British Butterflies (Coleman)/CHAPTER V

CHAPTER V.

 * HOW TO KILL A BUTTERFLY—AN APOLOGY—A TEST FOR LUNACY—CHARGE OF CRUELTY AGAINST ENTOMOLOGISTS—THEIR JUSTIFICATION ATTEMPTED—PAINLESS DEATH—CHLOROFORM—SETTING BUTTERFLIES—CABINETS AND STORE BOXES—CLASSIFICATION—LATIN NAMES—SAVING TIME AND MONEY.

Having complied with the old adage, "First catch your hare," the next point naturally is—how to cook it. So, having caught our butterfly, what are we to do with him?—a question that generally resolves itself firstly into

This truculent sentence may, I fear, look like a blot on the page to some tender-hearted reader, and, in truth, this killing business is the one shadow on the otherwise sunshiny picture, which we would all gladly leave out, were it possible to preserve a butterfly's beauty alive; but this cannot be done, and yet we have made up our minds to possess that beauty—to collect butterflies, in short; there is but one way for it, and so a butterfly's pleasure must be shortened for a few days, to add to our pleasure and instruction, perhaps for years after.

In the time of the great Ray, in such mean repute was the science of entomology held, mainly, I believe, on account of the small size of its objects, that an action at law was brought to set aside the will of an estimable woman, Lady Glanville, on the ground of insanity, the only symptom of which that they could bring forward in evidence was her fondness for collecting insects!

But this was some two centuries ago, and matters have greatly mended for the entomologist since then. Now he may collect butterflies, or other flies, as he pleases, without bringing down a commission "de lunatico" on his head, but still the goodness of his heart is sometimes called in question, and he has to encounter the equally obnoxious charge of cruelty to the objects of his admiration—that, too, from intelligent and worthy friends, whose good opinion he would most unwillingly forfeit.

He, therefore, is naturally most anxious that those friends should be led to share his own conviction, that the pursuit of entomology—the needful butterfly killing and all included—may be not only not cruel, but actually beneficent in theory and practice.

So I will briefly try to act as apologist for the "brotherhood of the net," myself included.

In the first place, I will state roundly my sincere belief that insects cannot feel pain. This is no special pleading, or "making the wish the father to the thought," but a conviction founded on an ample mass of evidence, on my own observations and experiments, and strengthened by analogical reasoning. I wish I had space to lay this evidence in full before the reader; but this being here impracticable, I will not damage the argument by taking a few links out of a chain of facts which depend on their close connexion with each other for their strength and value.

There is, however, one fact which may be taken by itself, and goes a long way in our favour, that I must mention here.

Insects, when mutilated in a way that would cause excessive pain and speedy death to vertebrate animals, afterwards perform all the functions of life—eating, drinking, &c. with the same evident gusto and power of enjoyment as before. Plenty of striking instances of this are on record, and, as an example, I have seen a wasp that had been snipped in two, afterwards regale himself with avidity upon some red syrup, which, as he imbibed, gathered into a large ruby bead just behind the wings (where the stomach should have been); but really the creature's pleasure seemed to be only augmented by the change in his anatomy, because he could drink ten times his ordinary fill of sweets, without, of course, getting any the fuller. I could almost fancy a scientific epicure envying the insect his ever fresh appetite and gastronomic capabilities.

After all that can be said on this subject, there will still probably be misgivings in the mind of many, both as to the question of insect feelings and also as to our right to shorten their existence, even by a painless death.

As to the first point, we have now the means of giving any insect an utterly painless quietus, be it capable of feeling pain or no.

