its long antennæ lie close to its body as do its little wing pads.

Yes, the caddice larva grows and moults in the usual way. It keeps adding to its house as it grows longer. Finally, it closes the end of its little tube and lies quite still.

You know what happens next. Its wormlike form divides into thorax and abdomen. Legs and wings appear, attached to the thorax. In short, it is no longer a wormlike creature.

Finally, it comes forth from its case. It never goes into it again.

It does not need to, for now it is a dainty little nun, with a long, tan-colored cloak. Its cloak, of course, is its wings folded down about its body. Like the fairy May flies it has no mouth and eats nothing in the adult form.

It looks like a dainty brown moth as it flutters about the bushes and goes flying up and down the brook.

You will always find these little brown-cloaked figures flitting about the brooks, where the caddice larvæ live.

You see the caddice undergoes a complete metamorphosis.

No, it does not belong to the Neuroptera.

Examine its wings very carefully. Look at them through the magnifying glass, and you will see they are clothed with hairs.

So these are the hair wings.

The name of the order to which they belong is Trichoptera, from _pteron_, a wing, and _thrix_, a hair.

Sometime you must take a caddice larva from its house and put it in a saucer of water with fine bits of mica, which you know is another name for the isinglass that makes the little windows in our stoves.

If you are fortunate, your caddice will build for itself a little glass house, through whose walls you can look and see what is going on inside.

+-----------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Transcribers note: In this text letters with a macron or breve are | |represented thus: | | | | | |"a" with a macron [=a] "a" with a breve [)a] | |"e" with a macron [=e] "e" with a breve [)e] | | | |"i" with a macron [=i] "i" with a breve [)i] | |"o" with a macron [=o] "o" with a breve [)o] | +-----------------------------------------------------------------------+

GLOSSARY

~Abdomen~ (ab-d[=o]'-men). The lower part of an animal's body. The part behind the thorax in insects.

~Adult~ ([)a]-dult'). (L. adultus = grown up.) Grown to full size and strength.

~Anchor~ (ang'-kor). (Gr. = a hook.) Anchors are used to fasten ships by a line to the bottom of the sea. Applied to anything that holds a movable body fast in one place.

~Antenna~ pl. ~Antennae~ (an-ten'-nee). The feeler in front of the insect's head with which it hears and smells as well as feels.

~Aphis~ ([=a]'-fis) pl. ~Aphides~ (af'-i-d[=e]z).

~Aphid~ (af'-id) The plant louse, of which there are a great many kinds.

~Apparatus~ (ap-a-r[=a]'-tus). Tools or machinery used in working or in making things.

~Aquarium~ (a-kw[=a]'-ri-um). (L. aquarium = watering-place for cattle.) A vessel of water for keeping water plants or water animals.

~Attract~ (at-trakt'). (L. attractus = draw to.) To draw toward.

~Audubon~ (aw'-do-bon), John James. A very famous student of birds and their ways. In his great book, "The Birds of America," which was published in 1827, there are many large colored drawings made by himself.

~Beech-nuts~ Small, three-cornered nuts that grow on beech trees, and that are very sweet and good.

~Breeding-place~ The place where young animals are born.

~Brood~ A family of young animals.

~Caddice~, or ~Caddis fly~ (kad'-is fl[=i]). Sometimes called "case fly," from the case or shell which the larva makes about itself; "caddice" is another way of saying "case."

~Camera~ (kam'-e-ra). An instrument for taking photographs.

~Cannibal~ (kan'-[)i]-bal). A human being who eats human flesh. Any animal that eats others of its own kind.

~Cargo~ (kar'-go). The goods or merchandise or whatever is carried in a ship.

~Carnivorous~ (kar-niv'-[=o]-rus). (L. carnivorus = flesh-eating.) Applied to animals that feed on flesh, and plants that feed on insects.

~Cast~ The cast-off skin of an insect that keeps the form of the insect's body.

~Characteristic~ (kar-ak-te-ris'-tik). Showing the peculiar qualities of a person or thing.

~Chitinous~(k[=i]'-tin-us). Hard, horny, and shell-like.

