Perhaps the most powerful argument against the equal pressure theory is to be found in the nest of a species of Icaria, which is shown in the accompanying illustration.
As may be seen by reference to the illustration, the material of which they are made is so soft, that they bend over by their own weight, and therefore we might expect to find that they would follow the shape of the Raphigaster and the Mischocyttarus. But, we find that all the cells are boldly angular, and that the angles are just as sharp on the exterior of each cell as on the sides which cement the cells together. It is clear that the bold lines and decided angles of these cells cannot have been produced mechanically, and that they must have been intentionally formed by the insect architect.
One single cell, such as is here shown, is sufficient to overthrow the theory of “equal pressure,” by which insects were deprived of all mechanical skill, and supposed to labour like so many animated machines, without caring or knowing anything about the work on which they were engaged. According to the equal pressure theory, each of these cells would have required six similar cells around it before it could have assumed the hexagonal form, and yet we find that a cell which is only connected with its neighbour by one side, has its other five sides angular, and with the angles boldly defined.]
LEAF-ROLLING CATERPILLARS.
The labours of those insect-architects, which we have endeavoured to describe in the preceding pages, have been chiefly those of mothers to form a secure nest for their eggs, and the young hatched from them, during the first stage of their existence. But a much more numerous and not less ingenious class of architects may be found among the newly-hatched insects themselves, who, untaught by experience, and altogether unassisted by previous example, manifest the most marvellous skill in the construction of tents, houses, galleries, covert-ways, fortifications, and even cities, not to speak of subterranean caverns and subaqueous apartments, which no human art could rival.
The caterpillars, which are familiarly termed leaf-rollers, are perfect hermits. Each lives in a cell, which it begins to construct almost immediately after it is hatched; and the little structure is at once a house which protects the caterpillar from its enemies, and a store of food for its subsistence, while it remains shut up in its prison. But the insect only devours the inner folds. The art which these caterpillars exercise, although called into action but once, perhaps, in their lives, is perfect. They accomplish their purpose with a mechanical skill, which is remarkable for its simplicity and unerring success. The art of rolling leaves into a secure and immovable cell may not appear very difficult: nor would it be so if the caterpillars had fingers, or any parts which were equivalent to those delicate and admirable natural instruments with which man accomplishes his most elaborate works. And yet the human fingers could not roll a rocket-case of paper more regularly than the caterpillar rolls his house of leaves. A leaf is not a very easy substance to roll. In some trees it is very brittle. It has also a natural elasticity,—a disposition to spring back if it be bent,—which is caused by the continuity of its threads, or nervures. This elasticity is speedily overcome by the ingenuity with which the caterpillar works; and the leaf is thus retained in its artificial position for many weeks, under every variety of temperature. We will examine, in detail, how these little leaf-rollers accomplish their task.