In regard to the second, I think few will deny that man enjoys a vested right to make use of any of the inferior animals, even to the taking of their life, if the so doing ministers to his own well-being or pleasure, and practically every one assumes this right in one way or another. Game animals are shot down (and they assuredly do feel pain), not as necessaries of life, but confessedly as luxuries. Fish are hooked, crabs, lobsters, shrimps perish by thousands, victims to our fancies. Unscrupulously we destroy every insect whose presence displeases us, harmless as they may be to our own persons. The aphides on our flowers, the moths in our furs, the "beetles" in our kitchens—all die by thousands at our pleasure. Then, if all this be right, are we not also justified in appropriating a little butterfly life to ourselves, and does not the mental feast that their after-death beauty affords us at least furnish an equal excuse for their sacrifice with any that can be urged in favour of any animal slaughter, just to tickle the palate or minister to our grosser appetites? To this query there can be, I think, but one fair answer, so we may return with a better face to the question, "How to kill a butterfly."

I have alluded above to a painless mode of doing so, doubtless applicable to all insects. I know it answers admirably with the large moths, so tenacious of life under other circumstances. This potent agent is chloroform, whose pain-quelling properties are so well known as regards the human constitution.

There is a little apparatus constructed for carrying this fluid safely to the field, and letting out a drop at a time into the box with the captured insect, taking care that the drop does not go on to the insect. Or a wide-mouthed bottle may be used, having at the bottom a pad of blotting-paper, or some absorbent substance, on which a few drops of chloroform may now and then be dropped. The insect being slipped into this, and the stopper or hand being placed over the bottle's mouth, insensibility (in the insect) follows immediately, and in a few minutes, at most, it is completely lifeless.

But the usual and quickest mode of despatch is by a quick nip between the finger and thumb applied just under the wings, causing, for the most part, instantaneous death: and this can be done through the net, when the inclosed butterfly shuts his wings, as he usually does when the net wraps round him.

Now take one of your thin pins, and pass it through the thorax of the butterfly, while open or shut, and put it into the corked lining of your pocket-box. So secured, the butterfly will travel uninjured till you reach home; but a heap of dead butterflies in a box together will, in the course of a long walk, so jostle together, as to entirely destroy each other's beauty, rubbing off all their painted scales, when, of course, they are as butterflies no longer.

When you get home, take out all the pins, excepting such as may be stuck perpendicularly through the middle of the thorax, and as soon as possible proceed to "set" your captures.



Preparatory to this, some articles called setting-boards must be provided. A section of one of these is shown in the accompanying cut; but in reality they are made much longer, so as to accommodate a column of half-a-dozen butterflies or more: the breadth may vary, according to the width of the butterflies that are to be set thereon.

The bottom is usually a thin slip of deal, on which are glued two strips of cork, bevelled off towards the edges, with a slightly curved face. Sometimes, however, the whole board is made of soft pine, with a groove planed down the middle, and with care will answer pretty well; but the corked board is far preferable.

The mode of "setting" the insect with card "braces" transfixed with pins, which retain the wings in their proper position, will be also readily seen by reference to the figure.

A great point in "setting" is to take care that all the wings are symmetrically arranged, or diverging from the body at equal angles on each side. Let the antennæ also be carefully preserved, as on their integrity much of the specimen's value depends.

It will be needless to say that any handling of the wings is to be avoided, as a touch will sometimes destroy their bloom.

The setting-board, when filled, should be put away into a secure, dust-proof, and dry place; and in a few days, more or less, according to the dryness or otherwise of the atmosphere, the butterflies will have dried and set in their positions, and are then ready for transference to the store-box or cabinet.

The choice of this receptacle is a serious question for the beginner, who is often in want of a guide to the judicious expenditure of his money, if money he means to spend in this pursuit. To preserve insects, it is not absolutely necessary to have either a cabinet or the regularly-made store-boxes; for, with a little contrivance, any close-shutting, shallow box may be extemporized into a store-box. The bottom may either be lined with sheet-cork (such as is used by shoemakers)—which, however, is a rather dear commodity—or common wine-corks may be sliced up, and cut into little square patches that may be attached in straight rows to the bottom of the box with strong gum or other cement. The first specimens, the nucleus of the future great collection, can be kept here well enough, till a real cabinet can be compassed.

