British Butterfiles Part 2

But there are other portions of a b.u.t.terfly to claim our interest besides its wondrous wings.

On the creature's head are grouped together some most beautiful and important organs. The most peculiar of these is the long spiral "sucker,"

which extracts the honied food from the blossoms to which its wings so gracefully waft it. This organ is shown, slightly magnified, at fig. 8, Plate II., and a most delicate piece of animal mechanism it is. Any human workman would, to a certainty, be not only puzzled, but thoroughly beaten, in an attempt to construct a tube little thicker than a horse-hair, yet composed throughout its length of two distinct pieces, capable of being separated at pleasure, and then joined again so as to form an air-tight tube. This redoubtable problem, however, is solved in the construction of this curious little instrument that every b.u.t.terfly carries.

The junction of the two grooved surfaces that form the tube is effected by the same contrivance that reunites the web of a feather when it has been pulled apart. We all know how completely it is made whole again, and on examining by what means this result is brought about, we find that it is by the interlacing of a {26} number of small fibres or hairs, just as, on a larger scale, a pair of brushes adhere when pressed face to face; and so in the b.u.t.terfly's sucker, the two edges that join to form the tube are closely set with minute bristles that, when brought together, interlock so closely as to make an air-tight surface.

Fig. 9, Plate II., is a transverse section taken near the base of the sucker, the small opening at the top being the food pa.s.sage, those at the side the air-tubes that supply air for respiration and perhaps a.s.sist in suction.

The tube is probably made with separable parts in order that if its interior should become at any time clogged by grosser particles drawn up with the flower nectar, it may be opened and cleansed by the insect; otherwise, the tube once rendered impa.s.sable, the insect would speedily starve, as this narrow channel is the only inlet for the creature's nourishment--its only mouth, in fact, for no b.u.t.terfly possesses jaws to bite with, or can take any but the liquid food pumped up by suction through this pipe.

At the end of the proboscis--or, as it is called scientifically, the Haustellum[3]--there are visible in some b.u.t.terflies a number of small projections, of the form shown at fig. 10, Plate II., which is a highly magnified figure of the end of the Red Admiral's proboscis. These appendages are generally supposed to be organs of taste, {27} and to aid in the discrimination of food when the pipe is unrolled and thrust down deep into the nectary of a flower.

The _compound eye_ of a b.u.t.terfly, wonderful as its structure is, does not greatly differ from that of many other insects, being like them composed of an immense number of little lenses set together to form a hemisphere large in comparison with the insect's head. A portion of one of these eyes forms a pretty and interesting object for the microscope, presenting a honey-comb appearance, the hexagonal lines that mark the division of the lenses being most beautifully geometrical and regular in their arrangement. More than seventeen hundred of these lenses have been counted in a single eye, and each of these is considered to possess the qualities of a complete and independent eye. If this be true, the b.u.t.terfly may be said to be endowed with at least thirty-four thousand eyes!

There exist also, as in other insects, _two simple_ eyes, placed on the top of the head, but so buried in down and scales as to be neither visible, nor useful for vision as far as we can perceive; probably the creature finds that his allowance of thirty-four thousand windows to his soul lets in as much light as he requires.

Every one looking at a b.u.t.terfly must have remarked its long horns, called _antennae_,[4] which project from above the eyes, like jointed threads, thickening--in some {28} species gradually, in others suddenly--into a club or k.n.o.b at the extremity; a peculiarity which, it will be remembered, was pointed out at the commencement, as a prominent mark of distinction between b.u.t.terflies and moths.

Very graceful appendages are these waving _antennae_, and evidently of high importance to their owner; but still, their exact office or function is unknown, notwithstanding that many guesses and experiments have been made with a view of settling that question.

Investigators have perhaps erred, by a.s.suming at the outset that these antennae _must_ be organs of some sense that we ourselves possess; whereas, I think that there is much evidence to show that insects are gifted with a certain subtle sense, for which we have no name, and of which we can have as little real idea, as we could have had of the faculty of sight, had all the world been born blind.

For example; if you breed from the chrysalis a female Kentish Glory Moth, and then immediately take her--in a closed box, mind--out into her native woods, within a short s.p.a.ce of time an actual crowd of male "Glories" come and fasten upon, or hover over, the prison-house of the coveted maiden.

Without this magic attraction, you might walk in these same woods for a whole day and not see a single specimen, the Kentish Glory being generally reputed a very rare moth; while as many as some 120 males have been thus decoyed to their capture in a few hours, by the charms of a couple of lady "Glories," shut up in a box.

[Ill.u.s.tration: V.]

