WE are all of us but too familiar with the ravages of the common “Clothes Moth,” ever busy fretting both our garments and our tempers. We find our cherished furs and woollens—which we fondly imagined we had put away so carefully—utterly ruined by what we emphatically call the moth, as if but one species really existed, and we refuse it our interest and our sympathy. When we find some piece of material containing moth-larvÆ, we are usually too intent upon destroying them to bestow much thought upon the habits of the creature; but I have discovered of late that even these moths are so curious as to be well worth a little careful study. I will relate how I came to know something about the life-history of some of the TineÆ, the name by which this species of insect is known.

Many years ago a friend gave me some beautiful grey feathers of birds which he had obtained during a voyage up the Nile. The majority of these feathers had been arranged in my feather-books, but a few remained in a drawer, and on examining them after a lapse of time I found they were shredded and perforated till only fragments were left. Quantities of little grey cases, or cocoons, showed that what had gained access to the feathers was moth. As I was then specially interested in the subject of domestic natural history, the living inmates of our houses, these cases were exactly what I wished to study. Accordingly I made a collection of them and covered them with a glass shade until I should find leisure to observe them more closely. Returning from some other occupation I found the small cases in active motion. A brown head and part of a white grub’s body appeared at one end, and each insect, like the Caddis Worm, was dragging its house after it and seemed able to crawl rapidly about. By gently pressing the tail-end of a cocoon I made the grub come out and leave its case behind, so that I could examine it more particularly. The case was evidently made of shreds of the feathers on which the grub had been feeding, and was lined with fine white silk.

There are understood to be about thirty-one species of Tinea in this country; of these many, when in the larva state, inhabit fungi or rotten wood. One beautiful species is found abundantly in granaries, its larva lives upon corn and resides in a case formed of wheat grains connected together by silken threads. Many of the species of Tineina, the great group to which the genus TineÆ belongs, are leaf-miners and form those white streaks we may often see upon bramble, honeysuckle, and strawberry leaves. The grubs of another kind may be found in Scotland, inhabiting ants’ nests, and even in a coal mine, near Glasgow, TineÆ have been found in abundance.

A very beautiful species of Tinea attacks the bark of the lime-tree until it becomes completely riddled by its destructive grubs. A fine avenue of about two hundred lime-trees forming one of the approaches to the town of Southampton was infested with this insect and the growth of the trees seriously injured by its ravages.

The furrier has cause to dread the ravages of Tinea Pellionella, which feeds on feathers and fur, and is no respecter of priceless sables and ermine. This insect makes its case with atoms of fur cut to the same length, and it works so insidiously that there is no outward sign of its evil doings until little tufts of fur begin to fall off, and then it is too late to save our valued garments. They are sure, sooner or later, to prove hopelessly destroyed.

Stuffed birds and animals can only be preserved from this annoying pest by being soaked in a strong solution of corrosive sublimate or some other poison. That this is effectual I have proved by the safe preservation of groups of stuffed birds which have hung against a wall exposed to the air without protection of any kind for the last twenty-five years; these are as fresh and bright in plumage now as when they were first obtained.

This fur-moth is perhaps the best known species in our houses; it is a small yellowish-grey insect with pale brown spots on the wings. This is, I believe, the species of which I have secured the larvÆ. Fur and feathers are alike its staple diet, and it is easily distinguished from other kinds by a dark brown mark on the second segment of the grub, which mark I can discern by a magnifying glass.

The linings of chairs and sofas and the stuffing of carriage cushions, horse-hair pillows, &c., are constantly attacked by Tinea biselliella, while cloth, flannel, and any woollen material, suits the taste of the almost universal Tinea tapetzella, against whose ravages every housekeeper has to devise a variety of protective plans. The moth is so small it can creep through minute crevices—a knot-hole at the back of a drawer or a keyhole will afford it access to the winter garments which have been put away in supposed security.^[7] Tapetzella differs in appearance from the fur moth as its wings are half black and half grey, and it is also of larger size. In laying her eggs the moth has the foresight to place them rather widely apart, so that each grub may find space enough in which to feed; it is this habit which renders the creature specially destructive, as it attacks many parts of a garment and does not confine its ravages to one spot. The larva of this species forms covered galleries in which it works, mining its way along the surface of the material, and eating off the pile wherever it goes and leaving threadbare tracks behind it.

