CHAPTER VII. REMAINING ARTICULATA. THE Hymenoptera being so much the most intelligent order, not merely of insects, but of Invertebrata, and the Arachnida having been now considered, very little space need be occupied with the remaining classes of the Articulata. Coleoptera. Sir John Lubbock, in his first paper on Bees and Wasps, quotes the following case from Kirby and Spence, with the remarks which I append: The first of these anecdotes refers to a beetle (Ateuchus pilularius) which, having made for the reception of its eggs a pellet of dung too heavy for it to move, repaired to an adjoining heap, and soon returned with three of his companions. 'All four now applied their united strength to the pellet, and at length succeeded in pushing it out; which being done, the three assistant beetles left the spot and returned to their own quarters.' This observation rests on the authority of an anonymous German artist; and though we are assured that he was a 'man of strict veracity,' I am not aware that any similar fact has been recorded by any other observer. I have attentively admired their industry, and their mutual assisting of each other in rolling these globular balls from the place where they made them, to that of their interment, which is usually a distance of some yards, more or less. This they perform back foremost, by raising their hind parts and pushing away the ball with their hind feet. Two or three of them are sometimes engaged in trundling one ball, which from meeting with impediments, on account of the unevenness of the ground, is sometimes deserted by them. It is, however, attempted by others with success, unless it happen to roll into some deep hollow or ditch, where they are accustomed to leave it; but they continue their work by rolling off the next ball that comes in their way. None of them seem to know their own balls, but an equal care for the whole appears to affect all the community. They form these pellets while the dung remains moist, and leave them to harden in the sun before they attempt to roll them. In their rolling of them from place to place, both they and the balls may frequently be seen tumbling about over the little eminences that are in their way. They are not, however, easily discouraged, and by repeating their attempts usually surmount the difficulties.1 Büchner speaks of the fact that dung-beetles co-operate in their work as one that is well established, but gives no authorities or references. A friend of my own, however, informs me that she has witnessed the fact; and in view of analogous observations made on other species of Coleoptera, I see no reason to doubt this one. Some of these observations I may here append. Herr Gollitz writes to Büchner thus: : Last summer, in the month of July, I was one day in my field, and found there a mound of fresh earth like a molehill, on which a striped black and red beetle, with long legs, and about the size of a hornet, was busy taking away the earth from a hole that led like a pit into the mound, and levelling the place. After I had watched this beetle for some time, I noticed a second beetle of the same kind, which brought a little lump of earth from the interior to the opening of the hole, and then disappeared again in the mound; every four or five minutes a pellet came out of the hole, and was carried away by the firstnamed beetle. After I had watched these proceedings for about half an hour, the beetle which had been working underground came out and ran to its comrade. Both put their heads together, and clearly held a conversation, for immediately afterwards they changed work. The one which had been working outside went into the mound, the other took the outside labour, and all went on vigorously. I watched the affair still for a little longer, and went away with the notion that these insects could understand each other just like men. Klingelhöffer, of Darmstadt (in Brehm, loc. cit., ix., p. 86), says :-A golden running beetle came to a cockchafer lying on its back in the garden, intending to eat it, but was unable to master it; it ran to the next bush, and ' Quoted by Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. iii., p. 118. returned with a friend, whereupon the two overpowered the cockchafer, and pulled it off to their hiding-place. Similarly, there is no doubt that the burying beetles (Nicrophorus) co-operate. Several of them unite together to bury under the ground, as food and shelter for their young, some dead animal, such as a mouse, a toad, a mole, a bird, &c. The burial is performed because the corpse, if left above ground, would either dry up, or grow rotten, or be eaten by other animals. In all these cases the young would perish, whereas the dead body lying in the earth and withdrawn from the outer air lasts very well. The burying beetles go to work in a very well-considered fashion, for they scrape away the earth lying under the body, so that it sinks of itself deeper and deeper. When it is deep enough down, it is covered over from above. If the situation is stony, the beetles with united forces and great efforts drag the corpse to some place more suitable for burying. They work so diligently that a mouse, for instance, is buried within three hours. But they often work on for days, so as to bury the body as deeply as possible. From large carcasses, such as those of horses, sheep, &c., they only bury pieces as large as they can