It can never be too strongly impressed upon a mind anxious for the acquisition of knowledge, that the commonest things by which we are surrounded are deserving of minute and careful attention. The most profound investigations of Philosophy are necessarily connected with the ordinary circumstances of our being, and of the world in which our every-day life is spent. With regard to our own existence, the pulsation of the heart, the act of respiration, the voluntary movement of our limbs, the condition of sleep, are among the most ordinary operations of our nature; and yet how long were the wisest of men struggling with dark and bewildering speculations before they could offer anything like a satisfactory solution of these phenomena, and how far are we still from an accurate and complete knowledge of them! The science of Meteorology, which attempts to explain to us the philosophy of matters constantly before our eyes, as dew, mist, and rain, is dependent for its illustrations upon a knowledge of the most complicated facts, such as the influence of heat and electricity upon the air; and this knowledge is at present so imperfect, that even these common occurrences of the weather, which men have been observing and reasoning upon for ages, are by no means satisfactorily explained, or reduced to the precision that every science should aspire to. Yet, however difficult it may be entirely to comprehend the phenomena we daily witness, everything in nature is full of instruction. Thus the humblest flower of the field, although, to one whose curiosity has not been excited, and whose understanding has, therefore, remained uninformed, it may appear worthless and contemptible, is valuable to the botanist, not only with regard to its place in the arrangement of this portion of the Creator’s works, but as it leads his mind forward to the consideration of those beautiful provisions for the support of vegetable life, which it is the part of the physiologist to study and to admire.
This train of reasoning is peculiarly applicable to the economy of insects. They constitute a very large and interesting part of the animal kingdom. They are everywhere about us. The spider weaves his curious web in our houses; the caterpillar constructs his silken cell in our gardens; the wasp that hovers over our food has a nest not far removed from us, which she has assisted to build with the nicest art; the beetle that crawls across our path is also an ingenious and laborious mechanic, and has some curious instincts to exhibit to those who will feel an interest in watching his movements; and the moth that eats into our clothes has something to plead for our pity, for he came, like us, naked into the world, and he has destroyed our garments, not in malice or wantonness, but that he may clothe himself with the same wool which we have stripped from the sheep. An observation of the habits of these little creatures is full of valuable lessons, which the abundance of the examples has no tendency to diminish. The more such observations are multiplied, the more are we led forward to the freshest and the most delightful parts of knowledge; the more do we learn to estimate rightly the extraordinary provisions and most abundant resources of a creative Providence; and the better do we appreciate our own relations with all the infinite varieties of nature, and our dependence, in common with the ephemeron that flutters its little hour in the summer sun, upon that Being in whose scheme of existence the humblest as well as the highest creature has its destined purposes. “If you speak of a stone,” says St. Basil, one of the Fathers of the Church, “if you speak of a fly, a gnat, or a bee, your conversation will be a sort of demonstration of His power whose hand formed them, for the wisdom of the workman is commonly perceived in that which is of little size. He who has stretched out the heavens, and dug up the bottom of the sea, is also He who has pierced a passage through the sting of the bee for the ejection of its poison.”
If it be granted that making discoveries is one of the most satisfactory of human pleasures, then we may without hesitation affirm, that the study of insects is one of the most delightful branches of natural history, for it affords peculiar facilities for its pursuit. These facilities are found in the almost inexhaustible variety which insects present to the curious observer. As a proof of the extraordinary number of insects within a limited field of observation, Mr. Stephens informs us, that in the short space of forty days, between the middle of June and the beginning of August, he found, in the vicinity of Ripley, specimens of above two thousand four hundred species of insects, exclusive of caterpillars and grubs,—a number amounting to nearly a fourth of the insects ascertained to be indigenous. He further tells us, that, among these specimens, although the ground had, in former seasons, been frequently explored, there were about one hundred species altogether new, and not before in any collection which he had inspected, including several new genera; while many insects reputed scarce were in considerable plenty.[A][A] The localities of insects are, to a certain extent, constantly changing; and thus the study of them has, in this circumstance, as well as in their manifold abundance, a source of perpetual variety. Insects, also, which are plentiful one year, frequently become scarce, or disappear altogether, the next—a fact strikingly illustrated by the uncommon abundance, in 1826 and 1827, of the seven-spot lady-bird (Coccinella septempunctata), in the vicinity of London, though during the two succeeding summers this insect was comparatively scarce, while the small two-spot lady-bird (Coccinella bipunctata) was plentiful.