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

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

Whilst writing this, the current number of the "Entomologist's Weekly Intelligencer" has arrived, and I there read that Dr. Clemmens, an American naturalist, has been lately experimenting on the antennae of some large American moths, for the purpose of gaining some information as to their function. The article, though very interesting, is too long for quotation here; but it appears that with the moths in question, a deprivation of the whole, or even part of the antennae, interferes with, or entirely annihilates the power {30} of flight, so that the creature when thus shorn, but not otherwise injured, if thrown into the air seems to have no idea of using his wings properly, but with a purposeless flutter tumbles headlong to the earth. Still this merely goes to prove that the antennae are the instruments of some important sense, one of whose uses is to guide the creature's flight; but as many wingless insects have large antennae, this evidently is not their only function.

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

Considerable variety of form exists in the clubbed tip of the antennae in various b.u.t.terflies, as will be seen by reference to Plate II., where three of the most distinct forms are shown considerably magnified. Fig. 12 is the upper part of the antenna of the High-brown Fritillary (_Argynnis Adippe_), the end suddenly swelling into a distinct k.n.o.b. Fig. 13 is that of the Swallow-tail b.u.t.terfly (_Papilio Machaon_), the enlargement here being more gradual; and fig. 14 is that of the Large Skipper b.u.t.terfly (_Pamphila Sylva.n.u.s_), distinguished by the curved point that surmounts the club.

These differences in the forms of the antennae are found to be excellent aids in the cla.s.sification of b.u.t.terflies, and I shall therefore have occasion to refer to them more minutely in describing the insects in detail.

The stems of these organs are found to be tubular, {31} and at the point of junction with the head the base is spread out (as shown at fig. 15), forming what engineers call a "f.l.a.n.g.e," to afford sufficient support for the long column above.

The _legs_ are the last portions of the b.u.t.terfly framework that require especial notice, on account of a peculiar variation they are subject to in different family groups.

It may be laid down as an axiom, that _all true insects have six legs_, in one shape or another; and b.u.t.terflies, being insects, are obedient to the same universal rule, and duly grow their half-dozen legs; but in certain tribes the front pair, for no apparent reason, are so short and imperfect as to be totally useless for walking purposes, though they may possibly be used as hands for polishing up the proboscis, &c. So the b.u.t.terfly in this case _appears_, to a hasty observer, to have only _four_ legs.

This peculiarity is a constant feature in several natural groups of b.u.t.terflies, and therefore, in conjunction with other marks, such as the veining of the wings and the shape of the antennae, its presence or absence is a most useful mark of distinction, in cla.s.sifying or searching out the name and systematic place of a b.u.t.terfly.

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CHAPTER III.

WHAT b.u.t.tERFLIES NEVER DO--GROUNDLESS TERROR--A MISTAKE--USES OF b.u.t.tERFLIES--MORAL OF b.u.t.tERFLY LIFE--PSYCHE--THE b.u.t.tERFLY AN EMBLEM OF THE SOUL--THE ARTIST AND THE b.u.t.tERFLY.

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

Once, also, I listened to the grave recital--by a cla.s.sical scholar too--of a murderous onslaught made by a Privet Hawk-moth on the neck of a lady, and how it "_bit a piece clean out_." Of course I attempted to prove, by what seemed to me very fair logic, that the {33} moth, having neither teeth nor even any mouth capable of opening, but only a weak hollow tongue to suck honey through, was utterly incapable of biting or inflicting any wound whatever. But, as is usual in such cases, my entomological theory went for nothing in face of the gentleman's knock-down battery of _facts_--_ocular_ facts; he had _seen_ the _moth_, and he had _seen_ the _wound_: surely, there was proof enough for me, or any one else. So, I suppose, he steadfastly believes to this day, that the moth was a truculent, bloodthirsty monster; whilst I still presume to believe, that if any wound was caused at the moment in question, it was by the nails of the lady attacked, or her friends, in clutching frantically at the terrific intruder; who, poor fellow, might have been pardoned for mistaking the fair neck for one of his favourite flowers (a _lily_, perhaps), while the utmost harm he contemplated was to pilfer a sip of nectar from the lips he doubtless took for rosebuds.

