<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1>BIRDS AND ALL NATURE.</h1>
<div class="vlouter">
<div class="volumeline">
<div class="volumeleft"><span class="sc">Vol. V.</span></div>
<div class="volumeright"><span class="sc">No. 4.</span></div>
<div class="ac">APRIL, 1899.</div>
</div></div>
<h2 style="margin-top:2em;"><SPAN name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></SPAN>CONTENTS.</h2>
<table class="toctable" id="TOC" summary="CONTENTS">
<tr>
<td class="c1"> </td>
<td class="c2"><span class="sc">Page</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_NUTMEG">THE NUTMEG.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">145</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#AN_ABANDONED_HOME">AN ABANDONED HOME.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">150</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_AMERICAN_BARN_OWL">THE AMERICAN BARN OWL.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">155</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#A_SPRINGTIME">A SPRINGTIME.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">156</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_KANGAROO">THE KANGAROO.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">157</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#INVITATION_TO_THE_REDBREAST">
INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">158</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#FEATHERS">FEATHERS.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">161</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#VISION_AND_SCENT_OF_VULTURES">
VISION AND SCENT OF VULTURES.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">163</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_HOARY_BAT">THE HOARY BAT.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">167</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_COMING_OF_SPRING">THE COMING OF SPRING.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">168</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_NASHVILLE_WARBLER">THE NASHVILLE WARBLER.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">169</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#CHIEF_SIMON_POKAGON">CHIEF SIMON POKAGON.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">173</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#NATURE_AT_FIRST_HAND">NATURE AT FIRST HAND.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">175</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_QUAILS_QUADRILLE">THE QUAILS' QUADRILLE.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">176</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_GRAPE">THE GRAPE.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">179</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#PROSE_POEMS_OF_IVAN_TURGENIEF">
PROSE POEMS OF IVAN TURGENIEF.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">180</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_BLUEBIRD">THE BLUEBIRD.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">181</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_FIRST_BLUEBIRD">THE FIRST BLUEBIRD.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">181</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_KIT_FOX">THE KIT FOX.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">182</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#AMONG_ANIMALS">AMONG ANIMALS.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">185</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#SPRING_FASHIONS">SPRING FASHIONS.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">186</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#BIRDS_THAT_DO_NOT_SING">BIRDS THAT DO NOT SING.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">188</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_HYACINTH">THE HYACINTH.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">191</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#A_QUARREL_BETWEEN_JENNY_WREN_AND_THE_FLYCATCHERS">
A QUARREL BETWEEN JENNY WREN AND THE FLYCATCHERS.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">192</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_NUTMEG" id="THE_NUTMEG"></SPAN>THE NUTMEG.<br/> <span class="xx-smaller"><span style="font-weight:lighter;"> (<i>Myristica fragrans Hauthryn.</i>)</span></span></h2>
<p class="ac">DR. ALBERT SCHNEIDER.<br/>
<span class="smaller">Northwestern University School of Pharmacy.</span></p>
<div class="smaller">
<span style="margin-left:40%;"><i>Dum:</i> A gilt nutmeg.</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left:40%;"><i>Biron:</i> A lemon.</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left:40%;"><i>Long:</i> Stuck with cloves.</span><br/>
<span style="margin-left:50%;">—<i>Shakespeare, "Love's Labor
Lost, V. 2.</i></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE nutmeg is the spice obtained
from a medium-sized evergreen
tree reaching a height of from
twenty-five to forty feet. This
tree is diœcious, that is the male
flowers and the female flowers are
borne upon different plants. The
male flower consists of a column of
from six to ten stamens enclosed by
a pale yellow tubular perianth. The
female flowers occur singly, in twos
or threes, in the axils of the leaves; they
also have a pale yellow perianth. The
ovary has a single seed which finally
matures into the nutmeg and mace.
The mature seed is about one and one-fourth
inches long and somewhat less in
transverse diameter, so that it is somewhat
oval in outline. It is almost entirely
enveloped by a fringed scarlet
covering known as arillus or arillode
(mace). The entire fruit, nut, mace,
and all, is about the size of a walnut
and like that nut has a thick outer covering,
the pericarp, which is fibrous and
attains a thickness of about half an
inch. At maturity the pericarp splits
in halves from the top to the base or
point of attachment. The leaves of
the nutmeg tree are simple, entire, and
comparatively large.</p>
<p>The English word nutmeg and the
apparently wholly different German
<i>Muskatnuss</i>, are etymologically similar.
The "meg" of nutmeg is said to be derived
from the old English "muge,"
which is from the Latin "muscus," meaning
musk, in reference to the odor.
"Muskat" of the German name is also
derived from "muscus" and "nuss" means
nut, so we have in both instances "musk
nut." The arillus was named <i>Muscatenbluome</i>
(nutmeg flower) by the early
Dutch because of its bright red color.</p>
<p>It is generally believed that nutmeg
and mace were not used in ancient
times. Martius maintains that the
word <i>macis</i> mentioned in a comedy by
Plautus (260-180 B. C.) refers to mace.
Flückiger, however, is inclined to believe
that this word refers to the bark
of some tree of India, as the word is
frequently used in that sense by noted
writers, as Scribonius, Largus, Dioscorides,
Galenus, Plinius, and others. About
800 or 900 A. D., the Arabian physicians
were familiar with nutmeg and
were instrumental in introducing it into
western countries. The Europeans first
used nutmegs in church ceremonies as
incense. Previous to 1200 nutmegs
were quite expensive, but soon became
cheaper as the plant was more and more
extensively cultivated. About 1214
they found their way into pharmacy and
began to be used among cosmetics.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</SPAN></span>
Hildegard described nutmegs in 1150,
and Albertus Magnus (1193-1280) described
the tree and fruit. Not until
about 1500 did European writers learn
the home of the nutmeg. Ludovico
Barthema designates the island Banda
as its habitat.</p>
<p>The Portuguese monopolized the
spice trade, including nutmegs, for
a time, but as stated in a previous paper,
they were driven out by the Dutch, who
regulated the nutmeg trade as they did
the clove trade. That is, they destroyed
all nutmeg trees not under the control
of the government and burned all nutmegs
which could not be sold. The
government nutmeg plantations were
in charge of army officials and worked
by slaves. In 1769 the French succeeded
in transplanting the nutmeg to
the Isle de France. From 1796 to 1802
the spice islands were under the control
of the English, who transplanted the
nutmeg to Bencoolen, Penang, and, later,
to Singapore. In 1860 the Singapore
plantations were destroyed by a disease
of the tree. The nutmeg is now cultivated
in the Philippines, West Indies,
South America, and other tropical
islands and countries. The botanic
gardens have been largely instrumental
in extending nutmeg cultivation in the
tropical English possessions. Besides
<i>Myristica fragrans</i> there are several
other species which are found useful.
<i>M. Otoba</i> of the U. S. of Colombia
yields an edible article known as Santa
Fé nutmeg. The seeds of the tropical
<i>M. sebifera</i> (tallow nutmeg) yield a
fixed oil or fat used in making soap and
candles. This oil is also known as
American nutmeg oil.</p>
<p>The trees are produced from seeds.
After sprouting the plants are transferred
to pots, in which they are kept
until ready for the nutmeg plantation.
