Chapter I: HAPPEN to live in the country, in the midst of lovely scenery, (1)

abounding in all the elements of beauty, such as wide-spreading heaths, sheets of water, distant views, and grand old trees and woods.

There are many varieties of birds and insects to be seen, plenty of wild flowers, mosses, and lichens in the lanes, and in my own grounds all kinds of cultivated flowers.

Numbers of young people come to stay with me in the course of the year, and naturally, when I am taking walks with them, and we are admiring trees and flowers, or a sweet-voiced bird begins to sing, questions arise about the names of various plants and songsters. I confess I am often surprised to discover the very limited knowledge of elementary natural history or botany that is possessed by young girls who in other branches of study are intelligent and well-informed. It grieves me to think that the instructive book of Nature is thus disregarded, and its lessons left unlearned, by thousands who would be much happier, and have many more resources to fill up leisure moments, if they knew more about the everyday things which surround them in the country.

Even if it is the lot of many young people to live in towns, still, when they pay visits to their friends at the seaside, or in the country, there are ample opportunities for natural history studies, and by means of books these studies can be carried on when they return home.

I will try and describe one of the subjects which my young visitors always discover to be full of interest, namely, the study of trees.

Such a book as “The Forest Trees of Britain”[3] will supply the names of all our ordinary trees; and, when taking a ramble in a country lane or garden, if a perfect leaf of each species of tree is gathered, well pressed, and dried between sheets of blotting paper under a heavy weight, there will be found pleasant occupation for some wet day spent indoors in arranging these specimen leaves in a large blank book.

Space should be left to write the English and Latin name of each tree, whence it was imported, and some of its chief uses. If, later on, the autumn-tinted leaf of each species can be obtained, and a coloured drawing made of its catkin flower, then in time a really charming and valuable book will be formed, which a girl will feel pleasure in showing to her young friends, and thus others will be led to fill up their leisure time with instructive pursuits of this kind.

Drying and arranging the leaves is only the first step towards a more intimate knowledge of this subject. The exquisite beauty of autumn-tinted leaves attracts the attention of the most unobservant. One longs to preserve them, and for years I used to try various methods of pressing and drying them with but very partial success. Now, however, I have devised a plan by which their fleeting colours are so exactly imitated that my friends constantly mistake the painted leaf for the real one. As it may afford pleasurable occupation for some of my readers, I will briefly describe the process.

The materials required are but few: a common slate, some fine drawing paper, a cyclostyle[4] roller, and a bottle of the ink which is sold with it. A small quantity of the ink should be placed on the slate, and the roller passed to and fro until it is slightly and evenly inked. The leaf should then be placed on a flat, hard surface, and the roller passed firmly over it so as to leave a little ink on the under side of the leaf to mark the veins. The leaf should then be reversed, with the ink side downwards, on a piece of drawing paper, and the roller firmly passed over it once or twice. The result will be an exquisite faint imprint of the exact shape of the leaf with all its veins. After a few minutes it will be ready to be tinted in water colours, so as to exactly resemble the various hues in the real leaf. The colours should be very moist, and rather floated into each other, as in this way one can most readily attain the delicate gradations of tone. When finished the leaf should be neatly cut out with fine scissors, carefully following the outline of the notches, which vary so much in different trees, and give character to each species. When such painted leaves are gummed into a blank book the effect will be found to be wonderfully real. The album should be large enough to allow of four or five leaves, each representing a different stage in the coloration—yellow, pink, crimson, and all other tints which belong to each special tree. A page should of course be reserved for each set of specimens, and the English and Latin name, the date, and any other particulars written at the bottom of the page will add to the scientific value of the collection.

The various galls which are found on each species of tree will alone furnish a wide field for study. The ink with which I am now writing is the product of an oak-gall which is imported in large quantities from Asia Minor; many kinds are of great value in dyeing; and the life-history of the numerous gall-flies is most curious and interesting.

Careful drawings of the buds of trees as they open in spring will reveal the delicate plaiting of the tiny leafage within. We can then discern how some leaves are folded lengthways or in half, others curled up spirally or fluted; we shall see how the embryo leaves are protected by more than a dozen scales, often lined with silky down, and then, as in the case of the horse-chestnut, still further guarded from the winter’s cold by an outer coating of resin.

Again, the fruits and seeds of trees would prove an interesting subject. I wonder how many young people know the difference between the English sycamore, which is a true maple, and the sycomore of Palestine, which is a fig-tree; and yet they are totally unlike each other—the first producing a dry seed vessel, and the other an eatable fruit; the sycamore usually having a stem twenty or thirty feet high before it branches, and the sycomore dividing near the ground, so that Zaccheus found no difficulty in climbing its ample stems.

There are some birds which frequent special trees, and are named after them, such as the hawfinch, the whinchat, which is found on its favourite furze-bushes (called whins in Scotland), the pine and fir grosbeak, and the nuthatch. The student should know something of these birds and their habits, as being linked with the trees they frequent.

