insidious insect places itself in ambush, hiding itself in the bottom under the sand, in such a manner that its two horns encircle the bottom of the pit. All the sides of this pitfall are made of the most loose and crumbling materials, so that scarce any insect can climb up that has once got down to the bottom. Apparently conscious of this, the lion-ant remains in patient expectation, ready to profit by that accident which throws some heedless little animal into its den. If, by misfortune, an ant, a woodlouse, or a small caterpillar, walks too near the edge of the precipice, the sand gives way beneath its feet, and it falls to the bottom of the pit, where inevitable destruction awaits it. The fall of a single grain of sand gives the assassin notice at the bottom of its cave, and it never fails to make an effort to seize upon its prey; should the destined victim prove too nimble, and get beyond the reach of its claws, the lion-ant has another contrivance, still more wonderful than the former, for, by means of its broad head and feelers, it has a method of throwing up a shower of sand, which falls upon the little struggler, and once more crushes it down to the bottom. When the insect is once fallen thus low, no efforts can release it; its enemy seizes it with its hollow feelers, and darting them both into its body, sucks out all the hapless animal's juices, with the utmost greedi

ness.

When the prey is thus reduced to a husk, and nothing but the external form remains, the next care of the murderer is to remove the body from the cell. It takes up the wasted carcass with its feelers, and throws it, with wonderful strength, at least six inches from the edge of its hole, and then patiently sets about repairing the breaches which its fortifications had received in the last encounter. Nothing can abate its industry, its vigilance, its patience, or its rapacity. It will work for a week together to make its pitfall; it will continue on the watch for more than a month, patiently expecting the approach of its prey; and if it comes in greater quantities than is needful, still the little voracious creature will quit the insect it has newly killed, and leave it half eaten, to attack another and another which falls within its reach. Although so voracious,

III.

18

IX.

the lion-ant is remarkably patient of hunger; some of the species having been kept in a box with sand, for six months and upwards, without feeding at all.

When the lion-ant has attained a certain age, and the time of its change approaches, it burrows deeper in the sand, where it spins itself a cocoon. This cocoon is about half an inch in diameter; the outside is composed of sand and silk, the inside is lined with silk only, of a fine pearl color, extremely delicate and beautiful. There it passes through its chrysalis state, like most other insects, and at last comes forth a beautiful fly, resembling the libellula or dragon-fly kind, with a long slender body, of a brown color, a small head, large bright eyes, long slender legs, and four large transparent reticulated wings. The remarkable expansion of its body and wings, in comparison with its former size, which so suddenly takes place after leaving its pupa-case, has already been noticed.

This insect, in its perfect state, holds the same place in the economy of Nature as it did before. It serves as a check on the various tribes of flies, as it formerly did on those of the caterpillar family, and the other little creepers of its own class. It is the strongest and the most courageous of all winged insects; nor is there one of this genus, how large so ever, that it will not attack and devour. The blue-fly, the bee, the wasp, and the hornet, make its constant prey, and even the butterfly, that spreads so large a wing, is often caught and treated without mercy. Its appetite seems to know no bounds; it spends the whole day in the pursuit, and has been seen to destroy three times its own size in the capture of a single hour. With its six claws, it seizes its prey on the wing, which it tears easily to pieces with its powerful teeth. In all these habits this insect resembles the libellula, though various kinds of the dragon-fly have a very different origin, being, in their early stages, inhabitants of the water.

SEVENTH WEEK-WEDNESDAY.

THE QUEEN-BEE.

BEES have already been noticed both in the 'Winter' and Spring' volumes; in the former, to describe their hybernating, and in the latter, their reproductive, instincts. But there is scarcely any thing in which these interesting little creatures do not strikingly exemplify the wisdom and the tender care of their Creator; and this paper shall be devoted to the consideration of some of their remaining instincts.

The mode of production of the queen-bee, its habits, and its relation to the rest of the hive, are circumstances which have not yet occupied our attention. In all these, there is something exceedingly peculiar. Many gregarious animals, indeed, have leaders; and there are some insects, such as ants, which, like bees, have a queen, the mother of the whole progeny. There are none, however, as far as has yet been ascertained, which can at all be compared, in their properties and functions, with the little insect just mentioned.