Transferring from the pots to the soil
must be done carefully, as any considerable
injury to the terminal rootlets
kills the plants. A rich, loamy soil
with considerable moisture is required
for the favorable and rapid growth of
the plants. They thrive best in river
valleys, from sea-level to 300 and 400
feet or even to an elevation of 2,000
feet. The trees are usually planted
twenty-five or thirty feet apart, in protected
situations, so as to shelter them
from strong winds and excessive sunlight.</p>
<p>The trees do not yield a crop until
about the ninth year and continue productive
for seventy or eighty years.
Each tree yields on an average about
ten pounds of nutmegs and about one
pound of mace annually. If the trees
are well cared for and the soil well fertilized,
the yield is much greater, even
tenfold.</p>
<p>As already stated the nutmeg plant
is diœcious. A seed may therefore develop
into a male or female plant; if a
male plant it will of course not produce
nutmegs. The only way to learn
whether it is one or the other is to wait
until the first flowers are formed during
the fifth or sixth year. The planter
does, however, not sit by and wait; he
simply grafts the young shoots with
branches of the female tree. Some
male trees, about one to twenty female
trees, are allowed to mature in order
that pollination, by insects, may be
possible, as without pollination and
subsequent fertilization the seed could
not develop.</p>
<p>The tree bears fruit all the year round,
so that nutmegs may be collected at
all times. It is, however, customary to
collect two principal crops, one during
October, November, and December,
and another during April, May, and
June. The nuts are picked by hand
or gathered by means of long hooks
and the thick pericarp removed. The
red arillus is also carefully removed
and flattened between blocks of wood
so as to reduce the danger of breaking
as much as possible. Mace and nuts
are then dried separately. The nuts
are placed upon hurdles for several
weeks until the kernels, nutmegs, rattle
inside of the thin, tasteless, and odorless
hard shell. This shell is now carefully
broken and removed; the worm-eaten
nutmegs are thrown away and the
sound ones are rolled in powdered lime
and again dried for several weeks. Generally
the drying is done over a smoldering
fire so that the nuts are really
smoke dried. For shipment they are
packed in air-tight boxes which have
been smoked and dusted with lime on
the inside. Liming gives the nuts a
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</SPAN></span>
peculiar mottled appearance and tends
to destroy parasites which may be
present.</p>
<p>Mace loses its carmine color upon
drying and becomes reddish-brown and
very brittle. It has an odor and taste
similar to those of the nut, but is more
delicately aromatic. Wild or Bombay
mace is obtained from <i>Myristica fatua</i>
and is frequently used to adulterate the
true mace or Banda mace. The nuts of
<i>M. fatua</i> are longer than those of <i>M.
fragrans</i> and are therefore designated
as long nutmegs; the term "male nutmegs"
applied to them is incorrect.
The long nutmeg is greatly inferior to
the true nutmeg, or round nutmeg as it
is sometimes called.</p>
<p>Banda supplies by far the most nutmegs
at the present time. Penang nutmegs
are of excellent quality and are
always placed upon the market unlimed,
but they are frequently limed
subsequently in foreign ports and markets.
Singapore nutmegs are usually
unlimed. Nutmegs are generally designated
by the name of the country
from which they are obtained, as Dutch
or Batavian, Sumatra, Penang, Singapore,
Java, and Banda nutmegs.</p>
<p>There are a number of so-called nutmegs
which are derived from plants
not even remotely related to <i>Myristica</i>.
Ackawai, Camara, or Camaru nutmeg is
the nut of a tree growing in Guiana
highly valued as a cure for colic and
dysentery. American, Jamaica, Mexican,
or Calabash nutmeg is the spicy seed
of <i>Monodora Myristica</i>. Brazilian nutmeg
is the seed of <i>Cryptocarya moschata</i>,
which serves as a very inferior substitute
for nutmeg. California nutmeg is
the fruit of a conifer (<i>Torreya</i>), which
resembles nutmeg so closely in appearance
that it has been supposed that
<i>Myristica fragrans</i> was a native of California.
This fruit has, however, a very
camphoraceous odor. Clove or Madagascar
nutmeg is the fruit of <i>Ravensara
aromatica</i>, a tree native in Madagascar.
Peruvian nutmeg is the seed
of <i>Laurelia sempervirens</i>.</p>
<p>The nutmeg has a peculiar mottled
appearance, ranging from grayish
brown to light gray or white in the
limed article, the depressions and
grooves holding the lime while the
ridges and elevations are free from it.
In Shakespeare's Henry V. the Duke
of Orleans, in speaking of the dauphin's
dapple-gray horse, says: "He's of the
color of nutmeg." The taste of nutmeg
is peculiarly aromatic, pungent,
and somewhat bitter.</p>
<p>The principal use of nutmeg is that
of a spice, although not so commonly
employed or so well liked as some
other spices. It contains a fat which
forms the nutmeg butter; this is an
unctuous solid substance of an orange-brown
or yellowish-brown color, with
the odor and taste of nutmeg. This
fat is used as a stimulating application
in rheumatism, sprains, and paralysis.
Nutmegs also contain some volatile
oil, which is said to be poisonous; at
least some persons are very susceptible
to the effects of the volatile oil of nutmeg.
In this connection it might be
stated that the frequent and long-continued
use of spices is injurious, producing
dyspepsia, functional heart
trouble, and nervousness, and seems to
have a special action upon the liver,
causing an excessive development of
connective tissue and a reduction in
the functional activity of the liver cells:
"Nutmeg liver" is a condition resulting
from passive venous congestion of that
organ, and refers to its mottled or nut-meggy
appearance only.</p>
<p>Mace is comparatively rich in volatile
oil. Nutmeg and mace are both
extensively employed as condiments.
They are frequently given in the form
of a powder to stimulate and aid digestion.
Nutmeg flavor consists of nutmeg,
oil of nutmeg, and alcohol. Mace-ale is
ale sweetened and spiced with mace.</p>
<p>It is stated that whole nutmegs have
been adulterated with wooden imitations.
Connecticut is known as the
Wooden Nutmeg State because it is
facetiously said that such nutmegs were
manufactured there.</p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="NUTMEG." summary="NUTMEG.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_006.jpg" id="i_006.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_006.jpg" width="479" height="600" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM KŒHLER'S MEDICINAL-PFLANZEN.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">NUTMEG.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30"> </td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p class="bq ac">Description of plate:</p>
<p class="bq"><i>A</i>, branch with staminate flowers; 1,
stamens magnified; 2, longitudinal view
of stamens; 3, transverse section of
stamens; 4, pollen-grains; 5, pistillate
flower; 6, pistil; 7, fruit; 8, half of pericarp
removed; 9, nut with arillus
(mace); 10, nut without mace; 11, nut
in longitudinal section; 12, embryo.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="AN_ABANDONED_HOME" id="AN_ABANDONED_HOME"></SPAN>AN ABANDONED HOME.</h2>
<p class="ac">ELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_w.jpg" width-obs="66" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">WELL," said Jenny Sparrow one
fine day in April, as she fluttered
from bough to bough
in a maple tree near my
study-window, "spring is advancing
and already the housewives are bustling
about busy from morning till
night. Such fetching and carrying of
grass and straw and feathers! Mamma
concluded to build a new house this
spring but papa said the old homestead
would do, with new furnishings. Papa
always has his way; he's such a tyrant.