~Cicada~ (si-k[=a]'-dä). (L. cicada = tree cricket.) A popular name for insects, like the grasshopper, locust, and cricket, which make a creaking or chirping noise.

~Cochineal~ (koch'-i-n[=e]l or koch-i-n[=e]l'). A crimson dyestuff made of the dried bodies of certain small insects. The insect is also called cochineal.

~Cocoon~ (ko-koon'). (L. concha = a shell.) The silky envelope which the larvæ of many insects spin to cover themselves.

~Compact~ (kom-pakt'). (L. compactus = joined together.) Closely and firmly united.

~Compound~ (kom'-pound). Made up of two or more parts.

~Coxa~ (kok'-sa). (L. coxa = the hip.) The first segment of an insect's _leg_, sometimes called the hip.

~Crevices~ (krev'-is-es). (L. crepare = to break, burst, crack.) Narrow openings or cracks.

~Descendant~ (d[=e]-sen'-dant). (L. descendere = to descend.) People or animals who have come from earlier people or animals.

~Ear drum~ ([=e]r' drum). A membrane stretched across inside the ear.

~Ejected~ ([=e]-jekt'-ed). (L. ejicere = to throw out.) Thrown out, driven away.

~Emaciated~ ([=e]-m[=a]'-shi-[=a]t-ed). (L. emaciare = to make lean.) Very thin and wasted.

~Emerge~ (e-merj'). (L. emergere = to rise out.) To appear, to come into sight.

~Ephemeridæ~ (ef-[=e]-mer'-i-d[=e]). (Gr. word = "lasting but a day.") The name of the May fly order.

~Facets~ (fas'-ets). Little faces; small surfaces.

~Femur~ (f[=e]'-mer). (L. femur = a thigh.) The long bone of the upper leg above the knee. The third segment in the insect's leg.

~Formidable~ (for'-mi-da-bl). (L. formidabilis = causing fear.) Hard to deal with; difficult to overcome.

~Fry~ (fr[=i]). The young of fishes; used for any small animals.

~Funnel~ (fun'-el). The shape of a hollow cone.

~Gauzy~ (gaw'-zi). Very fine, thin, and transparent.

~Ghosts~ (g[=o]sts). The spirits or shadows of the dead.

~Gills~ The breathing organs of any animal that lives in the water.

~Gorge~ (gorj). To feed greedily; to stuff one's self.

~Gossamer~ (gos'-a-mer). A fine filmy substance, like the cobweb of spiders.

~Grub~ The larva of an insect.

~Hearth~ (h[)a]rth). The part of the floor of a room where the fire is built.

~Hemiptera~ (h[=e]-mip'-te-ra). (Gr. = half-wing.) The name of an insect order including many kinds, all known as bugs.

~Incomplete~ (in-kom-pl[=e]t'). Not fully finished or developed.

~Injurious~ (in-jew'-ri-us). (L. injuriasus = acting unjustly or wrongly.) Something wrong or harmful.

~Inquisitive~ (in-kwiz'-i-tiv). Curious and prying.

~Insatiable~ (in-s[=a]'-shi-a-bl). (L. insatiabilis = that cannot be satisfied.) Not easily satisfied; very greedy.

~Isinglass~ ([=i]'-zing-glas). Thin, transparent sheets of mica.

~Joint~ The place where two things or parts of one thing are joined or united.

~Keel~ (k[=e]l). The lowest part of the bottom of a ship.

~Kettle drum~ (ket'-l drum). A musical instrument made of a hollow brass hemisphere over which is stretched parchment. This is sounded by blows from a mallet or stick.

~Larva~ (lar'-va); pl. ~Larvæ~ (lar'-v[=e]). The young insect.

~Lock~ To fasten in place.

~Locust~ (l[=o]'-kust). A shorthorned grasshopper.

~Mantis~ (man'-tis); pl. ~Mantes~ (man'-t[=e]z). (Gr. = prophet.) An orthopterous insect that holds its arms as if in prayer.

~Membrane~ (mem'-br[=a]n). (L. membrana = thin skin.) A thin, soft tissue that connects two parts, or lines a body.