There are innumerable insects also found upon the leaves and stems of trees. It has been calculated that about two thousand different species of caterpillars and larvæ of various kinds prey upon the oak alone.

We thus see vistas which open out before the young student, any one of which, when followed up with thoughtful perseverance, will add immensely to the pleasure of walks abroad and quiet hours at home.

As this chapter aims to be a suggestive one, I would mention the possibility of making a dried collection of the trees of Scripture. This may seem at first sight very difficult of attainment, but we often hear of friends going abroad (even if we cannot go ourselves), and a request to gather and dry a spray of olive or carob-tree will hardly be refused, and thus in time, by the help of others, our collection will be formed, and will become of much value to us in teaching our Bible classes, as well as from the associations the book will have with the kind travellers who remembered us when far away.

I greatly treasure my own specimens of oleander gathered on the shores of the Lake of Galilee, the carob-leaves from Bethlehem, sycomore fig from Jericho, pomegranate from Jerusalem, and olive-sprays from the Garden of Gethsemane. Pleasant hours have been spent in reading about each tree, and the passages in Scripture where they are mentioned are invested with a deeper interest from one’s knowledge of many facts connected with each which otherwise would have passed unnoticed.

For instance, the fruit of the carob or locust-tree may have been the food of John the Baptist; it is known to this day by the name of “St. John’s Bread,” and the sweet, nutritious pods are still eaten by the poorer inhabitants of Palestine. It is also more than probable that “the husks that the swine did eat,” mentioned in the parable of the Prodigal Son, were the long curved pods produced by this tree[5]; and it is also well known that the equal-sized, hard-shelled seeds of the carob were the original “carat” weights of the jeweller.

Thus we see how many interesting facts cluster around the name of a single Scripture tree. If a spray or leaf of any of the kinds mentioned is placed in the centre of a page, with some neatly written texts referring to interesting facts about its history and uses, we shall then have always at hand a delightful book, which will prove useful for many purposes. It will afford plenty of subjects for conversation when we wish to make Sunday afternoon a bright and happy time for some young people, kept indoors, it may be, by wet weather. Many a sick person’s weary hours might be cheered by such a book being lent, and in endless ways it will well repay the trouble of putting it together.

A collection of seedling trees, carefully dried between sheets of blotting paper in a press or under a weight, then fastened into a blank book with strips of gummed paper, with the English and Latin names to each, and a note of the age of the seedling, will form a pleasant memento of our forest rambles, and probably may lead on to further study of the same kind.

Lemon and orange pips will grow readily in damp moss under a glass, and can be transplanted into pots of earth, so that seedling plants are attainable even by those who live in towns. I was much surprised to find that tamarind seeds taken out of the jam would grow very quickly in cocoanut fibre if kept moist and placed near a hall stove. The secret appears to be that although the tamarinds are packed in barrels, and hot sugar is poured over them, yet owing to the thickness of the seed-coat the life principle is not destroyed.

To make our collection complete there should be seedlings of the other great division of plants, namely, those with only one seed-leaf, such as palms, cannas, bulbs, grasses, &c. A few date-stones kept in moist earth, and placed where they will have a slight degree of regular heat, will supply one of these specimens, and Canna seed, Indian corn, and other plants of the kind, grown in the same way, will supply other examples.

Whatever branch of nature-study we select, or whatever collections we may decide to make, the invariable result is that our interest in that special thing becomes immensely deepened; we begin to notice points that never struck us before, our power of observing becomes quickened, we really begin to think we must have been almost blind hitherto not to have been aware of the new and curious things we are daily finding out, we learn that the natural world around us is a storehouse ready to yield endless treasure to those who are willing to seek it, and thus I have often noticed that when once young people can be induced to begin a collection of some sort it is the first step to their becoming true nature-students.

Mothers often long for some simple occupation for the little busy fingers, that get into mischief if unemployed, and what can be more innocent than collecting and pressing wild flowers and leaves, and, when dried, arranging them in a book, so that mother can write the name to each specimen and talk about them, telling the uses to which some plants are applied? In this way children grow up to be ardent botanists, and may learn a great deal about the science without any of its dry details being presented to them in the shape of long unpronounceable terms, until they are old enough to see for themselves the necessity for them.

I have tried to indicate a few of the ways in which young people may study Nature, but the avenues into her domain are endless; let us at least endeavour to traverse such of them as may be within our reach whilst we are young, and so make our lives all the brighter and happier for knowing something of the wonders of this marvellous world in which it has pleased God to place us.

INSECT OBSERVATION.

“In this enchanted leisure
The only restless thing
Is one loose ray of azure,
A dragon-fly on wing;
The rustling of its flight
Is like the sound of light.”
EDMUND GOSSE.

“Throngs of insects in the shade
Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm beam
That waked them into life.”
W. C. BRYANT.

INSECT OBSERVATION.