A cabinet, however, need not be bought all at once; it may be arranged to grow with the collection—and, it may be, with the collector too—by having one or two drawers made at a time; till, in course of time, a sufficient number is obtained, when the whole may be fitted into a case at a small additional expense, and then there is a first-rate cabinet complete; for, to make this plan really advantageous, the drawers should be well made and of good material. Of course, all the drawers must be made to the same "gauge," to insure perfect fitting when the cabinet is made up.

These drawers may be made by any clever joiner, but as their construction is peculiar, and not easily described, it is necessary, either that the maker should be accustomed to this speciality, or that he be furnished with a pattern, either by buying a single drawer at a dealer's, where that can be done, by borrowing one out of a friend's cabinet, or by making therefrom a good working drawing (in section, &c.).

The glasses which cover in the drawers should always have separate frames for the more perfect exclusion of dust and mites.

Well seasoned mahogany or deal may be the material for the drawers, but on no account let them be of cedar, a material often used by ignorant or unprincipled makers, to the great detriment of the collection, and mortification of the collector, as resinous matter after a short time exudes from the pores of this wood, dropping down on to the glasses below in a gummy shower, and the effluvium seems to condense upon the contained insects, whose wings are gradually discoloured and disfigured by greasy looking blotches. The drawers are lined at bottom with cork, covered with pure white paper, which should be attached with thin paste.

The butterflies are then to be arranged in the drawers in perpendicular columns, and in accordance with some system of classification. If there be room it is well to have a considerable number of specimens of each species, especially when it is one liable to much variation. At least one of each sex should always be given, and also one of each sex showing the under surface. When the chrysalis can be procured, that also should be pinned down with its fellow-butterfly, and a good coloured drawing of each caterpillar would be a valuable addition to the series. Between the columns, lines should be ruled varying in distance according to the breadth of the butterflies, and small labels should be pinned down at the foot of each species giving its specific name; the name of the genus being placed at the head of the first species of the genus. The names of the families and sub-families under which the genera are classed are also generally given in their respective places.

I have in this little work followed the system of classification used in the public collection of British butterflies at the British Museum, which seemed to me more intelligible and natural when applied to our very limited number of butterflies, than did the system of Doubleday adopted in the great world-wide collection which exists in the private entomological room of the British Museum.

The following table gives the first-mentioned arrangement of all the British species under their respective genera, sub-families, and families. The most authentic of the reputed species are also here inserted in their proper places.


 * Fam. PAPILIONIDÆ.
 * Sub-fam. PAPILIONIDI.
 * Machaon.
 * Podalirius.
 * Sub-fam. PIERIDI.
 * Rhamni.
 * Edusa.
 * Hyale.
 * Cratægi.
 * Brassicæ.
 * Rapæ.
 * Napi.
 * Daplidice.
 * Cardamines.
 * Sinapis.
 * Fam. NYMPHALIDÆ.
 * Sub-fam. SATYRIDI.
 * Galathea.
 * Egeria.
 * Megæra.
 * Semele.
 * Janira.
 * Tithonus.
 * Hyperanthus.
 * Blandina.
 * Ligea.
 * Cassiope.
 * Davus.
 * Pamphilus.
 * Sub-fam. NYMPHALIDI.
 * Sybilla.
 * Iris.
 * Sub-fam. VANESSIDI.
 * Cardui.
 * Atalanta.
 * Io.
 * Antiopa.
 * Polychloros.
 * Urticæ.
 * C. Album.
 * Sub-fam. ARGYNNIDI.
 * Paphia.
 * Aglaia.
 * Adippe.
 * Lathonia.
 * Euphrosyne.
 * Selene.
 * Dia.
 * Cinxia.
 * Athalia.
 * Artemis.
 * Fam. ERYCINIDÆ.
 * Lucina.
 * Fam. LYCÆNIDÆ.
 * Betulæ.
 * Pruni.
 * W. Album.
 * Quercus.
 * Rubi.
 * Phlæas.
 * Chryseis.
 * Dispar.
 * B[oe]ticus.
 * Argiolus.
 * Alsus.
 * Acis.
 * Arion.
 * Corydon.
 * Adonis.
 * Alexis.
 * Ægon.
 * Agestis.
 * Artaxerxes.
 * Fam. HESPERIDÆ.
 * Alveolus.
 * Tages.
 * Paniscus.
 * Actæon.
 * Linea.
 * Sylvanus.
 * Comma.
 * Tages.
 * Paniscus.
 * Actæon.
 * Linea.
 * Sylvanus.
 * Comma.

