Chapter III Carpenter-Bees; Carpenter-Wasps; Upholsterer-Bees
Carpenter-Bees
Among the solitary bees are several British species, which come under that class called carpenter-bees by M. Réaumur, from the circumstance of their working in wood, as the mason-bees work in stone. We have frequently witnessed the operations of these ingenious little workers, who are particularly partial to posts, palings, and the wood-work of houses which has become soft by beginning to decay. Wood actually decayed, or affected by dry-rot, they seem to reject as unfit for their purposes; but they make no objections to any hole previously drilled, provided it be not too large; and, like the mason-bees, they not unfrequently take possession of an old nest, a few repairs being all that in this case is necessary.
When a new nest is to be constructed, the bee proceeds to chisel sufficient space for it out of the wood with her jaws. We say her, because the task in this instance, as in most others of solitary bees and wasps, devolves solely upon the female, the male taking no concern in the affair, and probably being altogether ignorant that such a work is going forward. It is, at least, certain that the male is never seen giving his assistance, and he seldom, if ever, approaches the neighbourhood. The female carpenter-bee has a task to perform no less arduous than the mason-bee; for though the wood may be tolerably soft, she can only cut out a very small portion at a time. The successive portions which she gnaws off may be readily ascertained by an observer, as she carries them away from the place. In giving the history of a mason-wasp (Odynerus), at page 22, we remarked the care with which she carried to a distance little fragments of brick, which she detached in the progress of excavation. We have recently watched a precisely similar procedure in the instance of a carpenter-bee forming a cell in a wooden post. (J. R.) The only difference was, that the bee did not fly so far away with her fragments of wood as the wasp did; but she varied the direction of her flight every time: and we could observe that, after dropping, the chip of wood which she had carried off, she did not return in a direct line to her nest, but made a circuit of some extent before wheeling round to go back.
On observing the proceedings of this carpenter-bee next day, we found her coming in with balls of pollen on her thighs; and on tracing her from the nest into the adjacent garden, we saw her visiting every flower which was likely to yield her a supply of pollen for her future progeny. This was not all; we subsequently saw her taking the direction of the clay quarry frequented by the mason-bees, as we have mentioned in page 41, where we recognised her loading herself with a pellet of clay, and carrying it into her cell in the wooden post. We observed her alternating this labour for several days, at one time carrying clay, and at another pollen; till at length she completed her task, and closed the entrance with a barricade of clay, to prevent the intrusion of any insectivorous depredator, who might make prey of her young; or of some prying parasite, who might introduce its own eggs into the nest she had taken so much trouble to construct.
Some days after it was finished, we cut into the post, and exposed this nest to view. It consisted of six cells of a somewhat square shape, the wood forming the lateral walls; and each was separated from the one adjacent by a partition of clay, of the thickness of a playing card. The wood was not lined with any extraneous substance, but was worked as smooth as if it had been chiseled by a joiner. There were five cells, arranged in a very singular manner—two being almost horizontal, two perpendicular, and one oblique.
The depth to which the wood was excavated in this instance was considerably less than what we have observed in other species which dig perpendicular galleries several inches deep in posts and garden-seats; and they are inferior in ingenuity to the carpentry of a bee described by Réaumur (Xylocopa violacea), which has not been ascertained to be a native of Britain, though a single indigenous species of the genus has been doubtingly mentioned, and is figured by Kirby and Spence, in their valuable ‘Monographia.’ If it ever be found here, its large size and beautiful violet-coloured wings will render mistakes impossible.
The violet carpenter-bee usually selects an upright piece of wood, into which she bores obliquely for about an inch; and then, changing the direction, works perpendicularly, and parallel to the sides of the wood, from twelve or fifteen inches, and half an inch in breadth. Sometimes the bee is contented with one or two of these excavations; at other times, when the wood is adapted to it, she scoops out three or four—a task which sometimes requires several weeks of incessant labour.