THERE are many by-paths into the delightful realm of Nature, not so often traversed as the broad avenues which are known to every one, but equally full of interest, and not less stored with instruction of various kinds. One of these paths I follow almost daily, and with ever-increasing delight. It happens that there exists, close to the garden-room where I usually sit and write, a valley, with winding grassy paths and banks of azaleas and rhododendrons. It is a quiet and secluded spot, and has been so for the last twenty years.

Generations of birds have nested in its shrubberies year after year; bees know well that the spot is rich in honey-laden flowers; insects that they will be undisturbed there save by the blue-tits and other fly-hunting birds. Mosses and lichens carpet the moist, shady banks on one side, whilst bright sunshine glistens on the opposite side through the greater part of the day. There could not be a more favourable spot for insect observation, and this is the special by-path to which I would direct the reader’s attention to-day. One frequently hears the remark, “I should like to know more about the habits of insects,” and the question often follows, “How can I best study them?” To this I would reply by describing what is to be seen and learned in my valley.

This will not pretend to be a scientific description of insect life, but simply a quiet glimpse at the habits of several kinds of winged creatures disporting themselves with such native ease as one can never see when they are caught and caged and brought indoors. Having placed a chair in the shade, facing a sunlighted bank of evergreens, laurels or rhododendrons, we must keep absolutely still, closely on the watch with a small field-glass in our hands for at least half an hour if we desire to see and study the insects that will visit the flowers and leaves. As we walk casually round a garden not very much can be seen except the bees upon the blossoms or an occasional dragon-fly. Almost every species of fly darts away at the approach of man; their eyes are so marvellously observant of any moving object that we can learn hardly anything of the life-history of the various species unless we remain perfectly quiescent long enough for confidence to be restored, or, in other words, until the insects forget our presence and are again at their ease.

Hot sunshine seems to afford perfect bliss to almost every kind of fly, and in that condition we see them basking on leaves in great profusion. Bluebottles, the golden greenbottle, the drone-fly, all the highly coloured, swift-darting sunflies—these are constantly to be found poised on the laurels, although only for a few moments’ rest between their aerial games. It gives one a sense of pleasure to watch anything so absolutely happy as these creatures seem. Three or four will start off at once for a frolic, whizzing through the air, performing a sort of “ladies’ chain” evolution, each seizing the other for a rapid whirl or two, then, exchanging partners, faster than the eye can follow them they skim through the air, and finally return to their leaves to rest. Each species has its own style of flight. The sunflies have the power of remaining motionless, poised in air for a considerable time, whilst they watch any object that interests them. Their wings vibrate so rapidly as to be invisible, but if you attempt to catch one with a net, away, with a dart, the fly is off into space only to return in a moment as if to mock your clumsy attempt to capture it.

Now your attention is arrested by the quivering antennæ of a long-bodied fly that is stealthily prying into leafy crevices, seeking for some living object, a caterpillar or chrysalis, into which it may insert its egg. The grub when hatched will feed upon the living substance of the caterpillar, which survives for a time, until eventually the grub attacks some vital part. This kills the caterpillar, but not before the grub has changed into a chrysalis, out of which will emerge in due time an ichneumon fly, ready to victimise other insects in the same way.

On the broad leaves of a low-growing plant some female wolf-spiders have placed themselves, each carrying her bag of eggs beneath her body. There they will bask for hours; possibly the warmth of the sun tends to mature the eggs, the treasure for which they seem to live. These spiders will allow themselves to be killed rather than part with that little cream-coloured ball. Truly the spider offers a marvellous instance of maternal love! After a time the eggs are hatched, and then the mother may be seen with her whole progeny clustered upon her back enjoying their sun-bath. The first time I saw this family event I could not understand why the back of the spider had suddenly become grey and furry, until I brought a magnifying glass, and then I could plainly discern the minute offspring covering the mother’s body.

Now a glittering dragon-fly darts down the grassy alley seeking its prey. It, too, rejoices in the sunshine and poises lightly on the tip of a leaf between its flights to enjoy the welcome beams. These huge flies adopt a particular haunt, and will remain there hawking up and down day after day. I often become acquainted with individual dragon-flies from seeing them so often: I know where to find them on sunny days. If they are unmolested and you move gently enough they will allow you to approach them closely, and I believe in time they would take a fly from your fingers. There is hardly a more beautiful insect than _Æshna grandis_, one of the largest of our native dragon-flies. In life its eyes glisten like opals with changing colours, its long body is a marvel of bluish green and black mosaic markings, and its four lace-like wings are fit to adorn the Queen of the Fairies.[6] It is hard to convince people that this is a perfectly harmless creature; yet it does not bite, it has no sting or venom of any kind, and the long body which writhes about as we hold it can hurt neither men nor horses, although it is vulgarly known as a horse-stinger. Possibly we may be favoured with a glimpse of a dragon-fly’s toilet if we keep still and motionless. The brilliant eyes are softly brushed with one of the forelegs, so as to clear away any speck of dust; the wonderful head, which seems attached to the body by the merest thread, turns this way and that as the insect plies the combs or short, stiff fringes with which its legs are furnished, brushing its finery as carefully as any human dandy could, till body, head, and wings are all in perfect order. Then it will sail away with a scarcely perceptible movement of its broad wings to pursue its living prey, a veritable pirate of the air.