There is, perhaps, no situation in which the lover of nature and the observer of animal life may not find opportunities for increasing his store of facts. It is told of a state prisoner, under a cruel and rigorous despotism, that when he was excluded from all commerce with mankind, and was shut out from books, he took an interest and found consolation in the visits of a spider; and there is no improbability in the story. The operations of that persecuted creature are among the most extraordinary exhibitions of mechanical ingenuity; and a daily watching of the workings of its instinct would beget admiration in a rightly-constituted mind. The poor prisoner had abundant leisure for the speculations in which the spider’s web would enchain his understanding. We have all of us, at one period or other of our lives, been struck with some singular evidence of contrivance in the economy of insects, which we have seen with our own eyes. Want of leisure, and probably want of knowledge, have prevented us from following up the curiosity which for a moment was excited. And yet some such accident has made men naturalists, in the highest meaning of the term. Bonnet, evidently speaking of himself, says, “I knew a naturalist, who, when he was seventeen years of age, having heard of the operations of the ant-lion, began by doubting them. He had no rest till he had examined into them: and he verified them, he admired them, he discovered new facts, and soon became the disciple and the friend of the Pliny of France”[B] (Réaumur). It is not the happy fortune of many to be able to devote themselves exclusively to the study of nature, unquestionably the most fascinating of human employments; but almost every one may acquire sufficient knowledge to be able to derive a high gratification from beholding the more common operations of animal life. His materials for contemplation are always before him. Some weeks ago we made an excursion to West Wood, near Shooter’s Hill, expressly for the purpose of observing the insects we might meet with in the wood: but we had not got far among the bushes, when heavy rain came on. We immediately sought shelter among the boughs of some thick underwood, composed of oak, birch, and aspen; but we could not meet with a single insect, not even a gnat or a fly, sheltered under the leaves. Upon looking more narrowly, however, into the bushes which protected us, we soon found a variety of interesting objects of study. The oak abounded in galls, several of them quite new to us; while the leaves of the birch and the aspen exhibited the curious serpentine paths of the minute mining caterpillars. When we had exhausted the narrow field of observation immediately around us, we found that we could considerably extend it, by breaking a few of the taller branches near us, and then examining their leaves at leisure. In this manner two hours glided quickly and pleasantly away, by which time the rain had nearly ceased; and though we had been disappointed in our wish to ramble through the wood, we did not return without adding a few interesting facts to our previous knowledge of insect economy.[C]
It will appear, then, from the preceding observations, that cabinets and collections, though undoubtedly of the highest use, are by no means indispensable, as the observer of nature may find inexhaustible subjects of study in every garden and in every hedge. Nature has been profuse enough in affording us materials for observation, when we are prepared to look about us with that keenness of inquiry, which curiosity, the first step in the pursuit of knowledge, will unquestionably give. Nor shall we be disappointed in the gratification which is thus within our reach. Were it no more, indeed, than a source of agreeable amusement, the study of insects comes strongly recommended to the notice of the well-educated. The pleasures of childhood are generally supposed to be more exquisite, and to contain less alloy, than those of riper years; and if so, it must be because then everything appears new and dressed in fresh beauties: while in manhood, and old age, whatever has frequently recurred begins to wear the tarnish of decay. The study of nature affords us a succession of “ever-new delights,” such as charmed us in childhood, when everything had the attractions of novelty and beauty; and thus the mind of the naturalist may have its own fresh and vigorous thoughts, even while the infirmities of age weigh down the body.
It has been objected to the study of insects, as well as to that of Natural History in general, that it tends to withdraw the mind from subjects of higher moment; that it cramps and narrows the range of thought; and that it destroys, or at least weakens, the finer creations of the fancy. Now, we should allow this objection in its fullest extent, and even be disposed to carry it further than is usually done, if the collecting of specimens only, or, as the French expressly call them, chips (échantillons), be called a study. But the mere collector is not, and cannot be, justly considered as a naturalist; and, taking the term naturalist in its enlarged sense, we can adduce some distinguished instances in opposition to the objection. Rousseau, for example, was passionately fond of the Linnæan botany, even to the driest minutiæ of its technicalities; and yet it does not appear to have cramped his mind, or impoverished his imagination. If Rousseau, however, be objected to as an eccentric being, from whose pursuits no fair inference can be drawn, we give the illustrious example of Charles James Fox, and may add the names of our distinguished poets, Goldsmith, Thomson, Gray, and Darwin, who were all enthusiastic naturalists. We wish particularly to insist upon the example of Gray, because he was very partial to the study of insects. It may be new to many of our readers, who are familiar with the ‘Elegy in a Country Churchyard,’ to be told that its author was at the pains to turn the characteristics of the Linnæan orders of insects into Latin hexameters, the manuscript of which is still preserved in his interleaved copy of the ‘Systema Naturæ.’ Further, to use the somewhat exaggerated words of Kirby and Spence, whose work on Entomology is one of the most instructive and pleasing books on the science, 'Aristotle among the Greeks, and Pliny the Elder among the Romans, may be denominated the fathers of Natural History, as well as the greatest philosophers of their day; yet both these made insects a principal object of their attention: and in more recent times, if we look abroad, what names greater than those of Redi, Malpighi, Vallisnieri, Swammerdam, Leeuwenhoek, Réaumur, Linnæus, De Geer, Bonnet, and the Hubers? and at home, what philosophers have done more honour to their country and to human nature than Ray, Willughby, Lister, and Derham? Yet all these made the study of insects one of their most favourite pursuits."[D]
And yet this study has been considered, by those who have superficially examined the subject, as belonging to a small order of minds; and the satire of Pope has been indiscriminately applied to all collectors, while, in truth, it only touches those who mistake the means of knowledge for the end:—
"O! would the sons of men once think their eyes
And reason given them but to study Flies!