I'm a fortunate creature that I have no
such cares, I'm sure. Mamma says I
may as well sing and fly high while
youth and beauty last, for my troubles
will begin soon enough. Troubles!
The idea of my having trouble! Old
people must croak, I suppose, and
would really be disappointed if their
children failed to experience the trials
they have.</p>
<p>"I often wonder if papa strutted and
bowed and swelled himself out as my
suitors do, when he courted mamma.
Now he does nothing but scold, and I
never make an unusually fine toilet
but he shakes his head, and lectures
mamma on the sin of idleness and
vanity. I'm not vain, I'm sure. I only
feel strong and happy, and when I'm
challenged by a neighbor's sons and
their ugly sisters for a long flight or
graceful curve, I would be a silly
creature indeed if I didn't display my
accomplishments to good advantage.</p>
<p>"There, now, is the son of our nearest
neighbor twittering on that roof opposite
and trying to attract my attention.
He prides himself on being a
direct descendant of one of the
sparrows first imported into this country
from England, so we call him Mr.
Britisher. He has the most affected
way of turning his head on one side
and glancing at me. I can't help admiring
his engaging manners, though,
and there is a certain boldness in his
address which the rest of my admirers
lack, much to their disadvantage. He's
going to fly over here presently, I know
by the way he is strutting about and
fluttering his wings. Talk about the
vanity of my sex! Gracious! He is
priding himself now on the manner
in which his toes turn out, and the
beauty of his plumage, and how much
broader is that black ring about his
throat than those on some of his neighbors.
Here he comes. I'll pretend to
be looking another way.</p>
<p>"Ah, is that you, Mr. Britisher?
How you startled me. Yes, 'tis a lovely
day. After the storms of winter, the
warm sunshine is a blessing to us little
creatures who live under the eaves."</p>
<p>"True, Miss Jenny, true. But with
companionship even the storms of
winter can be borne cheerfully. Don't
you agree with me that a loving home
is a very desirable thing?"</p>
<p>"Oh, Mr. Britisher, how you talk!
Have your parents been away from
home, that you are so lonesome?"</p>
<p>"You know they have not, Miss
Jenny. You know full well that I was
not speaking of <i>that</i> kind of companionship.
Permit me to sit beside you on
that bough, for I have that to say
which I desire shall not be overheard.
The leaves even seem to have ears at
this season of the year, and do a deal
of whispering about the numerous
courtships which they hear and see
going on."</p>
<p>"True, very true, Mr. Britisher," returned
Miss Jenny, making room for
him beside her on the limb. "There
is a great amount of gossip going on
just now in bird-land, I understand.
Why, only the other day I heard—but
ah—there is Mrs. Cowbird skulking
below us, and no meaner bird flies, I
think, than she. Fancy her laying her
eggs in another bird's nest, because
she is too lazy to make one of her own!
A tramp bird must do a great deal of
gossiping, so be careful what you say."</p>
<p>"She is not nearly such a mischief-maker
as Mr. Blue Jay," replied Mr.
Britisher, "nor half so impertinent. I
heard him chattering with Mr. Blackbird
the other day and he said all
sparrows were alike to him. Fancy it!
A field sparrow, vesper sparrow, swamp
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</SPAN></span>
sparrow, white-throated sparrow, yellow-winged
sparrow, fox sparrow, and
dear knows how many other common
American sparrows, the same to him as
a blue-blooded English one. Why,
my ancestors lived under the roof of
Windsor Castle, and flew over the head
of Queen Victoria many, many a time."</p>
<p>"You don't say?" returned Miss
Jenny, very much impressed. "Why,
you are a member of the royal family,
you may say. Our family, I have heard
mother tell, always made their home in
the city—London proper, you know,
right under the eaves of the Bank of
England. But come, that is not what
you flew over here to say, surely," demurely
casting her eyes upon the
ground.</p>
<p>"How charmingly you coquette with
me," said Mr. Britisher, moving closer
to her on the limb. "Have you not
seen for weeks past that I have had no
thoughts for any girl-sparrow but you,
Miss Jenny?"</p>
<p>"La, Mr. Britisher, I really have had
so much attention from your sex this
spring that I——"</p>
<p>"But none of them have been so devoted
as I," interrupted her companion.
"Think of the many delicious morsels
I have laid at your feet, and all I ask
in return is——"</p>
<p>"What?" coyly asked Miss Jenny,
pretending she was about to fly away.</p>
<p>"This little hand," stooping and
pecking her dainty claws with his bill.
"Will you be my wife, Miss Jenny, the
queen of my heart and home?"</p>
<p>"The queen of your heart and home,"
repeated Miss Jenny. "That sounds very
nice, indeed. But when one gets married,
my mamma says, then one's
troubles begin."</p>
<p>"No, no, my dear one. Your husband
will hold it his dearest privilege to
guard you from every care. Life will
be one long dream of bliss for us both.
Say you will be mine."</p>
<p>"Well, I suppose I may as well say
yes. Mamma says girls must be settled
in life some time, and I am sure I fancy
you infinitely more than any of the
young sparrows hereabouts. So you
can ask papa and—there, there! You
will twist my bill off, and Mr. Woodpecker
over there, I am sure is watching
us. Really you put me in such a
flutter with your fervor. There, you
naughty boy; you mustn't any more.
My! I am so nervous. I'll fly home
now and quiet my nerves with a nap.
I'm off. By-by."</p>
<p>The courtship was brief, as is the
custom with our feathered friends, and
so the wedding took place in a few
days. The bride received the blessing
of her parents for a dot and the groom
a shrug of the shoulders and the comforting
assurance from his father that
he was a "ninny" and not aware when
he was well off.</p>
<p>All went merry as a marriage bell
for a season, Mr. Britisher twittering
daily in soft low tones his prettiest
love songs and his spouse listening in
proud complacency as she oiled her
feathers and curled them prettily with
her bill.</p>
<p>"O," she said one day, when making
a call upon a neighbor, "I'm quite the
happiest creature in the world. <i>Such</i>
a husband, and how he dotes on me!
I had no idea I was such a piece of
perfection, really. I wish all my friends
were as well and happily mated. Those
who have no such prospects are to be
pitied indeed. Ah! you needn't bridle
that way, Miss Brownie, for I had no
particular individual in mind when I
made that remark, believe me. Well,
I must cut my visit short, for hubby
will be looking for me, and he grows so
impatient when I am out of his sight
a moment. By-by. Run in and see
us, do, all of you. We are stopping,
you know, with papa and mamma for
awhile."</p>
<p>"Did you ever see such a vain, silly
thing?" said the mother of a large brood
of very homely sparrows. "If my
girls had no more sense than she, I'd
strip every feather off 'em and keep
'em at home, I would!"</p>
<p>"She makes me sick," said a pert
young thing in the group. "<i>Perfection</i>
indeed! Why, when she laughs
I'm always uneasy for fear her face will
disappear down her throat. Such a
mouth!"</p>
<p>"Hubby," mimicked another, "I
thought I should collapse when she
said that with her sickening simper."</p>
<p>"Well, well," smilingly said an old
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</SPAN></span>
mother sparrow, "she'll sing another
song before long. I predict she'll be a
shiftless sort of a thing when it comes
to housekeeping. Mr. Britisher will
repent him of his bargain ere many
days, mark my words! Dearie," turning
to her only daughter, "sing that
dear little note you learned of Mr.