The various seasons bring, of course, a succession of insect visitors to my valley. In early spring the solitary bees are a great delight to me; they are the species which exist in pairs, not often in communities, as the honey-bee does. Great masses of lungwort (_pulmonaria_) being out in flower in April and May, all kinds of insects are then to be found upon it, seeking honey or pollen among the blossoms. By closely watching and comparing the specimens I see with plates in the books on bees I have learned to distinguish many of the different species. It is one thing, however, to see a bee figured in a book, or to look through a dried collection of them; it is far more delightful to see the bright, beautiful creature itself, instinct with life, busily at work or play. These solitary bees evidently enjoy flirting in the gayest manner, and their soft, downy bodies and brilliant colours only show to real advantage whilst alive and lighted up by sunshine. It is a great puzzle to make out the different species, especially when, as in some cases, the sexes differ much in appearance. A jet black bee was often to be seen in early spring hovering over the pulmonaria, more intent on his companions than on the flowers, and every now and then he would seize a yellow-bodied fellow-worker, and off the two would go for a frolic in the air. I became enlightened when I found they were husband and wife, and merely beguiling the tedium of work by an occasional excursion together to the other side of the valley.

Some years ago I was greatly puzzled by an insect which seemed to appear and disappear in a strange manner; it flashed across a shady path like a minute firefly—an intermittent fleck of snow—it never seemed to settle anywhere, and was altogether incomprehensible. At last I succeeded in catching some specimens and solved the mystery. The little creature proved to be a slender fly with a tapering, pointed body clothed with fine silky scales, which in some positions were white as snow with the changing iridescence of mother-of-pearl; thus in its ever-varying flight the insect appeared and disappeared according as the rays of light fell upon it at different angles. In size the creature is but small, less than a house-fly, but when magnified its beauty is exquisite—the wings decked with rainbow colours, the thorax rich emerald green, and in life the eyes also greenish and opalescent.

I might go on endlessly describing visitants to my favourite haunt and yet always have something interesting to say about them, but I hope enough has been noted to prove that insect observation has its keen delights. To a wearied brain it is a quiet mode of refreshment which will commend itself to all who give it a trial on a summer day in some sheltered garden; but the observers must possess the requisite qualities, namely, patience, gentleness, and a true love of natural history.

SOLITARY BEES AND WASPS.

“Hide me from day’s garish eye,
While the bee with honey’d thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring
With such concert as they keep
Entice the dewy-feather’d sleep.”
MILTON.

“The wild bee’s note that on the wing
Booms like embodied voice along the gale.”
HOGG.

SOLITARY BEES AND WASPS.

MY attention has been drawn during the past few years to the remarkably interesting family of insects known as solitary bees and wasps. They are so called because they exist, not, as a rule, in colonies like the honey-bee and common wasps, but singly or in pairs.

These insects may often be seen in our gardens feasting on the flowers, boring tunnels into our gravel walks, making curious little nests in holes or angles in the brickwork of our houses, and yet comparatively few people know much about them and their habits, partly because they may often be taken for honey-bees, and without very close observation it is difficult to learn the characteristics of the different species.

I will endeavour to give a few details about some of the solitary bees and wasps which have come under my own observation; but it is a large subject, and as my variable health will not allow me to travel or even drive far from home, I can only speak of those specimens I have met with in my own grounds, and of which I have made a small collection for reference.

_COLLETES._

(ONE THAT PLASTERS.)

This species forms a tunnel in the ground from eight to ten inches deep, and this space is divided off into about seven cells. The wonderful thing is the way in which the cells are lined with a strong membrane like gold-beater’s skin, yet exquisitely fine, and lustrous as a piece of beautiful satin. The bee has a forked tongue which she uses like a trowel, smoothing down each layer of the silk which she deposits on the walls of the cells, plastering three or four layers one over the other till her children’s nursery is upholstered quite to her mind. She then goes off to the flowers and labours diligently until she has made up a little ball of pollen and honey; one of these balls she puts in each cell and lays an egg in it, out of which a tiny grub will be hatched in due time. Finding its food all ready, the grub eats and grows until it is full-sized, then it turns into a chrysalis, and at length comes out a perfect bee like its mother.

The Colletes are smaller than the honey-bee, but at first sight are very like it in colour and shape. The males are smaller than the females; they do nothing towards founding the family; they flit from flower to flower and fertilise the blossoms, so that in this way they are of great use by enabling plants to produce seed; they also bask on leaves in the sun, and seem to have a happy though very idle time. This seems to be the case with the males of all species of bees. The females are the hard workers; they make the home, lay the eggs, collect the pollen and mix it with honey for the food of the young when hatched, and then they hibernate through the winter so as to be ready to begin their work again the following spring.