The tunnel in the wood, however, is only one part of the work; for the little architect has afterwards to divide the whole into cells, somewhat less than an inch in depth. It is necessary, for the proper growth of her progeny, that each should be separated from the other, and be provided with adequate food. She knows, most exactly, the quantity of food which each grub will require during its growth; and she therefore does not hesitate to cut it off from any additional supply. In constructing her cells, she does not employ clay, like the bee which we have mentioned above, but the sawdust, if we may call it so, which she has collected in gnawing out the gallery. It would not, therefore, have suited her design to scatter this about, as our carpenter-bee did. The violet-bee, on the contrary, collects her gnawings into a little store-heap for future use, at a short distance from her nest. She proceeds thus:—At the bottom of her excavation she deposits an egg, and over it fills a space nearly an inch high with the pollen of flowers, made into a paste with honey. She then covers this over with a ceiling composed of cemented sawdust, which also serves for the floor of the next chamber above it. For this purpose she cements round a wall a ring of wood-chips taken from her store-heap; and within this ring forms another, gradually contracting the diameter till she has constructed a circular plate, about the thickness of a crown-piece, and of considerable hardness. This plate of course exhibits concentric circles, somewhat similar to the annual circles in the cross section of a tree. In the same manner she proceeds till she has completed ten or twelve cells; and then she closes the main entrance with a barrier of similar materials.
Let us compare the progress of this little joiner with a human artisan—one who has been long practised in his trade, and has the most perfect and complicated tools for his assistance. The bee has learnt nothing by practice; she makes her nest but once in her life, but it is then as complete and finished as if she had made a thousand. She has no pattern before her—but the Architect of all things has impressed a plan upon her mind, which she can realize without scale or compasses. Her two sharp teeth are the only tools with which she is provided for her laborious work; and yet she bores a tunnel, twelve times the length of her own body, with greater ease than the workman who bores into the earth for water, with his apparatus of augurs adapted to every soil. Her tunnel is clean and regular; she leaves no chips at the bottom, for she is provident of her materials. Further, she has an exquisite piece of joinery to perform when her ruder labour is accomplished. The patient bee works her rings from the circumference to the centre, and she produces a shelf, united with such care with her natural glue, that a number of fragments are as solid as one piece.
The violet carpenter-bee, as may be expected, occupies several weeks in these complicated labours; and during that period she is gradually depositing her eggs, each of which is successively to become a grub, a pupa, and a perfect bee. It is obvious, therefore, as she does not lay all her eggs in the same place—as each is separated from the other by a laborious process—that the egg which is first laid will be the earliest hatched; and that the first perfect insect, being older than its fellows in the same tunnel, will strive to make its escape sooner, and so on of the rest. The careful mother provides for this contingency. She makes a lateral opening at the bottom of the cells; for the teeth of the young bees would not be strong enough to pierce the outer wood, though they can remove the cemented rings of sawdust in the interior. Réaumur observed these holes, in several cases; and he further noticed another external opening opposite to the middle cell, which he supposed was formed, in the first instance, to shorten the distance for the removal of the fragments of wood in the lower half of the building.
That bees of similar habits, if not the same species as the violet-bee, are indigenous to this country, is proved by Grew, who mentions, in his ‘Rarities of Gresham College,’ having found a series of such cells in the middle of the pith of an elder branch, in which they were placed lengthwise, one after another, with a thin boundary between each. As he does not, however, tell us that he was acquainted with the insect which constructed these, it might as probably be allied to the Ceratina albilabris, of which Spinola has given so interesting an account in the ‘Annales du Muséum d’Histoire Naturelle’ (x. 236). This noble and learned naturalist tells us, that one evening he perceived a female ceratina alight on the branch of a bramble, partly withered, and of which the extremity had been broken; and, after resting a moment, suddenly disappear. On detaching the branch, he found that it was perforated, and that the insect was in the very act of excavating a nidus for her eggs. He forthwith gathered a bundle of branches, both of the bramble and the wild-rose, similarly perforated, and took them home to examine them at leisure. Upon inspection, he found that the nests were furnished like those of the same tribe, with balls of pollen kneaded with honey, as a provision for the grubs.
