Natural History. Francis L. Hawks

cloak is lined throughout with silk."

      "Can it be possible, Uncle Philip?"

      "Listen, and you shall hear. These mantle-looking cases are made by the larva, as it is called, or grub of a little moth which forms a covering of pure silk; this silk it spins from itself; it is not woven so as to appear like our silk, but still it is real silk, and is worked into a great many thin scales, which lap over one another like the scales of a fish. But this is only the lining of the cloak. This little tailor is the field-moth, which first eats what it wants from a green leaf, and then, from the thin membranes left, sets about making its mantle: and it makes it of two pieces cut out and joined together with a seam, just as a tailor would make it."

      "How does it go to work, Uncle Philip?"

      "Why, I will give you the account as it was given by a gentleman [3] who was very fond of observing insects, and who watched one of these little creatures. He says that from the thin membrane of the leaf it first cut two pieces just equal in size and of exactly the same shape; each of these pieces was to form one-half of the cloak, and this he says was done wonderfully fast. He noticed, too, that one end of each piece, that which was meant for the bottom of the cloak, was just twice as long as the other end, which was the top. The insect then placed itself between the two pieces while they were lying flat; it afterward brought the two sides where the seam was to be, together, and fastened them at certain places, still leaving, however, considerable spaces open. It then began to turn and twist its body about in all directions, until it moulded the pieces into a hollow form to fit. When it found that it would fit its body, it brought the edges of the seam close together through the whole length, and contrived to sew or fasten them so neatly together, that when the gentleman looked, even with a magnifying-glass, he said he could hardly find the seam. The whole was lined with the silk spun from itself, and was finished in about twelve hours."

      "Why, this little workman is the strangest of all: but, Uncle Philip, you said there was one of these animal tailors that cut his garment out of cloth: pray tell us of him."

      "When I said that, boys, I was thinking of the clothes-moth. [4] They make their coats of wool commonly taken from our cloth, and silk drawn from their own mouths; and the strangest thing concerning them is, that when they outgrow their clothes they will piece them to make them larger. Suppose the insect wants it longer, it adds a new ring of wool to the end: suppose it wants it wider, it slits the case or garment, not from one end to the other, for this would leave it naked, but it splits it half-way down the sides, and when it has filled it in with proper pieces, it splits the remaining half, and puts other pieces in them. There is another curious thing about this tailor: it always makes its coat of the same colour with the cloth from which it takes the wool; so that if it has first made its garment of a piece of blue cloth, and is placed on a bit of red cloth when it wishes to enlarge it, you will see its work exactly, for the pieces which it puts in will be red. This is the little fellow, boys, which does so much mischief to our clothes."

      "Well, Uncle Philip, one can almost forgive his mischief for the sake of his ingenuity. But you have said nothing yet about needles; how do these little creatures sew?"

      "Why, they have what serves as a needle to them: but I can tell you of another animal which sews with a needle a great deal plainer to be seen than that of these little insects."

      "Pray let us hear of him, Uncle Philip."

      "I must go among the birds to find this workman. There is a kind of starling, called the orchard starling, [5] about which, Mr. Wilson, a gentleman who has written a great deal concerning the birds of our country, gives a very curious account. He says that this bird commonly hangs its nest from the twigs of an apple-tree, and makes it in a very singular manner. The outside is made of a particular kind of long tough grass, that will bend without breaking, and this grass is knit or sewed through and through in a thousand directions, just as if done with a needle. The little creature does it with its feet and bill. Mr. Wilson says that he one day showed one of these nests to an old lady, and she was so much struck with the work that she asked him, half in earnest, if he did not think that these birds could be taught to darn stockings? Mr. Wilson took the pains too to draw out one of these grass threads, and found that it measured thirteen inches, and in that distance the bird who used it had passed it in and out thirty-four times."

      "Why, this was sewing, sure enough."

      "Yes; and I saw, when I was in the West Indies, another kind of starling [6] which will cut leaves into a shape like the quarter of an orange-rind, and sew the whole very neatly to the under side of a banana-leaf, so as to make one side of the nest. But, boys, there is another most beautiful little bird, which is called the tailor-bird, because it sews so well. [7] It first picks out a plant with large leaves, then it gathers cotton from the shrub, and with the help of its fine long bill and slender little feet it spins this cotton into a thread, and then using its bill for a needle, it will sew these large leaves together to hide its nest, and sew them very neatly, too."

      "Why, dear Uncle Philip, this is the most wonderful tailor of them all."

      "He is, indeed: but, my children, what do we learn from all that I have been telling you? Who made these little creatures with such curious skill, and taught them to work so well? It was the same God who made us; for such wonderful things never came from what people call chance. Chance, boys, never made any thing: and how very wise he must be to form such nice little workmen; and how very good thus to teach them how to take care of themselves. The Bible says, truly, that 'his tender mercies are over all his works.' And I think, boys, we may learn another thing: it is, not to be so very proud of what we know; for I rather suppose that we shall often find that the lower creatures around us understood many of our trades long before we found them out."

      "Yes, Uncle Philip, it is likely that these little fellows you have been telling us of this morning were the first tailors in the world."

      "Very likely, very likely indeed, boys. But now I must bid you good morning; for here comes our good clergyman, and I am going with him to see a poor sick woman."

      "Good morning, Uncle Philip; we will come again on Saturday."