Lark for the company. Thank heaven,"
stroking her darling's ugly feathers, "I
have my precious child still with me.
She is not in a hurry to leave her poor
mamma, is she?"</p>
<p>Many sly winks and smiles were exchanged
among the matron's friends at
this remark, for "dearie" had chirped
that little note many summers and
winters, and many a snare had mother
and daughter set to entrap the sons of
more than one lady sparrow there.</p>
<p>"My dear," said Mr. Britisher the
very next morning, "we must begin to
build a nest and make a home like
other people. I think we may as well
begin to-day."</p>
<p>"Build our nest?" responded Mrs.
B. "Well, do as you think best, my
dear. I intend to make a few calls to-day,
so you may as well employ your
time whilst I am away. I presume
some of your folks will help you."</p>
<p>"I suppose nothing of the sort," replied
Mr. B., curtly. "Do you think
you are to do nothing but make calls
from morning till night? I chose you
for a helpmate, madam, and not a
figurehead, let me tell you, and the
sooner you settle down to your duties
the better it will be for us both."</p>
<p>"Duties?" retorted Mrs. B., "the
idea! Who was it that promised me
that if I would marry him I should not
have a care in the world?"</p>
<p>"Oh, all lovers say such things,"
replied Mr. B., with a contemptuous
laugh. "They expect their lady-loves to
have better sense than to believe them."</p>
<p>"Better sense than to believe them!"
repeated Mrs. B., angrily. "So you
admit your sex are all gay deceivers,
do you? Oh, dear," tears coursing
down her pretty feathered cheeks,
"that I should be brought to this! Woe
is me, woe is me!"</p>
<p>Mr. Britisher immediately flew to
her side, and by caresses and fond
words endeavored to tranquillize his
spouse, for what husband can look upon
the first tears of his bride and not upbraid
himself for bringing a cloud over
the heaven of her smiles?</p>
<p>Mrs. B. flew and hopped about with
her wonted gaiety the remainder of the
day, whilst Mr. B.'s preoccupation and
downcast air was the cause of much
comment and many wise "I told you
so's," among the old lady-birds of the
neighborhood.</p>
<p>The subject of nest-building was, of
course, next day resumed; but Mrs. B.
proved as indifferent and indisposed to
participate in the labor as ever.</p>
<p>"Very well," said Mr. B., at last,
resolutely disregarding her tears, "you
will do as other wives do or else return
to your mother. When a sparrow
marries he expects his mate to do her
share in making a home, and rearing a
family. There is something to do in
this world, madame, besides rollicking,
singing, and visiting from post to pillar.
Indeed, it is a wild scramble we
have to make for a living, and you can
no longer expect me to be furnishing
you with tid-bits and insects out of season,
while you gossip and idle your time
away. You will have to-day to decide
upon the matter," and off Mr. Britisher
flew, with a heavy frown upon his face.</p>
<div>"Oh! I wish I had never been born,"
wailed Mrs. B., as the gentle wind
stirred the leaves and swayed the
branch upon which she was perched.
"Already I begin to experience the
troubles which old folks talk about.
Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I'll fly over to
mother and tell her how shamefully
Mr. B. is treating me. I won't stand
it, there! Gracious! there is that meddlesome
Mr. Blue Jay sneaking around
as usual. He has heard me sobbing,
I'm afraid, and all the neighbors will
be gossiping before night of our affairs.
There! how cheerily I sang when I flew
off! He will think my sobs were a
new song, perhaps. To think that I
should be making believe I'm happy
already. Happy! I shall never be
happy again. My heart is broken.
Mother will give Mr. Britisher a piece
of her mind, I hope, and let him know
I was never brought up to work, much
less to be any man's slave."</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="AMERICAN BARN OWL." summary="AMERICAN BARN OWL.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_017.jpg" id="i_017.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_017.jpg" width="600" height="448" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">AMERICAN BARN OWL.<br/>
½ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1899,<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_AMERICAN_BARN_OWL" id="THE_AMERICAN_BARN_OWL"></SPAN> THE AMERICAN BARN OWL.<br/> <span class="xx-smaller"><span style="font-weight:lighter;"> (<i>Strix pratincola</i>).</span></span></h2>
<p class="ac">LYNDS JONES.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_o.jpg" width-obs="57" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">OUR barn owl belongs to the tropical
and warm temperate genus
<i>Strix</i>, which is scattered widely
over the greater part of the
earth in the tropical and subtropical
parts of both hemispheres, and scatteringly
into the temperate zones. In
Europe one species is common as far
north as the British Isles, while our own
bird is found as far north as southern
New England in the East, Ontario,
Michigan, Wisconsin, and southern
Minnesota in the interior, and Oregon
and Washington on the Pacific coast.
It is hardly common anywhere except
in the extreme southwestern part of
the United States, where it is the most
abundant owl in California. It is rare
or casual north of about the fortieth
parallel. But two specimens have been
brought to the Oberlin College Museum
in twenty years, one of which was
found dead in a barn a mile east of
Oberlin in December of 1898.</p>
<p>The barn owl is the most nocturnal
of all our owls, although he can see
perfectly in the brightest day. Not
until twilight does he issue from his
secure hiding-place to do battle with
the farm and orchard pests. Then he
may be seen sailing noiselessly over
orchard and meadow in quest of any
mischievous rodent that may be menacing
the farmer's prospects. He
seems to single out intelligently the
ones that do the most injury, destroying
large numbers of pouched gophers
and other annoying and destructive
creatures, asking only in return to be
left in peace in his hiding-place. The
farmer certainly has no better friend
than this owl, for he destroys poultry
only when driven to it by the direst
necessity. In the East, his food consists
largely of rats and mice; in some
parts of the South the cotton rat is the
chief diet; while in the West he feeds
principally upon the gopher (<i>Thomomys
talpoides bulbivorus</i>) and the California
ground squirrel (<i>Spermophilus grammurus
beecheyi</i>), according to Prof. B. W.
Evermann. It seems pretty certain
that fish are sometimes captured and
eaten.</p>
<p>This owl undoubtedly breeds, though
sparingly, in all suitable localities
wherever it is found, and probably
migrates more or less in the northern
part of its range. In Europe it nests
in old ruins, towers, and abutments of
bridges, but our American species
finds few such places, so he resorts to
hollow trees, caves, crevices in rocks,
and banks, and even to burrows in the
level ground, as we find to be the case
in parts of the West. The burrows are
undoubtedly the deserted burrows of
some other animal. In the eastern
parts of the country the owls frequently
nest in buildings. It is well known
that a pair occupied one of the towers
of the Smithsonian building in the city
of Washington in 1890, raising a brood
of seven young. It is stated that the
period of incubation is from three to
three and a half weeks, and that brooding
begins with the deposit of the first
egg; thus there may be fresh eggs and
young in the same nest. This accounts
for the long period of incubation.</p>
<p>The eggs are pure white, usually
from four to seven in number, rarely
twelve. They are rather longer in proportion
than those of the other owls—in
about the proportion of 1.30 × 1.70.