The female ceratina selects a branch of the bramble or wild-rose which has been accidentally broken, and digs into the pith only, leaving the wood and bark untouched. Her mandibles, indeed, are not adapted for gnawing wood; and, accordingly, he found instances in which she could not finish her nest in branches of the wild-rose, where the pith was not of sufficient diameter.
The insect usually makes her perforation a foot in depth, and divides this into eight, nine, or even twelve cells, each about five lines long, and separated by partitions formed by the gnawings of the pith, cemented by honey, or some similar glutinous fluid, much in the same manner with the Xylocopa violacea, which we have already described.
[This species is probably Ceratina cærulea, as the second species, C. albilabris, seems to have little claim to be considered as a British insect. It is plentiful in spots where it resides, but is very local. It can best be found by collecting all the specimens of bramble branches that have holes bored into the pith.
Mr. F. Smith says of this tiny bee, “Some years ago I observed a small bee most industriously employed in excavating a dead bramble stick. My attention was directed to the circumstance from observing some of the fallen pieces of pith on the ground immediately beneath. Occasionally fresh quantities of dust were pushed out. At length, the little creature came out of the stick as if to rest, and after sunning itself for a few minutes, it re-entered, and again commenced its labours. Later in the day, after stopping up the entrance, I cut off the branch and found in it a male and female ceratina.”
The ceratina is only the sixth of an inch in length, and is deep shining blue in colour.
There are many other species of British bees which frequent the stems of bramble and other trees. One of them is known as Prosopis signata. The cells made by the bees of this genus are lined with a membrane, and are stocked with liquid honey. Some species will not take the trouble of boring a tunnel for themselves, but will make use of hollow stones, or similar localities, and place in them the silk-covered cocoons.
There are species of that versatile genus Osmia (O. leucomelana), in the habit of burrowing into dead bramble branches. The mother insect bores a hole some six inches in length, throwing the pieces of pith away, and then, depositing at the bottom an egg and a supply of food, she forms a cell by fixing across the burrow a stopper made of masticated leaves.
The stopper retains its place firmly, because the bee does not eat away the whole of the pith, but alternately widens and contracts the diameter of the burrow, each contracted portion being the termination of a cell. The perfect insect appears in the early summer of the following year.]
As there are mason-wasps similar in economy to mason-bees, so are there solitary carpenter-wasps which dig galleries in timber, and partition them out into several cells by means of the gnawings of the wood which they have detached. This sort of wasp is of the genus Eumenes. The wood selected is generally such as is soft, or in a state of decay; and the hole which is dug in it is much less neat and regular than that of the carpenter-bees, while the division of the chambers is nothing more than the rubbish produced during the excavation.
The provision which is made for the grub consists of flies or gnats piled into the chamber, but without the nice order remarkable in the spiral columns of green caterpillars provided by the mason-wasp (Odynerus murarius). The most remarkable circumstance is, that in some of the species, when the grub is about to go into the pupa state, it spins a case (a cocoon), into which it interweaves the wings of the flies whose bodies it has previously devoured. In other species, the gnawings of the wood are employed in a similar manner.
[Some of the solitary wasps are also carpenters, and the genus Crabro has several species which are classed under this head. There is, for example, Crabro clavipes, a little black insect with red and black abdomen, that burrows into dead bramble sticks, boring out the pith, and forming a series of cells in the narrow tube thus made. Sometimes this insect bores into decaying wood, but its general home is the bramble-stick. The same habits are common to several other British species of this genus, and the reader will find that old, decaying willow trees are chiefly visited by these pretty little insects. Their store of food, which they lay up for their young, mostly consists of dipterous insects, and various species of gnats are used for this purpose.