~Mercaptan~ (mer-kap'-tan). (L. mercaptans = taking mercury.) A vile-smelling liquid that gets its name because of its strong action on mercury. It seizes upon mercury, so to speak.

~Metallic~ (me-tal'-ik). Made up of metals, or like metals.

~Metamorphosis~ (met-a-mor'-f[=o]-sis). (L. metamorphosis = change, transformation.) A change of form; a development, as the change of the caterpillar into the chrysalis.

~Mica~ (m[=i]'-ka). A transparent mineral that can be separated into thin sheets or layers.

~Microscope~ (m[=i]'-kr[=o]-sk[=o]p). An instrument that magnifies, or makes objects look larger when placed beneath it.

~Moult~ (m[=o]lt). (L. mutare = to change.) To shed or cast off the feathers, hair, or skin.

~Muscle~ (mus'-l). Bundles of fibres that have the power of growing longer or shorter. The body is moved by means of the muscles.

~Nary~ (ner'-i). "Ne'er a," a contraction of "never a."

~Nerve~ (nerv). (L. nervus = a fibre _or_ tendon.) The nerves are fibres or threads that carry impressions to the brain. Nerved = having fibres, as in the wings of insects.

~Neuroptera~ (n[=u]-r[)o]p'-te-ra). (Gr. = nerve-wing.) The name of an insect order.

~Nymph~ (nimf). (L. nympha = a bride, a young girl.) The young of insects that undergo an incomplete metamorphosis.

~Ocelli~ (o-sel'-le), pl. of Ocellus. (L. = a little eye.) The tiny, simple eyes of insects.

~Odonata~ ([=o]-d[=o]-na'-ta). The name of an insect order to which belong the dragon flies.

~Odors~ Pleasant or unpleasant smells.

~Opera-glass~ (op'-e-ra-glas). Magnifying glasses used at the theatre or opera to make things seem nearer.

~Organism~ (or'-gan-izm). A member of the animal or vegetable kingdom.

~Orthoptera~ (or-thop'-t[=e]-ra). (Gr. = straight-wing.) An insect order to which belong the grasshoppers.

~Ovipositor~ ([=o]-v[)i]-poz'-[)i]-tor). (L. ovum = egg, _and_ ponere = to place.) The end of the abdomen of some insects, with which they are able to put their eggs in a good place to be hatched.

~Oxygen~ (ok'-si-jen). A part of the air that is necessary to all animal and vegetable life.

~Parasites~ (par'-a-s[=i]tz). Animals or plants that live on others.

~Phylloxera~ (fil-ok-s[=e]'-ra). (Gr. = leaf _and_ dry.) An insect very destructive to grape vines.

~Plaited~ (pl[=a]t'-ed). Folded length-wise like the plaits of a closed fan.

~Plecoptera~ (pl[=e]-k[)o]p'-t[=e]-ra). (Gr. = twist _and_ wing.) An insect to which belong the stone flies.

~Pollute~(p[=o]-l[=u]t'). (L. polluere = to make unclean, to soil.) To make foul or unclean.

~Pores~ (porz). (L. porus = a way, a passage.) Small openings in the skin to help in breathing.

~Prey~ (pr[=a]). (L. præda = property taken in war.) An animal in the chase; game.

Prolific (pr[=o]-lif'-ik). Fruitful; producing young in abundance.

~Propel~ (pr[=o]-pel'). (L. propellere = to drive, or push forward.) To urge onward by force.

Prophet (prof'-et). One who tells of the future.

~Pulvillus~ (pul-vil'-us); pl. ~Pulvilli.~ (L. = a little cushion.) A little pad or cushion on an insect's foot.

~Ravenous~ (rav'-n-us). Greedy, furiously hungry.

~Repel~ (re-pel'). (L. repellere = to drive back.) To drive back, to check.

~Resinous~ (rez'-i-nus). Like resin, which is made from pine pitch.

~Rudimentary~ (rew-di-men'-ta-ri). (L. rudimentum = a first attempt.) Imperfectly developed or in an early stage of development.

~Saliva~ (sa-l[=i]'-va). Spittle. The liquid formed in the mouth, which mixes with food, and helps it to digest.