But the average size is variously given
by the various authors.</p>
<p>It seems a little curious that there
should be such a marked difference between
the hawks and owls as regards
nest material. They belong to the
same order of birds, and yet the hawks
build their own nests, collecting the
material and arranging it much after
the fashion of higher birds, while the owls
make practically no nest, at the most
collecting a little material and scattering
it about with little regard for arrangement.
But the difficulty disappears
when we realize that the owls
have probably always nested in hollows
which require no nest material, while
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</SPAN></span>
the hawks, if they ever nested in hollows,
have long ceased to do so, building
their nests among the branches of
trees, where a relatively large amount
of material is necessary. The few
species of hawks which now nest in
hollows have gone back to that method
after a long period of open nesting and
have retained the nest material even
here where it seems unnecessary.</p>
<p>The monkey-like appearance of this
owl, emphasized by his tawny color
and screeching voice, gives him a decidedly
uncanny appearance. His
plumage is unusually soft and fluffy,
but is too thin to enable him to withstand
the rigors of a northern winter.
Curiously enough, the feathers on the
back of his tarsus grow up instead of
down, giving that part of his plumage
a rather ungroomed appearance. One
edge of his middle toe-nail is toothed
like a comb.</p>
<p>During the nesting season only a
single pair can be found in a place, but
at other times the species is more or
less gregarious in the regions in which
it is numerous. Often a dozen individuals
may be found in a company. The
extreme seclusiveness of the birds during
the day makes it very difficult to
find them, and they are undoubtedly
more numerous than generally reported,
and are likely to be present in
many places where their presence is
not now suspected. They seek the
darkest and most secluded corner possible
and remain quiet all day. Their
noiseless flight might easily be mistaken
for that of the whippoorwill.
Let us hope that the good qualities of
this owl will be fully recognized before
his hiding-place is discovered.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><SPAN name="A_SPRINGTIME" id="A_SPRINGTIME"></SPAN>A SPRINGTIME.</h2>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">One knows the spring is coming;</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">There are birds; the fields are green;</div>
<div class="verse">There is balm in the sunlight and moonlight,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">A dew in the twilights between.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">But ever there is a silence,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">A rapture great and dumb,</div>
<div class="verse">That day when the doubt is ended,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And at last the spring is come.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Behold the wonder, O silence!</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Strange as if wrought in a night,—</div>
<div class="verse">The waited and lingering glory,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The world-old fresh delight!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">O blossoms that hang like winter,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Drifted upon the trees,</div>
<div class="verse">O birds that sing in the blossoms,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">O blossom-haunting bees,—</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">O green leaves on the branches,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">O shadowy dark below,</div>
<div class="verse">O cool of the aisles of orchards,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Woods that the wild flowers know,—</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">O air of gold and perfume,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Wind, breathing sweet, and sun,</div>
<div class="verse">O sky of perfect azure—</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Day, Heaven and Earth in one!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Let me draw near thy secret,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And in thy deep heart see</div>
<div class="verse">How fared, in doubt and dreaming,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The spring that is come in me.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">For my soul is held in silence,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">A rapture, great and dumb,—</div>
<div class="verse">For the mystery that lingered,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The glory that is come!</div>
<div class="ar">—<i>W. D. Howells.</i></div>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="KANGAROO." summary="KANGAROO.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_030.jpg" id="i_030.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_030.jpg" width="600" height="453" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">KANGAROO.<br/>
⅛ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1899,<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_KANGAROO" id="THE_KANGAROO"></SPAN>THE KANGAROO.</h2>
<p class="ac">C. C. M.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE Kangaroos are regarded as
among the most remarkable of
mammals. Everything about
them is extraordinary; their
movements and their attitudes when at
rest, the way they seek their food,
their reproduction, their development,
and their mental qualities. Twenty
and thirty years ago, it is said, the visitor
to Australia could see more Kangaroos
to the square mile than there
are jack rabbits to-day, and it was literally
impossible to avoid the countless
flocks that swarmed over the whole
island. Walsh says that, with a good
rifle, he could take a position on a rock
and shoot all day long, until tired of
the monotony of the slaughter, or until
some "old man" kangaroo became
desperate at his killing and decided to
turn the table upon him. In those
days men were paid liberally by the
sheepowners to kill off the kangaroos,
and it is stated that one hunter would
kill several hundred a day, and one
man is known to have cleared $4,500,
free of living expenses, in a single year.
The visitor to Australia to-day discovers
a decided change in many ways, but
not more so than in the comparative
scarcity of this animal. He may reside
on the island for a month or two
and not see one kangaroo. There are
still large numbers of them, but they
must be hunted up and their favorite
feeding-places located by guides. The
sheepherders caused the creatures to
be destroyed in such numbers before
they became of any commercial value
that they are now rarely found outside
of the "bush." About three hundred
miles back from the coast thousands
can still be found. The country
abounds in straggling bushes, with very
few tall trees or woods to obstruct
travel; but the bushes, while in the
open country, are tall enough to make
good hiding-places for the marsupials.
They feed on the grass, roots, and
leaves, and when startled by a hunter,
leap over the bushes as easily as a rabbit
jumps over the tufts of grass.</p>
<p>The hind legs of the kangaroo are
powerful weapons. One long claw,
hard as bone or steel, and sharp as a
knife at the point, gives the kangaroo
an implement, says a writer in the <i>Scientific
American</i>, that can kill a man or
beast with one blow. The front paws
are not so strong, but an old fellow has
strength enough in them to seize a dog
and hold him under the water until
dead. On land they will seize an enemy
and hold him until the hind claws
can cut him nearly in two. They are
also good boxers, and when the natives
attempt to kill them with clubs
they dodge the implements with all the
skill of a professional pugilist, and unless
the man is an expert he may get
the worst of the encounter. Quite a
number of hunters have been severely
injured, and some killed, by attempting
to corner a wounded kangaroo when
enraged by a bullet wound. The fleetest
horse cannot keep pace with any
of the larger kangaroos, but with a
little tact the hunters are enabled to
capture them whenever they are sighted.
When the creatures are once started on
a run, they will not swerve from their
course, but continue straight onward,
leaping over bushes, rocks, and all ordinary
obstacles. The hunters generally
station themselves in the line that
the animals are most likely to pursue,
and then wait until the dogs or the rest
of the party start them up.</p>
<p>The ordinary gait of the kangaroo,
which it assumes principally when
grazing, is a heavy, awkward hobble.
It supports its fore feet on the ground
and then pushes the hinder legs on between
them. While doing so it must
also support itself on its tail, as else it
could not lift its long hinder legs high
enough to render such movements possible.
But it remains in this position
no longer than is absolutely necessary.
Whenever it has plucked some favorite
plant, it assumes the erect position to
consume it. In their sleep the smaller
species adopt a position similar to
that of a hare in its form. Closely
crouched to the ground, they squat
down on all fours, the tail being
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</SPAN></span>
extended at length behind the body.