See Nature, in some partial, narrow shape,
And let the Author of the whole escape;
Learn but to trifle; or, who most observe,
To wonder at their Maker, not to serve."[E]
Thus exclaims the Goddess of Dulness, sweeping into her net all those who study nature in detail. But if the matter were rightly appreciated, it would be evident that no part of the works of the Creator can be without the deepest interest to an inquiring mind; and that a portion of creation which exhibits such extraordinary manifestations of design as is shown by insects must have attractions for the very highest understanding.
An accurate knowledge of the properties of insects is of great importance to man, merely with relation to his own comfort and security. The injuries which they inflict upon us are extensive and complicated; and the remedies which we attempt, by the destruction of those creatures, both insects, birds, and quadrupeds, who keep the ravages in check, are generally aggravations of the evil, because they are directed by an ignorance of the economy of nature. The little knowledge which we have of the modes by which insects may be impeded in their destruction of much that is valuable to us, has probably proceeded from our contempt of their individual insignificance. The security of property has ceased to be endangered by quadrupeds of prey, and yet our gardens are ravaged by aphides and caterpillars. It is somewhat startling to affirm that the condition of the human race is seriously injured by these petty annoyances; but it is perfectly true that the art and industry of man have not yet been able to overcome the collective force, the individual perseverance, and the complicated machinery of destruction which insects employ. A small ant, according to a most careful and philosophical observer, opposes almost invincible obstacles to the progress of civilization in many parts of the equinoctial zone. These animals devour paper and parchment; they destroy every book and manuscript. Many provinces of Spanish America cannot, in consequence, show a written document of a hundred years’ existence. “What development,” he adds, “can the civilization of a people assume, if there be nothing to connect the present with the past—if the depositories of human knowledge must be constantly renewed—if the monuments of genius and wisdom cannot be transmitted to posterity?”[F] Again, there are beetles which deposit their larvæ in trees in such formidable numbers that whole forests perish beyond the power of remedy. The pines of the Hartz have thus been destroyed to an enormous extent; and in North America, at one place in South Carolina, at least ninety trees in every hundred, upon a tract of two thousand acres, were swept away by a small black, winged bug. And yet, according to Wilson, the historian of American birds, the people of the United States were in the habit of destroying the redheaded woodpecker, the great enemy of these insects, because he occasionally spoilt an apple.[G] The same delightful writer and true naturalist, speaking of the labours of the ivory-billed woodpecker, says, “Would it be believed that the larvæ of an insect or fly, no larger than a grain of rice, should silently, and in one season, destroy some thousand acres of pine-trees, many of them from two to three feet in diameter, and a hundred and fifty feet high? In some places the whole woods, as far as you can see around you, are dead, stripped of the bark, their wintry-looking arms and bare trunks bleaching in the sun, and tumbling in ruins before every blast.”[H] The subterraneous larva of some species of beetle has often caused a complete failure of the seed-corn, as in the district of Halle in 1812.[I] The corn-weevil, which extracts the flour from grain, leaving the husk behind, will destroy the contents of the largest storehouses in a very short period. The wire-worm and the turnip-fly are dreaded by every farmer. The ravages of the locust are too well known not to be at once recollected as an example of the formidable collective power of the insect race. The white ants of tropical countries sweep away whole villages with as much certainty as a fire or an inundation; and ships even have been destroyed by these indefatigable republics. Our own docks and embankments have been threatened by such minute ravagers.