This bee, in forming the future abode of her young, begins by scooping out a burrow in some pathway, which she bores to the depth of two or three inches. She then smooths the walls of this cavity, and all being now ready for putting up the hangings, she betakes herself to the fields, and alights upon some fresh-expanded poppy flower, just displaying its crimson cheeks to the light of day. Here she quickly plies the scissors which she has been armed with for this purpose, and in a very short time cuts out of the bright petal on which she rests, a smooth portion of a definite size. She then returns home, and, by means of the scissors and her legs, she cuts and smooths the piece until it lays quite flat upon the bottom of her cell. This done, she flies for more, and in a short time, could we peep in, we might find her mansion all over-spread with tapestry, more bright in colour, and more delicate in point of finish and texture, than human art can by possibility produce. The apartment being thus not only decorated, but rendered, both to the eye and senses, warm and comfortable, she then stores up in it a quantity of pollen and honey, until she has filled it to the height of half an inch, when she deposits the egg, for whose wants and, as we might say, even luxuries, she has thus elegantly provided, folding some of the hangings carefully over it. The remainder of the cavity is filled with loose earth. We have taken it for granted, in this account, that the insect really takes a pleasure in the brilliant colours with which she ornaments her cell; but it is only right to say, in addition, that we have, of course, no positive proof that such is really the case. For aught we know, her motives may be very different; it is, however, an amusing way to consider these actions, be the explanation of them what it may.
Finished Cell.
We fear, however, we dare not promise our readers the same success as that which attended M. Réaumur and his companions. It has been thought, that this interesting insect is not a native of our island, and it is certain it has not been commonly observed amongst us; but Mr. Rennie, in his work on Insect Architecture, says, that at a beautiful sea-bathing village in Ayrshire, he once found in a footpath a great number of the perforations of the tapestry-bee. At all events, they deserve looking for.
Leaf tubes.
Although we have, perhaps, lingered long enough over the insect cradle, we must spare room for one or two more remarks on this subject, and it were almost a shame, while speaking thereon, to omit a notice of one of the most elegant cradles of all—one made with rose-leaves! As Réaumur's account of the manner in which he first became acquainted with these egg depositories is very pleasantly written, we shall extract the substance of it from his work. It was one day in July, 1736, that a gentleman of rank, accompanied by his suite and his gardener, who was in a state of great alarm, waited upon an eminent naturalist in Paris. The gardener had left his master's country-seat, near Rouen, to proceed with all haste to the metropolis, in order to communicate to his master the terrible tidings, that his ground was bewitched! He had the courage, however, to pick up the spells, or charms, which the sorcerer had placed in the earth, and to carry them to his master, in full belief that they were sufficient to convince all the world of the reality of the enchantment. He had, indeed, in the first instance, taken them to the parish priest, begging his counsel, and both came to the same conclusion—that, without doubt, the garden was now enchanted ground! When the gentleman saw the little things his gardener called charms,—which are here represented,—he was much perplexed, although his good sense led him to ridicule the idea of the bewitchment of his property by such means. He applied to his medical adviser for a solution of this problem; but, alas! he was no entomologist, and could not enlighten him; but he directed him to the naturalist of whom mention has been made, and whose name was M. Nollet. On being admitted to the presence of this gentleman, the terror-stricken gardener hastily put on the table the little rolls of leaves he considered to be spells, and which had been made, with some evil design, as he doubted not, by the malevolent hands of some sorcerer. Fortunately, M. Nollet had in his museum some rolls of leaves formed with equal art by beetles; he produced them, and showed them to the affrighted man, assuring him, that, without doubt, they had been formed by insects, and that it was therefore highly probable that the rolls in question were the productions of some other insects of a different species. The gardener looked incredulous, being apparently unwilling to give up his alarm, until M. Nollet, greatly to his horror, took up one of those little leaf-rolls which had caused him so much uneasiness, and carefully unfolding it, drew from thence a fat little larva. The moment the gardener saw the little creature, his fears and troubled aspect vanished, and an air of cheerfulness spread over his face, such as one might imagine as the result of deliverance from some fearful peril. The only reward M. Nollet would receive from the poor man for thus dissipating his cares and fears was, that he should leave the leaf-rolls with him, and, collecting more of them, should send them to M. Réaumur's address, for him to examine. This little anecdote affords us a good illustration of the connexion of superstitious fears with ignorance on points of natural history, and sets before us, in well-relieved contrast, the foolish terrors of the unlearned gardener with the collected bearing of the learned naturalist. Would that this anecdote stood alone in the records of natural history! We have already seen that it does not; and that the most groundless apprehensions have taken their rise in the most innocent and trifling of natural causes.
The Bee with a leaf cut.
By and by, after a little careful investigation, the true artificer of these spells was discovered, and proved to be a lowly insect, which has been since called the rose-leaf-cutter bee. On closer examination, these rolls of leaves,—which are almost as long and as large as a tooth-pick case,—were found to be made up of six or seven cells, each separate from the rest, placed end to end, and covered with a common coating of leaves. The manner in which the roll is formed is as follows:—The insect sometimes makes a perforation in decayed wood, sometimes in the well-trodden earth of a footpath; this she drives to the depth of, perhaps, nine inches, and she then proceeds to hang this apartment with its green tapestry,—for it must be understood, it is not the leaves of the flower, but of the stem of the rose-tree,—or, in other words, the green leaves, that she selects for this purpose. The insect alights upon what she considers to be a suitable leaf, and begins with her sharp jaws to cut out a piece of a crescent form from its edge. When she has cut, perhaps, half-way round, or rather more, she sets her wings in motion, so as to keep her balanced in the air, lest she should drag away the half-cut piece before it was properly divided from the leaf. When cut, she places it in a perpendicular position between her legs, and flies away with it to her cell. She then simply folds it into a proper form, and overlays the cell walls with this leafy covering, not using any cement to make it retain its form, but relying upon the natural elasticity of the leaf to keep it close pressed against the wall in the manner in which she places it. Repeating this process several times, she finally completes each cell with exquisite art and care, and taking the precaution of arranging all her joints and seams so that they shall not present themselves in the same place, but covering them over with pieces of leaf, so as to strengthen them, and in many other respects exhibiting an amount of mechanical and mathematical skill never sufficiently to be admired, she now deposits the minute egg in it which is to become the toilsome, busy, patient, and clever being,—the full-grown insect of her own species. Mindful of its future wants, she then compounds a delicate mass of pink conserve, which she collects from thistles, and subsequently stops up each cell with thin pieces of leaf, as exactly round as if they had been cut out with a punch, or by means of some mathematical instrument.