There are five species of this bee, and they choose different places for their nests according to their species. Some like a sunny aspect, some choose shady places, some bore into the face of sandy rocks, others into the mortar in old walls, but wherever it may be, there are generally multitudes of them to be found in the same place, each one having its separate hole, but dwelling in large colonies.

This bee has three great enemies: two of them are a bright-coloured bee, called Epeolus, and a fly, Miltogramma, either of which will go down the hole in the absence of the bee and lay its egg in place of the rightful owner. These usurpers turn to grubs and eat up the food which has been prepared for the Colletes. The third enemy is the earwig, if _it_ once gets in, it will eat up the egg, the food supply, and the bee itself. In this way the bee is kept in check, else we may suppose it would multiply far too abundantly.

_ANTHOPHORA._

(FLOWER-RIFLER.)

This is a name that would apply to most bees, but certainly this one seems unusually energetic in obtaining honey, visiting each flower in succession, and then whisking off to the next flower-bed as if it had not a minute to lose.

The male is jet black, and hums loudly all the time it is on the wing. It has a very long tongue, beautifully fringed with hairs at the end to enable it to sweep the flower-tubes and drink in the honey. It is a most difficult bee to catch, its vision being so acute that it is off like a flash the moment it sees the net; it is therefore only after many attempts that one can secure a specimen. The female is very different in appearance, being densely covered with yellowish down, and is easily known by her second pair of legs which are very long and clothed with tufts of black hairs. Its nesting habits are the same as those of Colletes, only the grubs remain in the cells all through the winter and hatch out in the spring.

There are immense numbers of these bees on Hampstead Heath, and it is said to be the species alluded to by Gilbert White, of Selborne, as existing in colonies on Mount Carburn, near Lewes, and so bold is it that when people walk near its nests it will rise on the wing and dash against the faces of the intruders. One species of Anthophora makes its cell on dry walls, where it looks like a lump of mud, as if a handful of wet roadstuff had been thrown on the brickwork. These bees are clever little masons and use sand, earth, chalk, and woody material, mixed in different ways, to form the nurseries for the eggs they purpose to lay.

I have not as yet been able to find one of these nests, but I read that they are about an inch deep, of the form and size of a lady’s thimble, finely polished, of the colour of plaster-of-Paris and stained in various places with yellow. These insects have to work very hard scooping out clay from one bank, obtaining chalk from another, and sand from the path or elsewhere, and then these materials have to be moistened with their own saliva and made up into pellets of a size that they are able to carry on the wing, and so by slow degrees the walls of the cell are built of these tiny bricks all glued together by their own cement. Inside there are cells with eggs and bee-food placed ready for the young grub when it is hatched.

_MEGACHILE._

(LARGE-LIPPED.)

One day in summer I saw a bee go into a little hole in the brickwork of our house, and knowing it was probably making a nest, I waited till it came out and then caught it with my net that I might find out its species and then let it go. I found it was the very interesting solitary bee which lines its nest with rose-leaves (_Megachile Centuncularis_). It is a rather handsome large insect, covered with brownish-yellow down, and has furry-looking legs.

It is called sometimes the upholsterer-bee, because it uses such delicate curtains for its nest. I used to think it was the pink rose-petals that it used, but I have since found out more about its ways, and often see where it has been at work on my rose-trees by the circular holes it makes in the green leaves. It settles on the edge of a rose-leaf, and holding it firmly between its fore-legs it saws out a round piece of it, then flies with it to its nest and puts it neatly in as a lining. It takes from nine to twelve pieces to form a cell, and they are pieced together without any cement or glue so that, as they dry, they form a neat little tunnel. In this the bee stores up the honey and pollen of thistles which form, when mixed together, a sort of rose-coloured conserve or jam, and then in this it lays its egg and closes up the end of the cell with three pieces of leaf exactly joined so as to fill up the entrance. In this way it works till the hole is full of cells, then finally closes it up and leaves the nursery to manage for itself. The leaves of the birch-tree, elm, and dog’s mercury are used by other species, but they all choose some kind of leaf to line their nests.

_ANTHIDIUM._

(A DWELLER IN FLOWERS.)

This is another pretty bee which chooses a hole in some tree-stem which has been made already by a beetle or boring insect, and in order to make things quite comfortable for her future family she goes to the woolly hedge-nettle or the wild lychnis, and scraping off the wool she rolls it into a ball and flies to her nest with it, then she unrolls the wool and lines the sides of the hole with it, thus making a warm soft nest in which to place her eggs and the store of pollen and honey which they will require.

_ANTHOCOPA._

(A FLOWER-CHOPPER.)