Another of the carpenter-wasps (Pemphredon lugubris) is really a useful insect. It makes its burrows in posts, rails, and similar localities, and provides its future young with a large stock of aphides. It has been seen to settle on a rose-bush, scrape off the branches a number of aphides, form them into a ball, and carry them off between its head and front legs.
The colour of this insect is dull black, from which circumstance it derives its name of lugubris. The head is large, and squared, and the abdomen is attached to the thorax by a large footstalk. Its length is about half an inch. It is a very common insect, and is believed to be the only British representation of its genus.
Several species do not take the trouble to form a burrow for themselves, but content themselves with building in holes ready made for them. Straws are favourite resorts of such insects, and in thatched buildings the straws of the roof are often filled with their cells.
One of these insects is a very little species, barely a quarter of an inch in length. Its colour is black, with some silver white hair on the face, and the legs are paler than the body. The abdomen has a long footstalk. Its scientific name is Psen pallipes. Like the insect which has just been described, it provisions its young with aphides.]
Upholsterer-Bees.
In another part of this volume we shall see how certain caterpillars construct abodes for themselves, by cutting off portions of the leaves or bark of plants, and uniting them by means of silk into a uniform and compact texture; but this scarcely appears so wonderful as the prospective labours of some species of bees for the lodgment of their progeny. We allude to the solitary bees, known by the name of the leaf-cutting bees, but which may be denominated more generally upholsterer-bees, as there are some of them which use other materials beside leaves.
One species of our little upholsterers has been called the poppy-bee (Osmia papaveris, Latr.), from its selecting the scarlet petals of the poppy as tapestry for its cells. Kirby and Spence express their doubts whether it is indigenous to this country: we are almost certain that we have seen the nests in Scotland. (J. R.) At Largs, in Ayrshire, a beautiful sea-bathing village on the Firth of Clyde, in July, 1814, we found in a footpath a great number of the cylindrical perforations of the poppy-bee. [In his catalogue of British Hymenoptera, Mr. F. Smith makes the following remarks with regard to this insect. “The poppy-bee, Anthocopa papaveris, is closely allied to this genus (Osmia), and may indeed be placed before it as a connecting link with the Osmia. This interesting insect (l’abeille Tapissiere), of Réaumur, has been supposed to inhabit this country, specimens having been placed in the collection at the British Museum. But it was with much regret that I discovered, when engaged upon the catalogue of British bees for the Museum, and had occasion to examine each individual specimen with care, that in the first place there was no satisfactory evidence of the locality, and that in the next place, all the males associated with the series were those of Osmia adunca, of Panzear.” For these reasons, this species has been excluded from the list of British bees.] Réaumur remarked that the cells of this bee which he found at Bercy, were situated in a northern exposure, contrary to what he had remarked in the mason-bee, which prefers the south. The cells at Largs, however, were on an elevated bank, facing the south, near Sir Thomas Brisbane’s observatory. With respect to exposure, indeed, no certain rule seems applicable; for the nests of mason-bees which we found on the wall of Greenwich Park faced the north-east, and we have often found carpenter-bees make choice of a similar situation. In one instance, we found carpenter-bees working indifferently on the north-east and south-west side of the same post.
As we did not perceive any heaps of earth near the holes at Largs, we concluded that it must either have been carried off piecemeal when they were dug, or that they were old holes re-occupied (a circumstance common with bees), and that the rubbish had been trodden down by passengers. Réaumur, who so minutely describes the subsequent operations of the bee, says nothing respecting its excavations. One of these holes is about three inches deep, gradually widening as it descends, till it assumes the form of a small Florence flask. The interior of this is rendered smooth, uniform, and polished, in order to adapt it to the tapestry with which it is intended to be hung, and which is the next step in the process.
