My Studio Neighbors | Page 4

end! In another moment she disappeared within the
cavity, tugging the caterpillar after her!
[Illustration]
My bamboo brushes! I had not thought of them! By mere chance a few
years since I happened upon some of these bamboo brushes in a
Japanese shop--large, long-handled brushes, with pure white hair nicely
stiffened to a tapering point, which was neatly protected with a
sheathing cover of bamboo. A number of them were at my elbow, a few
inches distant, in a glass of water, and on the table by the vase beyond
were a dozen or so in a scattered bundle.
Normally each of these brushes is closed at the end by the natural pith
of the bamboo. I now find them all either open or otherwise tampered

with, and the surrounding surface of the table littered with tiny balls,
apparently of sawdust. I picked up one of the nearest brushes, and upon
inverting it and giving it a slight tap, a tiny green worm fell out of the
opening. From the next one I managed to shake out seven of the
caterpillars, while the third had passed beyond this stage, the aperture
having been carefully plugged with a mud cork, which was even now
moist. Two or three others were in the same plugged condition, and
investigation showed that no single brush had escaped similar
tampering to a greater or less extent. One brush had apparently not
given entire satisfaction, for the plug had been removed, and the
caterpillars, eight or ten in number, were scattered about the opening.
But the dissatisfaction probably lay with one of these caterpillars rather
than with the maternal wasp, who had apparently failed in the full dose
of anæsthetic, for one of her victims which I observed was quite lively,
and had probably forced out the soft plug, and in his squirming had
ousted his luckless companions.
[Illustration]
The caterpillars were all of the same kind, though varying in size, their
length being from one-half to three-quarters of an inch. To all
appearances they were dead, but more careful observation revealed
signs of slight vitality. Recognizing the species as one which I had long
known, from its larva to its moth, it was not difficult to understand how
my brushes might thus have been expeditiously packed with them. Not
far from my studio door is a small thicket of wild rose, which should
alone be sufficient to account for all those victimized caterpillars. This
species is a regular dependent on the rose, dwelling within its
cocoon-like canopy of leaves, which are drawn together with a few
silken webs, and in which it is commonly concealed by day. A little
persuasion upon either end of its leafy case, however, soon brings the
little tenant to view as he wriggles out, backward or forward, as the
case may be, and in a twinkling, spider-like, hangs suspended by a web,
which never fails him even in the most sudden emergency.
I can readily fancy the tiny hornet making a commotion at one end of
this leafy domicile and the next instant catching the evicted caterpillar

"on a fly" at the other. Grasping her prey with her legs and jaws, in
another moment the wriggling body is passive in her grasp, subdued by
the potent anæsthetic of her sting--a hypodermic injection which
instantly produces the semblance of death in its insect victim, reducing
all the vital functions to the point of dissolution, and then holds them
suspended--literally prolongs life, it would sometimes seem, even
beyond its normal duration--by a process which I might call ductile
equation. This chemical resource is common to all the hornets, whether
their victims be grasshoppers, spiders, cicadæ, or caterpillars. In a
condition of helpless stupor they are lugged off to the respective dens
provided for them, and then, hermetically sealed on storage, are
preserved as fresh living food for the young hornet larva, which is left
in charge of them, and has a place waiting for them all. The
developments within my brush-handles may serve as a commentary on
the ways and transformations of the average hornet.
[Illustration]
One after another of the little green caterpillars is packed into the
bamboo cell, which is about an inch deep, and plugged with mud at the
base. From seven to ten of the victims are thus stored, after which the
little wasp deposits an egg among them, and seals the doorway with a
pellet of mud. The young larva, which soon hatches from this egg,
finds itself in a land of plenty, surrounded with living food, and, being
born hungry, he loses no time in making a meal from the nearest victim.
One after another of the caterpillars is devoured, until his larder, nicely
calculated to carry him to his full growth, is exhausted. Thus the first
stage