The queen-bee, although she can bear no rival near her throne, yet carefully deposits the eggs which are to form new queens in the royal cells prepared for their reception. It is believed that there is no original difference between the egg of a queen and that of a worker; that all working bees are females, but that they remain unproductive unless the larva be nursed in a particularly constructed cradle, and fed with a peculiar food. It is certain, at least, that a royal cell is different from all others, and that there is something peculiar, in the food administered to the young queens, in their infant state, as well as in their general mode of management; and it is not less certain, that the bees have it in their power to convert, at pleasure, the larva of a working-bee into a queen.

The following is the account given, in the Edinburgh Encyclopedia, of the manner in which the remarkable con

version, I have mentioned, is effected. "Immediately on the loss or removal of a queen, the whole hive is a scene of tumult and disorder ;* the bees seem to anticipate their own destruction, by the precaution they take to guard against it. Should there be neither eggs nor broods in the combs, they will infallibly perish; their instinctive faculties are lost; they have no object for which their labors are united; they cease to collect honey or prepare wax, and in a short time they disappear and die.

"But if there be brood in the combs, the industry of the bees continues unabated; for, by the proceeding that they follow, they know that their loss will be repaired. Having selected a worm three days old or less, they sacrifice three of the contiguous cells, that the cell of the worm may be formed into one adapted to breed a queen. They next supply it with the necessary food; which is not the common farina, pollen, or bee-bread, on which the young of workers feed, but a peculiar kind of paste or jelly, of a pungent taste, which is reserved for the queen, alone. A cylindrical enclosure is raised around the worm, whereby its cell becomes a perfect tube, with its original rhomboidal bottom; for that part remains untouched. Were it injured, the fabric of the other three cells on the opposite site of the comb would be deranged,

*This is not quite correct. Mr. Roget gives the following graphic account of what takes place in a hive on such occasions. "When the queen-bee is forcibly taken away from the hive, the bees which are near her at the time, do not soon appear sensible of her absence, and the labors of the hive are carried on as usual. It is seldom before the lapse of an hour, that the working bees begin to manifest any symptoms of uneasiness; they are then observed to quit the larvae, which they had been feeding, and to run about in great agitation, to and fro, near the cell which the queen had occupied before her abduction. They then move over a wider circle, and on meeting with such of their companions as are not aware of the disaster, communicate the intelligence by crossing their antennæ, and striking lightly on them. The bees, which receive the news, become, in their turn, agitated, and conveying this feeling wherever they go, the alarm is soon participated by all the inhabitants of the hive. All rush forward with tumultuous precipitation, eagerly seeking their lost queen; but, after continuing the search for some hours, and finding it to be fruitless, they appear resigned to their misfortune; the noisy tumult subsides, and the bees quietly resume their labors."-Bridgewater Treatise, vol. ii. pp. 287, 288.

which would be a needless waste. The cell is still horizontal, like the rest of the combs, and thus remains during the first three days of the existence of the worm; but the bees, in prosecuting the enlargement, alter its direction, and form it to hang perpendicularly, as all those cells do which have been inhabited by queens. In performing this essential part of the operation, they do not scruple to destroy the worms surrounding the tube, and use the wax of their cells in constructing the new part, which they apply at right angles to the first, working downwards. The cell is then of a pyramidal figure, usually near the edges of the combs. It insensibly decreases from the base, and is closed at the top, when the included worm is ready to undergo its transformation to a nymph. When reaching maturity, the seal is broken, and a queen comes forth qualified to fulfil every indispensable function on which the preservation of so many thousand lives depends. Working bees have, therefore, the power of effecting the metamorphosis of one of their own species, to avert the effects of a loss, which would prove the utter ruin of the whole colony."*

Nothing can easily be conceived more curious than the change which is thus effected. That by a certain mode of management, which instinct points out, an insect should be so changed in its form, in its functions, and in its habits, is beyond measure surprising. When we think of the extent of the change, we shall find nothing in nature analogous to it. The same animal, which, had its growth and training proceeded in the usual way, would have been one individual among many thousands secreting wax, building cells, flying abroad on busy wing to collect honey or pollen, or remaining at home to dress the comb and nurse the young, is deprived of all these powers and instincts, and in their place acquires a new nature, which renders her an absolute monarch, whom the thousands that would otherwise have been her equals revere and obey; which confines her, except on one or two peculiar and pressing occasions, to the precincts of

* Edinburgh Encyclopedia, Article Bee, p. 407.