The material used for tapestry by the insect upholsterer is supplied by the flower-leaves of the scarlet field-poppy, from which she successively cuts off small pieces of an oval shape, seizes them between her legs, and conveys them to the nest. She begins her work at the bottom, which she overlays with three or four leaves in thickness, and the sides have never less than two. When she finds that the piece she has brought is too large to fit the place intended, she cuts off what is superfluous, and carries away the shreds. By cutting the fresh petal of a poppy with a pair of scissors, we may perceive the difficulty of keeping the piece free from wrinkles and shrivelling; but the bee knows how to spread the pieces which she uses as smooth as glass.
When she has in this manner hung the little chamber all around with this splendid scarlet tapestry, of which she is not sparing, but extends it even beyond the entrance, she then fills it with the pollen of flowers mixed with honey, to the height of about half an inch. In this magazine of provisions for her future progeny she lays an egg, and over it folds down the tapestry of poppy-petals from above. The upper part is then filled in with earth; but Latreille says he has observed more than one cell constructed in a single excavation. This may account for Réaumur’s describing them as sometimes seven inches deep; a circumstance which Latreille, however, thinks very surprising.
It will, perhaps, be impossible ever to ascertain, beyond a doubt, whether the tapestry-bee is led to select the brilliant petals of the poppy from their colour, or from any other quality they may possess, of softness or of warmth, for instance. Réaumur thinks that the largeness, united with the flexibility of the poppy-leaves, determines her choice. Yet it is not improbable that her eye may be gratified by the appearance of her nest; that she may possess a feeling of the beautiful in colour, and may look with complacency upon the delicate hangings of the apartment which she destines for her offspring. Why should not an insect be supposed to have a glimmering of the value of ornament? How can we pronounce, from our limited notion of the mode in which the inferior animals think and act, that their gratifications are wholly bounded by the positive utility of the objects which surround them? Why does a dog howl at the sound of a bugle, but because it offends his organ of hearing?—and why, therefore, may not a bee feel gladness in the brilliant hues of her scarlet drapery, because they are grateful to her organs of sight? All these little creatures work, probably, with more neatness and finish than is absolutely essential for comfort; and this circumstance alone would imply that they have something of taste to exhibit, which produces to them a pleasurable emotion.
The tapestry-bee is, however, content with ornamenting the interior only of the nest which she forms for her progeny. She does not misplace her embellishments with the error of some human artists. She desires security as well as elegance; and, therefore, she leaves no external traces of her operations. Hers is not a mansion rich with columns and friezes without, but cold and unfurnished within, like the desolate palaces of Venice. She covers her tapestry quite round with the common earth; and leaves her eggs enclosed in their poppy-case with a certainty that the outward show of her labours will attract no plunderer.
The poppy-bee may be known by its being rather more than a third of an inch long, of a black colour, studded on the head and back with reddish-grey hairs; the belly being grey and silky, and the rings margined with grey above, the second and third having an impressed transversal line.
A species of solitary bee (Anthidium manicatum, Fabricius), by no means uncommon with us, forms a nest of a peculiarly interesting structure. Kirby and Spence say, that it does not excavate holes, but makes choice of the cavities of old trees, key-holes, and similar localities; yet it is highly probable, we think, that it may sometimes scoop out a suitable cavity when it cannot find one; for its mandibles seem equally capable of this, with those of any of the carpenter or mason-bees.
Be this as it may, the bee in question having selected a place suitably sheltered from the weather, and from the intrusion of depredators, proceeds to form her nest, the exterior walls of which she forms of the wool of pubescent plants, such as rose-campion (Lychnis coronaria), the quince (Pyrus cydonia), cats-ears (Stachys lunata), &c. “It is very pleasant,” says Mr. White, of Selborne, “to see with what address this insect strips off the down, running from the top to the bottom of the branch, and shaving it bare with all the dexterity of a hoop-shaver. When it has got a vast bundle, almost as large as itself, it flies away, holding it secure between its chin and its fore-legs.”Q The material is rolled up like a ribbon; and we possess a specimen in which one of these rolls still adheres to a rose-campion stem, the bee having been scared away before obtaining her load.