This position enables them to take
flight instantly.</p>
<p>The kangaroo leaps only on its hinder
legs, but its bounds surpass those of
any other animal in length. It presses
its fore limbs tightly against the chest,
stretches the tail straight out backwards,
thrusts the long and slender
hind legs against the ground with all
the force of the powerful thigh muscles,
and darts like an arrow through
the air in a low curve. The leaps follow
in immediate succession, and each
is at least nine feet, but the larger species
cover, not infrequently, from
twenty to thirty-three feet at a bound,
the height of each leap being from six
to ten feet. Few hounds can keep
pace with a kangaroo.</p>
<p>The kangaroo rarely gives birth to
more than one young at a time. When
the young one is born the mother takes
it up with her mouth, opens the pouch
with both fore feet, and attaches the
little creature to the breast. Twelve
hours after birth it has a length of only
a little over one and one-fifth inches.
Its eyes are closed, its ears and nostrils
are only indicated, the limbs yet unformed.
There is not the slightest resemblance
between it and the mother.
For nearly eight months it is nourished
exclusively in the pouch. A considerable
time after it first peeps out of the
pouch the young one occasionally
leaves its refuge and roams about near
its mother, but for a long time it flees
back to the pouch whenever it apprehends
any danger. It approaches its
mother with long bounds and dives
headlong into the half-open pouch of
the quietly sitting female.</p>
<p>Numerous methods are employed to
exterminate the animals; they are shot
with fire-arms or coursed to death by
hounds, and that for very wantonness,
for the slain bodies are left to rot in
the woods. "That is the reason," says
an anonymous writer, "why the kangaroos
are already exterminated in the
environs of all larger cities and settlements;
and if this savage chase is permitted
to continue, it will not be long
ere they will be numbered among the
rarer animals in the interior also."</p>
<p>The kangaroo readily resigns itself
to confinement, and is easily maintained
on hay, green fodder, turnips,
grain, bread, and similar articles of
food. It does not require a specially
warm shelter in winter and breeds readily
if given proper care. At present it
is more rarely seen in confinement in
Europe and America than when it was
more numerous and easier to capture
in its native country. With good treatment
it survives a long time; specimens
have lived in Europe from ten to
twenty-five years.</p>
<p>The kangaroos are very dull in intellect,
even sheep being far superior to
them in this respect. Anything out of
the accustomed order confuses them,
for they are not capable of a rapid comprehension
of new surroundings. Every
impression they receive becomes clear
to them only gradually. Brehm says a
captive kangaroo becomes used to man
in general, but expresses doubt whether
it discriminates between its keeper and
other people.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><SPAN name="INVITATION_TO_THE_REDBREAST" id="INVITATION_TO_THE_REDBREAST"></SPAN> INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST.</h2>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Sweet bird, whom the winter constrains—</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And seldom another it can—</div>
<div class="verse">To seek a retreat—while he reigns</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man,</div>
<div class="verse">Who never can seem to intrude,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Though in all places equally free,</div>
<div class="verse">Come, oft as the season is rude,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Thou art sure to be welcome to me.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">At sight of the first feeble ray,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">That pierces the clouds of the east,</div>
<div class="verse">To inveigle thee every day</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">My windows shall show thee a feast.</div>
<div class="verse">For, taught by experience, I know</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Thee mindful of benefit long;</div>
<div class="verse">And that, thankful for all I bestow,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Thou wilt pay me with many a song.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Then, soon as the swell of the buds</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Bespeaks the renewal of spring,</div>
<div class="verse">Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Or where it shall please thee to sing:</div>
<div class="verse">And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Come again to my window or door,</div>
<div class="verse">Doubt not an affectionate host,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Only pay, as thou pay'dst me before.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Thus music must needs be confest</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">To flow from a fountain above;</div>
<div class="verse">Else how should it work in the breast</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Unchangeable friendship and love?</div>
<div class="verse">And who on the globe can be found,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Save your generation and ours,</div>
<div class="verse">That can be delighted by sound,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Or boasts any musical powers?</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Cowper.</i></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="FEATHERS" id="FEATHERS"></SPAN>FEATHERS.</h2>
<p class="ac">W. E. WATT.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">A splendid young blackbird built in a tree;</div>
<div class="verse">A spruce little fellow as ever could be;</div>
<div class="verse">His bill was so yellow, his feathers so black,</div>
<div class="verse">So long was his tail, and so glossy his back,</div>
<div class="verse">That good Mrs. B., who sat hatching her eggs,</div>
<div class="verse">And only just left them to stretch her poor legs,</div>
<div class="verse">And pick for a minute the worm she preferred,</div>
<div class="verse">Thought there never was seen such a beautiful bird.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>D. M. Mulock.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="poetry-container p1">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">Oh! Nature's noblest gift—my gray-goose quill!</div>
<div class="verse">Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,</div>
<div class="verse">Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,</div>
<div class="verse">The mighty instrument of little men!</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Byron.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_f.jpg" width-obs="59" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">FEATHERS have played an important
part in the history of
mankind. Henry of Navarre
won the battle of Ivry after electrifying
his men with the following
words: "Fellow soldiers, you are Frenchmen;
behold the enemy! If you lose
sight of your ensigns, rally round my
plume; you will always find it on the
high road to honor!"</p>
<p>No doubt the templars carried the
hearts of many with them in the crusades
more effectually because their
waving plumes gave them a picturesqueness
which inspired brave men
with courage and pious ones with holy
zeal.</p>
<p>Savages delight in adorning themselves
with feathers, and civilized women
have found their charms enhanced
by the placing of feathers against fair
skins until the close of the nineteenth
century finds a social struggle raging
through fear that the demands of fashion
may yet destroy from the face of
the earth its sweetest songsters and its
most beautifully plumed creatures.</p>
<p>Fans of feathers are admired the
world over. In warm countries huge
fans or screens made of beautiful
feathers are often carried to shade
royalty. In great processions the
Pope is followed by bearers of magnificent
fans of ostrich plumes. In the
Sandwich Islands for a long time the
enthroning of a new king was made
gorgeous by his wearing a garment of
many thousands of feathers; but recently,
as if in preparation for a union
with the United States, this state garment
was buried with the king and the
ceremony became simpler.</p>
<p>The noblest use to which feathers
have been adapted has been in the production
of writing instruments. The
antiquity of the pen, regarded as a
feather, is shown in the proof recently
set forth by the philologists. <i>Penna</i> is
the Latin for feather; farther back an
instrument for flying is called <i>patna</i>;
the Sanskrit which became <i>penna</i> in the
Latin tongue became <i>phathra</i> in the
mouths of the Teutonic peoples. So
the English language, which is formed
from both Latin and Teutonic elements,
possesses two words, <i>pen</i>, and <i>feather</i>,
which were one in their origin, have
been widely separated during the ages,
and now are united, but in such a way
that only under the microscope of comparative
grammar are we able to discover
that they have the same blood in
their veins.</p>
<p>Although the people living in warm
countries wrote with the reed, the Chinese
with a brush, and we have learned
to fashion steel so it will do the work
to better advantage, yet the feather has
been a mighty agency in the civilization
of the world.</p>
<p>Every teacher used to consider it
one of the essentials of his equipment
to possess a good penknife and know
how to use it in making or mending
pens for his pupils. Quills were first
carefully cleansed from all oily or fatty
matter and then dried. A gentle heat
was applied to secure the brittleness
which made it possible to split the pen
point without spoiling the quill.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>In Russia and in Holland quills were
dipped in boiling alum-water or diluted
nitric acid and then dried and clarified
in a bath of hot sand. Goose quills
were most used, turkey quills were
prized by many, and swan quills were
considered the best of all. Pens well
made from swan quills often sold as
high as four guineas a thousand, while
goose quill pens were to be had at
twenty shillings. For fine writing,
crow-quills were considered best, and
pen-and-ink drawings were generally
produced with the black-plumed article.</p>
<p>In 1832, to supplement the domestic
products in the manufacture of pens,
33,668,000 quills were imported into
England. The trade has not been entirely
killed by the advent of the steel
pen, for there are yet among us representatives
of the people of the olden
time who delight in the pretty little
squeak of the quill pen as it assists
them in their literary labors.</p>
<p>Man early learned to rob the birds of
their coverings, not only for adornment,
but also for warmth. Feather
beds were once reckoned as evidences
of wealth. Modern science has pointed
out the unhealthful condition of a bed
made soft and gaseous with feathers.