I have not succeeded in capturing this very rare bee, but it is said to have been found both in Scotland and England. It has a great liking for colour, for it makes choice of the petals of the wild scarlet poppy with which to line its nest. It bores into the hardest paths by the side of corn-fields and then cuts little pieces out of the corn-poppy flowers and curtains its nest with them, and, like all the rest, it provides a store of food, lays its eggs, and then closes up the hole.

_OSMIA._

(SWEET SCENT OR PERFUME.)

This genus is so called because some species are said to throw out a sweet odour when they are touched.

There are about ten species of these bees in England, and we must look very carefully if we wish to find their nests.

One kind of Osmia will scoop out the pith from a piece of bramble-stem and make cells in it composed of minced-up bits of wood or leaves. Another kind will choose an empty snail-shell and fill it up most cleverly with little cells to hold her eggs. A third species of Osmia thinks a keyhole is a most suitable place for her nursery, and will so fill it up with plastered earth, eggs and pollen, that the lock is rendered perfectly useless.

_HALICTUS._

(TO CROWD TOGETHER.)

This curious bee prefers to work after the sun has gone down, especially on moonlight nights. Like the Colletes, it is fond of building in colonies.

They burrow into the ground about eight inches, working in such crowds that it is difficult to avoid treading upon them. They seem able to manage with very little rest, for after all this night-work they are equally diligent in the daytime collecting pollen in which they lay their eggs at the bottom of the tunnels. These bees have very beautiful wings, rich with all the colours of the rainbow, but, as they are not very large, a magnifying glass is needed to enable one to see these colours to advantage.

One of this species is the smallest bee in England; it would almost be taken for a house-fly, but for its long antennæ. The most beautiful specimens may often be found upon the flowers of the chickweed.

_ANDRÆNA._

There are seventy species of this bee, and their habits are much the same as the other bees I have mentioned, but this genus is the victim of a most strange enemy—a small winged beetle called Stylops.

The grub or larva of the Stylops is found in dandelion flowers, and when the bees come seeking honey these little creatures climb on to the bee, and, worse than that, they creep into its body, and there they live and grow, feeding on the inside organs of the bee until they are fully grown, when they turn into chrysalides.

Kirby, the great naturalist, was, I believe, the discoverer of this wicked little insect. He saw a small lump on the under side of an Andræna bee, and on taking it off with a pin he found to his surprise a queer insect with milk-white wings and two staring black eyes peering out of this lump—and this was the perfect Stylops, hatched from the body of the poor bee, which, strange to say, was not killed by the parasite, but appeared to suffer pain and irritation when the Stylops came out between the joints of its body. It seems as if almost every bee and wasp has a special enemy created to persecute it. We may sometimes see upon our window-sills in summer a very brilliant little creature called the Ruby-tailed fly. When the sun shines upon it, it looks like an emerald suspended from a bright polished ruby with a pair of wings, so brilliant is its metallic colouring. There are five species of this insect, and they all prey upon mason bees and wasps, creeping into their cells and laying their own eggs with those of the wasp or bee, which are of course destroyed by the grub of this cruel intruder.

A French naturalist writes that he saw a Ruby-tail fly go into a Solitary bee’s nest in a hole in a wall, and when the bee came back she found the Ruby-tail, and had a desperate fight with her. The fly is able to roll up into a ball as a hedgehog does, but this did not save her, for the bee sawed off her wings, and, dragging her out of the nest, threw her on the ground, and went off to get some more pollen. Poor Ruby-tail was not going to be beaten; she climbed slowly up the wall into the bee’s hole, and there she succeeded in laying her eggs before the rightful owner returned, so after all the bee’s family were not saved by the mother’s brave defence of her nest.

The Cuckoo fly is another species that victimises bees and wasps in the same way, and the large tribe of ichneumon-flies are always on the watch to lay their eggs in any living things that will suit their purpose. They possess a long, flexible tube called an ovipositor, and by means of this they can insert their eggs inside wasp and bees’ eggs, and even into chrysalids and live caterpillars the cruel fly will drive this tube, and leave her eggs where they will hatch, and live until they are full grown, feeding on the living substance. I have sometimes kept caterpillars hoping they would turn into beautiful butterflies, and instead of that I have only had a crop of ichneumon-flies because their eggs, unknown to me, had been previously laid in the bodies of the unfortunate caterpillars. You may always know an ichneumon-fly by its quivering antennæ; they are never still for a moment while daylight lasts, and the fly itself may also be known by its long, slender body with a hairlike waist. Some of the species are so minute that they lay several of their eggs within a butterfly’s egg, and it affords quite enough food for the ichneumon-grubs until they are full grown.