~Segment~ (seg'-ment). (L. secare = to cut.) A part cut off, a section.

~Seize~ (s[=e]z). To grasp, to clutch.

~Sensitive~ (sen'-si-tiv). Quick to feel. The nerve of the eye is sensitive to light, quick to feel light.

~Shellac~ (she-lak' or shel-ak'). It is made from a coloring matter in the bodies of certain insects. A polish which is used with varnish.

~Silk~ (s[=i]lk). A fine, soft, strong thread made by the larvæ of certain insects.

~Skeleton~ (skel'-e-ton). (Gr. = ~dried~ up.) The dry bones of the body taken together.

~Socket~ (sok'-et). Any hollow thing or place which receives or holds something else.

~Soothsayer~ (söth'-s[=a]-er). One who pretends to know what the future holds for us.

~Source~ (s[=o]rs). The place where anything begins.

~Species~ (sp[=e]'-shez). A group of closely related animals or plants.

~Spine~ (sp[=i]n). (L. spina = a thorn). Anything sharp and slender like a thorn.

~Spiracle~ (spir'-or sp[=i]r-a-kl). (L. spiraculum = a breathing hole). An air-hole.

~Survivals~ (ser-v[=i]'-valz). (L. supervivo = to live over.) Those outliving the larger number.

~Swammerdam, Johannes~. A Dutch entomologist, born in Amsterdam in 1637. He published several books on the natural history of insects.

~Syringe~ (sir'-inj). (Gr. = a pipe _or_ reed.) A little instrument for drawing in water, and forcing it out again.

Tarsus (tar'-sus); pl. ~Tarsi.~ (Gr. = the sole of the foot.) The little segments that make up the insect's foot. Also the little bones of the instep.

~Telescope~ (tel'-e-sk[=o]p). (Gr. = to view afar off.) An instrument by which distant objects are made to appear nearer and larger.

~Thorax~ (th[=o]'-rax). (Gr. = armor for the breast.) That part of the body of animals between the head and the abdomen.

~Thysanura~ (this-a-n[=u]'-ra). (Gr. = tassel and tail.) An insect order to which belong the scale fishes.

~Tibia~ (tib'-i-a). (L. tibia = a slender pipe, a musical instrument.) A long, slender bone in the leg, below the knee. The fourth segment in an insect's leg, generally long and slender.

~Transformation~ (trans-for-ma'-shon). (L. transformare = to change the shape of.) A change in form or nature.

~Transparent~ (trans-par'-ent). (L. trans-parere = to appear through.) Easily seen through.

~Transportation~ (trans-por-ta'-shon). (L. trans-portare = to carry over.) Carrying from one place to another.

~Tremendous~ (tre-men'-dus). (L. tremendus = fearful, _from_ tremere, to tremble.) Very wonderful, astounding.

~Trichoptera~ (tr[=i]-kop'-te-ra). (Gr. = hairy-wing.) An insect order to which belong the caddis flies.

~Trochanter~ (tro-kan'-ter). (Gr. = the ball on which the hip bone turns in its socket.) The second segment of an insect's leg.

~Unlock~ (un-lok'). To unfasten something that has been closed.

~Unsubstantial~ (un-sub-stan'-shal). Not real or solid, without substance.

~Vacated~ (v[=a]'-kat-ed). (L. vacare = to be empty or vacant.) Emptied; possession given up.

~Vegetation~ (vej-e-t[=a]'-shon). (L. vegetare = to quicken.) Living plants.

~Veined~ (v[=a]nd). (L. vena = a vein.) Marked as with veins, streaked.

~Vibrate~(v[=i]'-br[=a]t). (L. vibratus = set in motion.) To swing; move to and fro.

~Vibration~ (v[=i]-br[=a]'-shon). Motions back and forth. Vibrations may be too small for us to see.

Victimized (vik'-tim-[=i]zd). Made a victim of, deceived, badly treated.

~Voracious~ (v[=o]-r[=a]'-shus). (L. vorax = devouring greedily.) Eating food in large quantities.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Insect Folk, by Margaret Warner Morley