Few beds are now found of this sort
among the better-informed people of
America, but the traveler in the northern
countries of Europe not only has
to sleep on feathers but also under
them. The down coverlet is as essential
to a Danish bed as is clean
linen.</p>
<p>The newest palace of the German
emperor is furnished in accordance with
the Teutonic idea, and the visitor to the
palace at Strasburg, when his majesty
is not there, is shown his royal bed
room with its single bed and double
featherings.</p>
<p>Downy feathers grow most abundantly
on birds inhabiting cold regions.
Many young birds have an abundance
of downy feathers when first hatched.
In some cases it is well formed before
the egg is broken, firmly enclosed in a
tight roll of membrane to keep it dry.
On exposure to the air the membrane
bursts and the down wraps the nestling
in a comfortable coat.</p>
<p>The stronger feather sometimes
grows out of the same place as the
downy one in such a way that it
pushes out the down to the outside of
the plumage and the bird appears to
have his underwear outside his overcoat.</p>
<p>The best eider-down is so light that
three-quarters of an ounce of it will fill
a large hat. It is so elastic that two or
three pounds may be compressed into
a ball that may be held in the hand.</p>
<p>Some feathers have a second shaft
growing out of the end of the quill so
as to form a double feather, and in rare
instances there are two of these growths
from one quill, making a triple feather.</p>
<p>Birds are warmer blooded than other
animals. What is a dangerous fever
temperature in the blood of man, is
natural and ordinary in a bird. As
birds fly rapidly, they could not live
if they were perspiring creatures because
they would lose heat so fast.
Feathers protect them from the sudden
changes of temperature and loss of
heat and strength.</p>
<p>Feathers are important to the bird to
fly with; but even for this purpose they
are not absolutely necessary. There
are forms of animals that fly, as the bat
does, with their skin to beat the air.
There were once on the earth many
more skin-flying animals than there are
to-day.</p>
<p>Feathers are modifications of the
scarf-skin. Wherever the skin is exposed
to sun, wind, or water it is modified
in some way to contribute to the
well-being of the animal. The many
forms of feathers make a most fascinating
study.</p>
<p>A peculiar thing about them is that
they are not vascular. Vascular means
full of vessels. Almost everything that
grows is vascular. It has tubes to
carry in new material and little sacs or
large ones to store substance for new
growths. But dermal appendages, the
forms that grow out of the scarf-skin
and are modifications of it, are not vascular.
Take a feather two feet long,
and examine it to see how the feather
material was carried from the beginning
of the quill to the tip. You find
no veins and no circulation. Yet
feathers grow and their growth is quite
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</SPAN></span>
mysterious and not understood by the
wisest people.</p>
<p>The material of a feather consists of
cells that push each other out to their
destination. They change their forms as
they travel along, and their colors and
degrees of hardness change with their
going. They are composed of about
the same stuff that makes horns and
hoofs. Your finger nail is like a
feather in its growth and composition.
It is mostly albumen with some lime in
it. Albumen is the substance which
makes the white of eggs.</p>
<p>When the Mexican motmot trims his
two tail feathers with his beak, he
merely makes diamond cut diamond.
The material of the cutting instrument
is the same as that of the thing cut,
only somewhat harder.</p>
<p>When you consider how a feather
grows by pushing out its cells you must
wonder at the intelligence which guides
the cells to change their nature so as
to form the quill, the shaft, the after-shaft,
the barb, the barbules, and the
little hooks which hold them together.
More than this is the cause for admiration
seen in the regular change of pigment
contained in the cells, so the
feather shall have its beautiful colors
and accurate markings.</p>
<p>Along with the materials of the
feather is carried a little oil which
turns the water from the duck's back
and gives the feather its gloss. It
is thought by some that the fading of
feathers in museums where mounted
specimens are exposed to the action
of light is largely due to the loss
of this delicate oil. No enterprising
Yankee has come forward yet with a
patent for restoring this oil and giving
back to the thousands of musty and
dusty skins in our museums their original
brilliancy.</p>
<p>Every one wonders at the way feathers
keep their shape instead of getting
hopelessly ruffled. The little hooks
which hold the barbules together are
exceedingly strong and flexible. They
will yield and bend, but never break.
Even when torn apart from their hold
they can grasp again so as to restore
the injured feather to its former shape.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><SPAN name="VISION_AND_SCENT_OF_VULTURES" id="VISION_AND_SCENT_OF_VULTURES"></SPAN> VISION AND SCENT OF VULTURES.</h2>
<p class="ac">REV. R. T. NICHOL.</p>
<p><i>To the Editor of Birds and All Nature</i>:</p>
<p><span class="sc">Sir</span>: Are you not mistaken in the
assertion in your October number that
vultures, carrion-crows, etc., have such
keen scent that they can detect carcasses
and offal at a very great distance?</p>
<p>I was under the impression that
Wilson<SPAN name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></SPAN>
<SPAN href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</SPAN> had decided this forever, and
proved conclusively that their apparently
miraculous power of discovering
their proper food, was due to keenness
of vision, and not of the sense of smell.</p>
<p>The following extracts may be new
to some and interesting to all of your
readers: Under the head "<i>Vultur aura</i>,
Turkey Vulture," etc., I find:</p>
<p>"Observations on the supposed power
which vultures such as the turkey
vulture, are said to possess of scenting
carrion at a great distance.</p>
<p>"It has always appeared to us unaccountable
that birds of prey, as vultures,
could scent carcasses at such immense
distances, as they are said to
do. We were led to call in question
the accuracy of this opinion, on recollecting
the observations of some travelers,
who have remarked birds of prey
directing their course towards dead
animals floating in the rivers in India,
where the wind blows steadily from
one point of the compass for months
in succession. It was not easy to conceive
that the effluvium from a putrid
carcass in the water, could proceed in
direct opposition to the current of air,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</SPAN></span>
and affect the olfactory nerves of birds
at so many miles distant. We were
disposed to believe that these birds
were directed towards the carrion
rather by the sense of seeing than by
that of smelling. This opinion is confirmed
by the following observations
of our friend Audubon, communicated
to us by him some time ago for our
<i>Philosophical Journal</i>."</p>
<p>Here follows at length Audubon's
communication, from which I extract
the following passages:</p>
<p>"My <i>First Experiment</i> was as follows:
I procured a skin of our common deer,
entire to the hoofs, and stuffed it carefully
with dried grass until filled rather
above the natural size,—suffered the
whole to become perfectly dry and as
hard as leather—took it to the middle
of a large open field, and laid it down
upon its back with the legs up and apart,
as if the animal were dead and putrid.