manage.1 Lastly, Clarville gives a case of a burying beetle which wanted to carry away a dead mouse, but, finding it too heavy for its unaided strength, went off, like the beetles previously mentioned, and brought four others to its assistance.2 A friend of Gleditsch fastened a dead toad, which he desired to dry, upon the top of an upright stick. The burying beetles were attracted by the smell, and finding that they could not reach the toad, they undermined the stick, so causing it to fall with the toad, which was then buried safe out of harm's way.3 A converse exemplification of beetle-intelligence is given by G. Berkeley. He saw a beetle carrying a dead spider up a heath plant, and hanging it upon a twig of the heath in so secure a position, that when the insect had left it Mr. Berkeley found that a sharp shake of the heather would not bring the dead spider down. As the burying 1 Büchner, loc. cit., p. 344. 2 Quoted in Strauss, Insects, s. 389. Kirby and Spence, loc. cit., pp. 321-2. beetle preserves its treasure by hiding it out of sight below ground, so this beetle no doubt secured the same end but by other means; 'seeing,' as Mr. Berkeley observes, 'that if it did not hang up its prey, it might fall into the hands of other hunters, it took all possible pains to find out the best store-room for it.' The above instances of beetle-intelligence lead me to credit the following, which has been communicated to me by Dr. Garraway, of Faversham. On a bank of moss in the Black Forest he saw a beetle alight with a caterpillar which it was carrying, and proceed to excavate a cylindrical hole in the peat, about an inch and a half deep, into which, when completed, it dropped the caterpillar, and then flew away through the pines. 'I was struck,' says my correspondent, with the creature's folly in leaving the whole uncovered, as every curious wayfaring insect would doubtless be tempted to enter therein. However, in about a minute the beetle returned, this time carrying a small pebble, of which there were none in the immediate vicinity, and having carefully fitted this into the aperture, fled away into space.' Earwig. I must devote a short division of this chapter to the earwig. M. Geer describes a regular process of incubation as practised by the mother insect. He placed one with her eggs in a box, and scattered the eggs on the floor of the latter. The earwig, however, carried them one by one into a certain part of the box, and then remained constantly sitting upon the heap without ever quitting it for a moment. When the eggs were hatched, the young earwigs kept close to their mother, following her about everywhere, and often running under her abdomen, just as chickens run under a hen.1 A young lady, who objects to her name being published, informs me that her two younger sisters (children) are in the habit of feeding every morning with sugar an earwig, which they call 'Tom,' and which crawls up a certain curtain regularly every day at the same hour, with the apparent expectation of getting its breakfast. This re 1 Quoted by Bingley, loc. cit., vol. iii., pp. 150--51. sembles analogous instances which have been mentioned in the case of spiders. Dipterous Insects. The gad-fly, whose eggs are hatched out in the intestines of the horse, exhibits a singular refinement of instinct in depositing them upon those parts of the horse which the animal is most likely to lick. For, according to Bingley and other writers, 'the inside of the knee is the part on which these flies principally deposit their eggs; and next to this they fix them upon the sides, and the back part of the shoulder; but almost always in places liable to be licked by the tongue.' The female fly deposits her eggs while on the wing, or at least scarcely appears to settle when she extends her ovidepositor to touch the horse. She lays only a single egg at a time--flying away a short distance after having deposited one in order to prepare another, and so on. The following anecdote, which I quote from Jesse, seems to indicate no small degree of intelligence on the part of the common house-fly-intelligence, for instance, the same both in kind and degree as that which was displayed by Sir John Lubbock's pet wasp already mentioned: Slingsby, the celebrated opera dancer, resided in the large house in Cross-deep, Twickenham, next to Sir Wathen Waller's, looking down the river. He was fond of the study of natural history, and particularly of insects, and he once tried to tame some house-flies, and preserve them in a state of activity through the winter. For this purpose, quite at the latter end of autumn, and when they were becoming almost helpless, he selected four from off his breakfast-table, put them upon a large handful of cotton, and placed it in one corner of the window nearest the fireplace. Not long afterwards the weather became so cold that all flies disappeared except these four, which constantly left their bed of cotton at his breakfast-time, came and fed at the table, and then returned to their home. This continued for a short time, when three of them became lifeless in their shelter, and only one came down. This one Slingsby had trained to feed upon his thumb-nail, by placing on it some moist. sugar mixed with a little butter. Although there had been at intervals several days of sharp frost, the fly never missed taking his daily meal in this way till after Christmas, when, his kind |