Others again are large insects with such a long and powerful tube that they can pierce through solid wood in order to reach the concealed grub in which they desire to lay their eggs. I believe the largest of the species measures four inches from head to tail, the ovipositor being an inch and three-quarters long. While I am speaking of parasites I may mention the clever way in which a humble-bee will sometimes rid itself of a species of mite which one may see swarming on its body. I give this on the authority of Rev. Mr. Gordon, of Harting. He says that the bee seeks an anthill on which it throws itself on its back, and sets up a loud buzzing noise; the ants soon take the alarm, swarm out of their nest, and at once fall upon the bee; but the latter simulates death, stretching out its limbs rigid and motionless; the ants therefore leave it alone, and seizing the mites which are running over its body, they soon dispatch them all, when the bee gets up, gives itself a shake, and flies away happily relieved of all its tormentors.

_WASPS._

I will now touch upon the habits of a few of the Solitary wasps.

It happens that my house is a favourite nesting-place for them. Some years ago I noticed small cells made of grey mud placed in some of the angles of the brickwork close to our drawing-room window, and seeing that some were like little pockets half open, and others closed up, I was led to watch and see what was going on.

A slender kind of wasp, a species of Odynerus, marked with black and yellow stripes, came with materials in her mouth, and began working on some of these mud cells against the wall; she kept on, hard at work all day at her masonry.

At last I thought I would open one of the finished cells and see what was inside, so with a fine penknife I broke away part of the cell wall, and there I found a number of greyish green caterpillars half killed and unable to move. Down at the bottom of the cell was the wasp’s egg, and the instinct of the mother insect leads her to obtain these caterpillars, and in order that they may be in fit condition for the grub when it hatches out of the egg, she gives each of the caterpillars a bite which paralyses it but does not affect any vital part, so it lives on in a helpless condition, and the wasp grub literally eats its way through the caterpillars till it is full-grown, then it turns to a chrysalis, and after a time it becomes a black and yellow wasp like its mother.

It is curious how tame insects will become if treated kindly. I used to know these little wasps quite well, and if they came into the rooms, and I found them on the window-panes they were quite accustomed to be placed gently outside that they might go on with their nests. A nephew of mine who holds a position in some sugar works at Cossipore in India, tells me in one of his letters that the air in the factory is so filled with wasps and hornets attracted there by the scent of the sugar, that they constantly strike against his face as he walked about. The workpeople and clerks take all kinds of precautions against them, wearing leather leggings over their trousers and beating them off continually; they get frightfully stung and tormented all day long, whilst my nephew, who is fond of all living things, takes no precautions at all, has never injured the insects, and never once had a sting from them. This shows that insects can discriminate between friends and enemies.

In my nephew’s own house some wasps came in and formed a nest in his dining-room on a wall bracket within a foot or two of his usual seat at dinner, and they too were perfectly friendly and would settle on his face and hands, and never think of stinging their friend.

I remember once in a country village seeing a man hard at work thrashing corn in a barn, and quite near to him there was an immense hornet’s nest hanging from a beam. We asked if he was not afraid of them, but he smiled and said, “Oh, they know me well enough; one of ’em fell inside my shirt t’other day, but he was very ceevil and never stung me, for I never interferes wi’ them, so they don’t interfere wi’ me.”

Many years ago a curious thing happened in a friend’s house in Surrey. In a spare bedroom which was not often used, there was a small Pembroke table with two flaps which could be put up or down. The maid had to get the room ready for a visitor, and in dusting the table she lifted up one of the flaps when down fell a quantity of dry earth all full of whitish grubs and chrysalids, and a few young wasps were also crawling about. It was found on examination that a solitary wasp had gained some mode of access to the room, and had made her family nest under the flap of the table, and unless it had been thus happily discovered the room would soon have been full of young wasps, much to the discomfort of the coming visitor.

One of the mason wasps called Odynerus not only makes a tunnel a few inches deep in the ground, generally in sandy banks, but it builds a kind of little tube of grains of sand glued together and places it just over the hole. It curves a little to one side, and is very possibly intended to act as a protection against various flies and parasites that would try to creep down and lay their eggs amongst those of the wasp.

This wasp stores up grey caterpillars for its young as the mason bees do, so we see that they have their use in tending to reduce the number of larvæ which prey upon our vegetables, and should be protected on that account.

An old silver-fir at the Grove, which had become decayed in the centre, became a home for countless thousands of a small species of wasp; they scooped it into endless galleries and cells, and filled them with half-dead bluebottles and other flies to serve as food for their grubs.

I sat and watched them at work for half an hour one day, and saw that about every half-minute a wasp arrived, each one holding some kind of fly in its mandibles; as I imagine this went on from early morning till dusk we may easily reply to the frequent inquiry of, What use can wasps be in the world? and why were such troublesome insects created? by pointing to the useful labours of this despised creature in reducing, not only the destructive grey caterpillars which abound in our gardens, but also the swarms of flies which beset us in the summer months.

We had to take down this great fir-tree, as it was completely decayed and likely to fall with the next high wind, and when it was felled we saw the marvellous work the wasps had been carrying on—the stem was completely honeycombed with wasp-cells and all through that summer endless numbers of wasps continued to hatch out of the old tree-stem.

