Let us now take our instruments of capture and go in quest of some of the dozen or more species that have their home with us. The day is auspicious. Here is a likely spot. See there upon the ground are some specimens of our commonest species—the Cicindela vulgaris of naturalists. Go for that one. He sees you as quickly as you see him, and is off for a few yards, but suddenly drops to the grass from his flight, but always with his head towards the enemy. Again and again you start him, but at last, tiring of the chase, he takes a longer flight that usual. This is a ruse of his, and knowing what it means, you hurry back to where you first saw him in time to see him all unsuspectingly alight, and you easily take him captive in your toils. Now that you have him secure, examine him closely. Watch how savagely he moves his mandibles and tries to pinch. You need not be afraid, for his bite is inoffensive and not very painful. You measure with the eye his size, and you rightly decide that he is not much over an inch in length, and scarcely one-fourth in breadth. His head you will find very large and brainy, his jaws powerful and long and curved, two scimitar-like weapons, which are admirably fitted for cutting and carving the quivering bodies of his prey. His eleven-jointed antennæ are long, slender and graceful. In color his back is dull purple, but beneath he is resplendent in a bright brassy green. Three whitish, irregular bands adorn his wing-covers. His legs, long and slender, are just the things on which to hunt the active insects upon which he feeds.
His next of kin, the Purple Tiger Beetle, is nearly as large as he, and often joins him in company. Beautifully robed in purple he usually is, but sometimes in a greenish garb arrayed. From the outer almost to the inner margin of each wing meanders a reddish line, while lower down a dot, and still another at the farthest tip of the inner border, enhance his beauty. Cold spring days delight him best, and he is often seen when snow is yet upon the ground.
More beautiful by far than either, and no less active, is Cicindela sex guttata, or the Six-spotted Tiger Beetle, whose dress, a brilliant metallic green, flecked with six small silver spots, renders him a pretty sight when you flash the rays of light athwart his burnished armor. Hot, June-like days and dusty road-sides suit him best, and there, what time the sun looks down in all his burning ardor, our little friend is met, his purpose bent on slaughter. Other species might be instanced, for North America contains at least a hundred, but enough have been given for our present object.
COMMON TIGER BEETLE.
Larvæ in Burrows. Two Other Species in Background.
Tiger Beetles may well be called beneficial insects. Although they do not, like that brilliant murderess, the dragon-fly, clear the atmosphere of the gnats and flies that torment mankind, but still, with their powerful curved daggers, which serve them for jaws, they accomplish a swift and almost incredible havoc among the smaller insects. We should take care of them, and respect them, for they are an invaluable auxiliary to the farmer.
The ferocity of these insects is remarkable. No sooner have they taken their prey, than they quickly strip it of wings and legs, and proceed at once to suck out the contents of its abdomen. Often when they are disturbed in this agreeable occupation, not wishing to leave their victim, they fly away with it to a place of uninterrupted security, but they are unable to carry a heavy burden to any great distance.
They are true children of the earth. The eggs are laid in the earth, and in the earth the grubs are hatched, and in the earth they spend their days, and in the earth they prepare their shrouds, and, wrapped therein, sleep their pupa-sleep through the long, dreary winter, and with the returning warmth of spring crawl out of their earthy chambers to run and sport on earth, seldom using their new-formed wings to fly away from their beloved mother.
The grubs are hideous hunchbacks, but possessed of brains and stomach. They live in the same localities as their parents, the anxious mother, with wise precision, having carefully deposited her eggs where food would be readily attainable by her children. Have you a desire to examine a larva? There is a hole that has been made by one of these creatures. Place down into it a small straw or a bit of fine twig. The cranky little hermit, who is always wide-awake, resists most fiercely such unprovoked insolence, and instantly seeks, by the aid of his broad, expansive head, to eject the intruding object. Now is your time. When he shows himself, quickly seize him with your fingers. You will find him a perfect Daniel Quilp, with head enormous, flat, metallic in color and armed with long, curved jaws. His legs are six in number, and on the back, half-way between the legs and tail, are two curious, odd-looking tubercles, each terminating in a pair of recurved hooks. The head and first body-division are horny, the rest of the creature being soft and very sensitive.
While the larval Cicindela has all the desire for slaughter which his parents manifest, yet his delicate skin, long body and stubby legs not only prevent him from chasing prey, but also from attempting a struggle with an insect of any size; nevertheless this imperfectly armed creature manages to secure his food without exposing himself to any serious risk. With his short, thick spiny legs he loosens the earth, and with his flat head, which he uses as a shovel, and turning himself into a z-shaped figure, hoists up the clay and upsets it around the mouth of his intended dwelling. With head and legs, and with a perseverance that is truly surprising, he sinks in a very short time a shaft a foot in length and as large in diameter as an ordinary lead-pencil.