The manner in which the cells of the nest are made seems not to be very clearly understood. M. Latreille says, that, after constructing her nest of the down of quince-leaves, she deposits her eggs, together with a store of paste, formed of the pollen of flowers, for nourishing the grubs. Kirby and Spence, on the other hand, tell us, that “the parent bee, after having constructed her cells, laid an egg in each, and filled them with a store of suitable food, plasters them with a covering of vermiform masses, apparently composed of honey and pollen; and having done this, aware, long before Count Rumford’s experiments, what materials conduct heat most slowly,” she collects the down from woolly plants, and “sticks it upon the plaster that covers her cells, and thus closely envelops them with a warm coating of down, impervious to every change of temperature.” “From later observations,” however, they are “inclined to think that these cells may possibly, as in the case of the humble-bee, be in fact formed by the larva previously to becoming a pupa, after having eaten the provision of pollen and honey with which the parent bee had surrounded it. The vermicular shape, however, of the masses with which the cases are surrounded, does not seem easily reconcilable with this supposition, unless they are considered as the excrement of the larva.”R
Whether or not this second explanation is the true one, we have not the means of ascertaining; but we are almost certain the first is incorrect, as it is contrary to the regular procedure of insects to begin with the interior part of any structure, and work outwards. We should imagine, then, that the down is first spread out into the form required, and afterwards plastered on the inside to keep it in form, when probably the grub spins the vermicular cells previous to its metamorphosis.
It might prove interesting to investigate this more minutely; and as the bee is by no means scarce in the neighbourhood of London, it might not be difficult for a careful observer to witness all the details of this singular architecture. Yet we have repeatedly endeavoured, but without success, to watch the bees, when loaded with down, to their nests. The bee may be readily known from its congeners, by its being about the size of the hive-bee, but more broad and flattened, blackish-brown above, with a row of six yellow or white spots along each side of the rings, very like the rose-leaf cutter, and having the belly covered with yellowish-brown hair, and the legs fringed with long hairs of a rather lighter colour.
[This bee does not bore a tunnel for herself, but occupies that of some other insect. The nests of this insect are generally to be obtained from old willows, because these trees are so largely bored by the goat-moth caterpillar, and afford ample space for the larva. The woolly substance obtained from the plant is pressed against the sides of the burrow, so as to form a lining. She then makes a series of cells of a similar material, and the young larva, when it is about to change into the pupa state, envelops itself in a silken covering of a brown colour.
It is a curious fact, that the male of this insect is considerably larger than the female, thus reversing the usual order of things among insects. Only one species of this bee is known in England.]
A common bee belonging to the family of upholsterers is called the rose-leaf cutter (Megachile centuncularis, Latr.). The singularly ingenious habits of this bee have long attracted the attention of naturalists; but the most interesting description is given by Réaumur. So extraordinary does the construction of their nests appear, that a French gardener having dug up some, and believing them to be the work of a magician, who had placed them in his garden with evil intent, sent them to Paris to his master, for advice as to what should be done by way of exorcism. On applying to the Abbé Nollet, the owner of the garden was soon persuaded that the nests in question were the work of insects; and M. Réaumur, to whom they were subsequently sent, found them to be the nests of one of the upholsterer-bees, and probably of the rose-leaf cutter, though the nests in question were made of the leaves of the mountain ash (Pyrus aucuparia).
The rose-leaf cutter makes a cylindrical hole in a beaten pathway, for the sake of more consolidated earth (or in the cavities of walls or decayed wood), from six to ten inches deep, and does not throw the earth dug out from it into a heap, like the Andrenæ.S In this she constructs several cells about an inch in length, shaped like a thimble, and made of cuttings of leaves (not petals), neatly folded together, the bottom of one thimble-shaped cell being inserted into the mouth of the one below it, and so on in succession.