It will be seen by the above list that seventy species are given as British. Of these, five species, viz. Papilio Podalirius, Erebia Ligea, Argynnis Dia, Chrysophanus Chryseis, and Polyommatus Bœticus, have been so rarely taken as to be refused a place among the regular denizens of our island. So that we can only reckon up the small number of sixty-five species of true British butterflies.

These it now remains to describe individually, but, prior to entering on that task, I would say a few words on the acquirement of scientific nomenclature and systematic arrangement, a knowledge of which will facilitate even our recreations in natural history, while it is absolutely essential to carrying out the really scientific study of any department.

It is true, that the painting of a butterfly and the fragrance of a flower can give deep pleasure to a mind quite unconscious of their Latin names, their genus, order, or anything of the kind; but the interest of natural objects is, I am sure, greatly augmented when we acquire some insight, however dimly, into the wonderful mechanism of creation's plan, its infinite gradation of forms, and their curious, subtle relationships, to which a good system of classification serves, in some degree, as an index. I say, "in some degree," as a system framed in perfect accordance with that of nature is a discovery rather to be desired than hoped for, with the limited knowledge at present permitted to us.

Though these Latin names are generally considered as unwelcome excrescences on the pages of popular natural history works, I would yet advise the young entomologist to master them for once, and accustom himself well to their use. He will not find the task a very difficult one, if I may judge from the repeated instances in which I have heard the almost infantile progeny of my naturalist friends glibly mouthing these redoubtable words, and applying them with the most precise accuracy.

Among collectors it is customary in familiar conversation to use only the second, or specific name of the insect's Latin title; thus, in speaking of the common Swallow-tailed Butterfly, they call it "Machaon" only, which at once distinguishes the one they mean from the other, or scarce Swallow-tailed Butterfly, which they would speak of as "Podalirius." The Pearl-bordered Likeness Fritillary may be called "Athalia," and so on. I think it will be allowed that these Latin names are not harder to learn, remember, or pronounce, than the long-winded English titles; and, when acquired, bring their possessor the advantage of being able to converse with precision on their subject with all naturalists, whether British or Continental; for these names of science are current in all European languages.

Another piece of advice is: don't waste time in trying to puzzle out the meaning, the why or the wherefore of butterflies' scientific names. Now and then, certainly, they have some allusion to the insect's appearance, or to the plant on which it feeds; thus, for instance, Gonepteryx Rhamni, the entomological name of the Brimstone Butterfly, means the "Angle-winged (butterfly) of the Buckthorn," and this is very appropriate and descriptive; but in general there is no more connexion between the name and the character of a butterfly, than there is between a ship's name—the "Furious," the "Coquette," or the "Pretty Jane," as it may be—and the moral disposition or personal appearance of the vessel that bears it.

Also, don't waste money and encourage dishonesty, by giving the absurdly large prices put upon British, or pretended British specimens of butterflies, or other insects that are rare in this country though common on the Continent; when, for all purposes of science, or the pleasure derived from their beauty, avowed Continental specimens, at one-twentieth of the price, will do just as well. In putting these into your cabinet, however, always attach to the pin underneath the insect a label, bearing some mark to denote the specimen's foreign origin.