Pellionella adopts a different method. The first work of the minute grub on issuing from the egg is to form a round case in which it may live, for it does not eat unless it has a house of its own. This curious habit may be seen in many other species amongst the TineÆ. I have already mentioned one which forms its house of wheat grains; another chooses particles of stone of which it constructs its dwelling, and then feeds on the lichens which grow upon old walls. Out of the fluffy seeds of the willow one Tinea forms a sort of muff in which it lives. Other species of the group form little tents upon the leaves of the elm, oak, and many kinds of fruit-trees, these cases being so minute as to be unobserved unless the insect is moving within. One of the most remarkable of all the species is one which inhabits the leaves of the nettle. The tent looks like a tiny hedgehog, as it is formed of minute portions of the leaf glued together and studded all over with the stinging hairs of the nettle.

Mr. James Rennie in his “Insect Architecture” gives such an excellent description of the weaving operations of the Pellionella grub that I cannot do better than quote his observations upon it: “It selected a single hair for the foundation of its intended structure; this it cut very near the skin in order, we suppose, to have as long as possible, and placed it in a line with its body. It then immediately cut another, and placing it parallel to the first, bound both together with a thread of its own silk. The same process was repeated with other hairs till the little creature had made a fabric of some thickness, and this it went on to extend till it was large enough to cover its body, which (as is usual with caterpillars) it employed as a model and measure for regulating its operations. The chamber was ultimately finished by a fine and closely woven tapestry of silk. When the caterpillar increases in length it takes care to add to the length of its house by working in fresh hairs at either end; and if it be shifted to furs or feathers of different colours it may be made to construct a parti-coloured tissue like a Scotch plaid. But the grub increases in thickness as well as in length, so that its first house becoming too narrow, it must either enlarge it or build a new one. It prefers enlarging the premises, and sets to work precisely as we should do, slitting the case on the two opposite sides and then adroitly inserting between them two pieces of the requisite size. When the structure is finished, the insect deems itself secure to feed upon the fur within its reach, provided it is dry and free from grease, which the grub will not touch.”

This account shows that the moth-grub can secrete a kind of silk with which it lines its cell, but it can use other materials out of which to weave a house for itself. When that house becomes too small it knows how to put in two side-pieces to make it fit the size of its body. When full grown, this same case forms its temporary coffin, for the little creature simply closes up the entrance and hangs itself up in some convenient place until in due time it comes out a perfect moth, ready to lay its eggs and pursue the instincts of its race. Surely we must admit that these lives which are carried on in our houses are very curious and worth investigation. When we think of the minute size of these grubs (scarcely a quarter of an inch in length) and the vigour of the instinct they display, the secret mode in which they work in airless drawers and boxes, the perseverance with which the moth finds entrance into these hiding-places, we must credit this small insect with many remarkable qualities. Its lineage is extremely ancient, for it is twice mentioned in the oldest book in the Bible, and it is not a little remarkable that Job seems to have been accurately acquainted with the habits of the Tinea larvÆ, since he says, in speaking of an ungodly man, “He buildeth his house as a moth, and as a booth that the keeper maketh” (Job xxvii. 18).

Both of these images point to the temporary nature of the dwelling. A booth consists of a few branches put together at the top of a pole where a man can sit and scare away wild animals from the Eastern fields of fruit and grain—an erection easily removed in a few moments; it is appropriately likened to the moth grub’s tiny case which is cast aside after a few weeks or months, when the perfect insect has emerged. There are seven or eight allusions in the Scriptures to the ravages of the moth in destroying apparel, and remembering that Eastern people are in the habit of hoarding immense stores of richly embroidered clothing as an evidence of great wealth, there can be no doubt but that the many species of Tinea which are found in Palestine were a very real danger to be guarded against with the utmost solicitude.