Utilitarians may, perhaps, inquire the _uses_ of b.u.t.terflies--what they do, make, or can be sold for; and I must confess that my little favourites neither make anything to wear, like the silkworm, nor anything to eat, like the honey-bee, nor are their bodies saleable by the ton, like the cochineal insects, and that, commercially speaking, they are just worth nothing at all, excepting the few paltry pence or shillings that the dealer gets for their little dried bodies occasionally; so they are of no more use than poetry, painting, and music--than flowers, rainbows, and all such {34} unbusinesslike things. In fact, I have nothing to say in the b.u.t.terfly's favour, except that it is a joy to the deep-minded and to the simple-hearted, to the sage, and, still better, to the child--that it gives an earnest of a better world, not vaguely and generally, as does every "thing of beauty," but with clearest aim and purpose, through one of the most strikingly perfect and beautiful a.n.a.logies that we can find throughout that vast Creation, where--

"All animals are living hieroglyphs."[5]

The b.u.t.terfly, then, in its own progressive stages of caterpillar, chrysalis, and perfect insect, is an emblem of the human soul's progress through earthly life and death, to heavenly life.

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

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

First, there is the grovelling caterpillar-state, {35} emblematical of our present imperfection, but yet the state of preparation and increase towards perfection, and that, too, which largely influences the future existence.

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

Then comes a mighty change: the caterpillar is to exchange his worm-like form and nature for an existence unspeakably higher and better. But, as we have seen, to arrive at this glory there is only one condition, which is, that the creature must pa.s.s through another, and, as it might seem, a gloomy state--one anything but cheerful to contemplate; for it must cease to eat, to move, and--_to the eye_--_to live_. Yet, is it really dead now, or do we, who have watched the creature thus far, despair and call it lost?

Do we not rather rejoice that it rests from its labours, and that the period of its glorification is at hand?

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

This happy consummation, however, is only for the chrysalis which has not within it the devouring worm, the fruit of the ichneumon's egg, harboured during the {36} caterpillar state--and emblem, in the human soul, of some deadly sin yielded to during life, and which afterwards becomes the gnawing "worm that dieth not." For in this case, instead of the bright b.u.t.terfly, there issues forth from the chrysalis-sh.e.l.l only a swarm of black, ill-favoured flies, like a troop of evil spirits coming from their feast on a fallen soul.

If a caterpillar were gifted with a foreknowledge of his b.u.t.terfly future, so far transcending his inglorious present, we could imagine that he would be only impatient to get through his caterpillar duties, and rejoice to enter the chrysalis state as soon as he was fitted for it. How short-sighted then would a caterpillar appear who should endeavour, while in that shape, to emulate the splendour of the b.u.t.terfly by some wretched temporary subst.i.tute, adding a few more, or brighter stripes than nature had given it; or, again, if one whose great change was drawing near, should attempt to conceal its visible approach by painting over the fading hues of health, and plastering up the wrinkles of its outward covering, so soon to be thrown off altogether; instead of striving for inward strength and beauty, which would never decline, but be infinitely expanded in the b.u.t.terfly--and regarding the earthly beauty's wane as the dawn of the celestial.

[Ill.u.s.tration: VI.]

{37} With these and similar reflections before us (which might be multiplied _ad infinitum_), we shall no longer look upon the caterpillar as a mere unsightly and troublesome reptile, the chrysalis as an unintelligible curiosity, and the b.u.t.terfly as a pretty painted thing and nothing more; but regard them as _together_ forming one of those beautiful and striking ill.u.s.trations with which the book of Nature has been so profusely enriched by its GREAT AUTHOR; not to be taken as _subst.i.tutes_ for His revealed Word, but as harmonious adjuncts, bringing its great truths more home to our understandings, just as the engravings in a book are not designed as subst.i.tutes for the text, but to elucidate and strengthen the ideas in the reader's mind.

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

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

"He was beginning to paint the figure of a reclining sylph, when a difficulty arose in his own mind how best to represent such a being of fancy. A friend who was present said, 'Give the sylph a b.u.t.terfly's wing, and then you have it.' 'That I will,' exclaimed Stothard; 'and to be correct I will paint the wing {38} from the b.u.t.terfly itself.' He sallied forth, extended his walk to the fields, some miles distant, and caught one of those beautiful insects; it was of the species called the Peac.o.c.k. Our artist brought it carefully home, and commenced sketching it, but not in the painting room; and leaving it on the table, a servant swept the pretty little creature away, before its portrait was finished. On learning his loss, away went Stothard once more to the fields to seek another b.u.t.terfly.

But at this time one of the tortoise-sh.e.l.l tribe crossed his path, and was secured. He was astonished at the combination of colour that presented itself to him in this small but exquisite work of the Creator, and from that moment determined to enter on a new and difficult field--the study of the insect department of Natural History. He became a hunter of b.u.t.terflies. The more he caught, the greater beauty did he trace in their infinite variety, and he would often say that no one knew what he owed to these insects--they had taught him the finest combinations in that difficult branch of art--colouring."

The above doubtless has its parallel in the experience of many artistic minds, whose very nature it is to appreciate to the full the perfections set forth in a b.u.t.terfly, admiring--

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

SPENSER.