It is interesting to observe the manner in which this bee procures the materials for forming the tapestry of her cells. The leaf of the rose-tree seems to be that which she prefers, though she sometimes takes other sorts of leaves, particularly those with serrated margins, such as the birch, the perennial mercury (Mercurialis perennis), mountain-ash, &c. She places herself upon the outer edge of the leaf which she has selected, so that its margin may pass between her legs. Turning her head towards the point, she commences near the footstalk, and with her mandibles cuts out a circular piece with as much expedition as we could do with a pair of scissors, and with more accuracy and neatness than could easily be done by us. As she proceeds, she keeps the cut portion between her legs, so as not to impede her progress; and using her body for a trammel, as a carpenter would say, she cuts in a regular curved line. As she supports herself during the operation upon the portion of the leaf which she is detaching, it must be obvious, when it is nearly cut off, that the weight of her body might tear it away, so as to injure the accuracy of its curvilineal shape. To prevent any accident of this kind, as soon as she suspects that her weight might tear it, she poises herself on her wings, till she has completed the incision. It has been said, by naturalists, that this manœuvre of poising herself on the wing, is to prevent her falling to the ground, when the piece gives way; but as no winged insect requires to take any such precaution, our explanation is probably the true one.
With the piece which she has thus cut out, held in a bent position perpendicularly to her body, she flies off to her nest, and fits it into the interior with the utmost neatness and ingenuity; and, without employing any paste or glue, she trusts, as Réaumur ascertained, to the spring the leaf takes in drying, to retain it in its position. It requires from nine to ten pieces of leaf to form one cell, as they are not always of precisely the same thickness. The interior surface of each cell consists of three pieces of leaf, of equal size, narrow at one end, but gradually widening at the other, where the width equals half the length. One side of each of the pieces is the serrated margin of the leaf from which it was cut, and this margin is always placed outermost, and the cut margin innermost. Like most insects, she begins with the exterior, commencing with a layer of tapestry, which is composed of three or four oval pieces, larger in dimensions than the rest, adding a second and a third layer proportionately smaller. In forming these, she is careful not to place a joining opposite to a joining, but with all the skill of a consummate artificer, lays the middle of each piece of leaf over the margins of the others, so as by this means both to cover and strengthen the junctions. By repeating this process, she sometimes forms a fourth or a fifth layer of leaves, taking care to bend the leaves at the narrow extremity or closed end of the cell, so as to bring them into a convex shape.
When she has in this manner completed a cell, her next business is to replenish it with a store of honey and pollen, which, being chiefly collected from thistles, forms a beautiful rose-coloured conserve. In this she deposits a single egg, and then covers in the opening with three pieces of leaf, so exactly circular, that a pair of compasses could not define their margin with more accuracy. In this manner the industrious and ingenious upholsterer proceeds till the whole gallery is filled, the convex extremity of the one fitting into the open end of the next, and serving both as a basis and as the means of strengthening it. If, by any accident, the labour of these insects is interrupted or the edifice deranged, they exhibit astonishing perseverance in setting it again to rights. Insects, indeed, are not easily forced to abandon any work which they may have begun.
The monkish legends tell us that St. Francis Xavier, walking one day in a garden, and seeing an insect, of the Mantis genus, moving along in its solemn way, holding up its two fore legs, as in the act of devotion, desired it to sing the praises of God. The legend adds that the saint immediately heard the insect carol a fine canticle with a loud emphasis. We want no miraculous voice to record the wonders of the Almighty hand, when we regard the insect world. The little rose-leaf cutter, pursuing her work with the nicest mathematical art—using no artificial instruments to form her ovals and her circles—knowing that the elastic property of the leaves will retain them in their position—making her nest of equal strength throughout, by the most rational adjustment of each distinct part—demands from us something more than mere wonder; for such an exercise of instinctive ingenuity at once directs our admiration to the great Contriver, who has so admirably proportioned her knowledge to her necessities.