The mason wasps are a very serious evil in Florida and many other hot countries, because of their tendency to fill up every convenient crevice with their mud nests. For instance, a gun may be laid aside for a day or two without a cover, and a mason wasp will at once fill up the barrel with mud, and when the owner, all unsuspectingly, puts in the cartridge and attempts to fire the gun, it will probably explode, and possibly cause the death of the sportsman. Many a lock is rendered useless, and all kind of domestic troubles are caused by this persevering insect.

I may here say a word about the wasps I have had to deal with in Switzerland. I used often to find their pretty little nests, about the size of a small rose, made of a grey papery material, fixed on various objects, frequently on stones by the roadside, on tree-branches, or on the walls of houses and churches.

I brought one home and placed it in a sunny window of the hotel we were staying at. I had not noticed that the cells were full of young grubs, and one morning we came down to find the room full of lively young wasps which had hatched out of my nest, and we had to set to work and clear them away before we could eat our breakfast in peace. A friend has kindly lent me a somewhat similar nest she found on some heather in England.

I have now spoken of a few of our most common Solitary bees and wasps. There are hundreds of species, so that it is a wide subject and might be indefinitely extended.

If any young people desire to study these curious insects, I may mention a book which will be found very useful for identifying the species: “British Bees,” by W. E. Shuckard, published by Lovell Reeve & Co.

With a magnifying glass one may see the two kinds of eyes with which bees are furnished. The two large eyes with hundreds of facets which we can easily see, are supposed to be for discerning objects near at hand. Then on the top of the bee’s head are three little specks of eyes called “ocelli,” placed in a triangle; these are believed to be for long vision, to enable the bee to guide its flight in the air.

A small lens is an essential thing to carry about with us, revealing a whole world of interest and beauty, which does not come within the range of our ordinary vision.

DRONE-FLIES.

“Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum,
To him who muses through the wood at noon;
Or drowsy shepherd as he lies reclin’d,
With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade
Of willows gray, close crowding o’er the brook.”
JAMES THOMSON.

DRONE-FLIES.

(ERISTALIS TENAX.)

MY compassion has often been stirred in autumn as I watched the number of unhappy drone-flies buzzing on the window-panes, day after day, until they perished from cold and hunger. These flies closely resemble the real drones, which are the males of the honey-bee and have four wings, while these, being flies, have but two.

They are large, handsome insects, with a downy, yellow-brown thorax and shining black body which moves up and down in a wasp-like manner. When flying about the room they keep up a loud humming noise, which at once betrays their presence.

As soon as cold weather begins these flies are driven to seek shelter in our rooms, where they find warmth, but usually no food or welcome. This year I thought I would prepare “a refuge for the destitute,” in the shape of a small glass globe, with sufficient ventilation, a little trough full of honeycomb, and a small pan of water. Into this little home I introduced three of these dipterous “waifs and strays” I found buzzing on the window-panes last October, and I suppose they liked their quarters, for they settled down amicably enough, and spent their whole time, like many beings far higher up in the scale of creation, in eating, drinking, and sleeping! I can speak well of these drone-flies as pet insects, for they become absolutely tame, so as to come on my finger, and to bear being stroked with a soft feather. They cannot sting or bite, as they possess no aggressive weapons of any kind, and having proverbially nothing to do, they are very easy-going, happy little creatures, only asking for sunshine and food to keep themselves in health and contentment.

It is really a curious sight to watch the morning toilet of a drone-fly through a magnifying glass. After rubbing the various legs well together, the yellow down upon the head has to be attended to; it is thoroughly combed by means of a row of small spines running down the fore-legs; these are raised over the back of the insect, so that the spines are drawn through and through the soft, downy fur until it is in perfect order, the action reminding one irresistibly of the toilet of a human being.

The head is placed on such a slender pivot that it can be turned in every direction, and looks as if it would come off altogether as the fly turns it this way and that, and vigorously combs and brushes it in every part. Then the back and abdomen are cleansed from every speck of dust, and not until all this is accomplished does the insect seem to care for any food—thus setting to insects in general an excellent example of cleanliness.

Attracted by the tempting scent, the fly might often be seen upon the honeycomb, taking up the sweet contents of the cells with its long proboscis, which is not unlike an elephant’s trunk, the honey being drawn up by means of flaps at the end which act as suckers.

Often have I watched my drone flies and shown them to my friends, who never fail to be interested, and pronounce them remarkably curious creatures. Though so common, they are well worth observing in this way through a magnifying glass, for a casual glance will not enable us to see the full beauty of the eye with its endless facets, the structure of the legs and the spiny combs, or the beautiful yellow fur which clothes the thorax.

These flies of mine are let out in the room for exercise on fine days, and enjoy flying about in the sunshine. One of them remained out for a week or more, and when replaced with his friends he was seen to be thin and starved as compared to the others who had lived in plenty.