I then retired about a few hundred
yards, and in the lapse of some minutes
a vulture coursing around the field,
tolerably high, espied the skin, sailed
directly towards it, and alighted within
a few yards of it. I ran immediately,
covered by a large tree, until within
about forty yards, and from that place
could spy the bird with ease. He approached
the skin, looked at it without
apparent suspicion, raised his tail
and voided itself freely (as you well
know all birds of prey in a wild state
generally do before feeding), then approaching
the eyes, that were here
solid globes of hard, dried, and painted
clay, attacked first one and then the
other, with, however, no farther advantage
than that of disarranging them.
This part was abandoned; the bird
walked to the other extremity of the
pretended animal, and there, with
much exertion, tore the stitches apart,
until much fodder and hay were pulled
out; but no flesh could the bird find or
smell; he was intent on finding some
where none existed, and, after reiterated
efforts, all useless, he took flight,
coursed round the field, when, suddenly
turning and falling, I saw him
kill a small garter snake and swallow
it in an instant. The vulture rose
again, sailed about, and passed several
times quite low over the stuffed deer-skin,
as if loth to abandon so good-looking
a prey.</p>
<p>"Judge of my feelings when I plainly
saw that the vulture, which could not
discover through its extraordinary
sense of smell that no flesh, either
fresh or putrid, existed about that skin,
could at a glance see a snake scarcely
as large as a man's finger, alive, and
destitute of odor, hundreds of yards
distant. I concluded that, at all events,
his ocular powers were much better
than his sense of smell.</p>
<p>"<i>Second Experiment.</i>—I had a large
dead hog hauled some distance from
the house and put into a ravine, about
twenty feet deeper than the surface of
the earth around it, narrow and winding
much, filled with briars and high
cane. In this I made the negroes conceal
the hog, by binding cane over it,
until I thought it would puzzle either
buzzards, carrion-crows, or any other
birds to see it, and left it for two days.
This was early in the month of July,
when, in this latitude, a body becomes
putrid and extremely fetid in a short
time. I saw from time to time many
vultures, in search of food, sail over
the field and ravine in all directions,
but none discovered the carcass, although
during this time several dogs
had visited it and fed plentifully on it.
I tried to go near it, but the smell was
so insufferable when within thirty
yards of it that I abandoned it, and the
remnants were entirely destroyed at
last through natural decay.</p>
<p>"I then took a young pig, put a knife
through its neck, and made it bleed on
the earth and grass about the same,
and, having covered it closely with
leaves, also watched the result. The
vultures saw the fresh blood, alighted
about it, followed it down into the
ravine, discovered by the blood of the
pig, and devoured it, when yet quite
fresh, within my sight."</p>
<p>He pursues the subject at some
length, recounting other experiments;
but these, were they not even given
on the authority of Audubon—<i>clarum
et venerabile nomen</i>—seem to me
to be conclusive.</p>
<p class="ar"><i>22 Irving place, New York</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="footnotes">
<h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></SPAN>
<SPAN href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></SPAN>
When I said "Wilson" above I find I was slightly
mistaken. I remembered reading it long ago in
the first edition I possessed of this writer's works—the
little four-volume set edited by Prof. Jameson for
"Constable's Miscellany," Edinburgh, 1831, and taking
down the book now, which I have not opened for years,
I find the passages in question (Vol. iv, pp. 245 <i>et seq.</i>)
form part of an appendix drawn from Richardson
and Swainson's "Northern Zoology," and that the
real authority is Audubon.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="HOARY BAT." summary="HOARY BAT.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_045.jpg" id="i_045.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_045.jpg" width="600" height="415" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">HOARY BAT.<br/>
½ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1899,<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_HOARY_BAT" id="THE_HOARY_BAT"></SPAN>THE HOARY BAT.</h2>
<p class="ac">C. C. M.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_a.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">A VERY singular animal is the bat,
and seems to belong to several
classes and orders. The specimen
we present here (<i>Atalapha
cinerea</i>) is very rare in this part of the
country, and was taken in Lincoln Park,
Chicago. It flies through the air like
a bird and, possessing mammæ like the
quadrupeds, suckles its young. The
double jaw is provided with three
kinds of teeth. With the canines and
incisors it tears its prey like carnivorous
animals, and with the molars or
grinders it cracks nuts like rodents,
which it resembles in the narrow, oval
form of its head. An imperfect quadruped
when on the ground, it drags
itself along, embarrassed by the mantle
of its wings, which fold up around its
legs like an umbrella when closed.
When it undertakes to fly it does so in
an awkward manner. It first crawls
painfully along, and with great difficulty
extends its long fingers, spreading
out the membrane which covers
and binds them together. The ungainly
creature then quickly flaps its
broad wings, tough as leather, but thin
and transparent; a bird without plumage,
it now flies abroad in pursuit of
insects—nocturnal like itself—or in
search of ripe fruit, to which some species
are particularly destructive.</p>
<p>None of the bats like to raise themselves
into the air from a perfectly level
surface, and, therefore, use all their
endeavors to climb to some elevated
spot, from whence they may launch
themselves into the air. They climb
with great ease and rapidity, being able
to hitch their sharp and curved claws
into the least roughness that may present
itself, and can thus ascend a perpendicular
wall with perfect ease and
security. In so doing they crawl backward,
raising their bodies against the
tree or wall which they desire to scale,
and drawing themselves up by the
alternate use of the hinder feet. When
they have attained a moderate height,
they are able to fling themselves easily
into the air and to take immediate
flight. They have the power of rising
at once from the ground, but always
prefer to let themselves fall from some
elevated spot. One reason why bats
take their repose suspended by their
hind feet is said to be that they are
then in the most favorable position for
taking to the air. There may be, and
probably are, other reasons for the
curious reversed attitude. Even among
the birds examples are found of a similar
mode of repose. Members of the
genus <i>Colius</i>, an African group of birds,
sleep suspended like the bats, clinging
with their feet and hanging with their
heads downward. But these birds cannot
assume this attitude for the purpose
of taking flight, as their wings are
used as readily as those of most other
feathered creatures, and, therefore,
there must be other reasons to account
for the strange attitude.</p>
<p>The more closely we approach the
torrid zone, it is said, the greater is the
number of bats and the richer their
variety. The South is the native country
of the majority of wing-handed
animals. Even in Italy, Greece, and
Spain, the number of bats is surprising.
There, according to Brehm, who studied
them industriously, as evening draws
nigh they come out of their nooks and
corners not by hundreds but by thousands.
Out of every house, every old
stone wall, every rocky hollow they
flutter, as if a great army were preparing
for a parade, and the entire horizon is
literally filled with them. The swarms
of bats one sees in a hot country are
astonishing. They darken the sky.
Everywhere there is a living and moving
mass flying through the trees or
gardens and groves. Through the
streets of the town, through houses and
rooms flits the moving train. Hundreds
are constantly appearing and disappearing
and one is always surrounded
by a hovering swarm.</p>
<p>A feature of the wings of bats, is a
highly elastic skin. The outer layer is
constantly kept pliable by anointing
with an oily liquid, secreted by glands
in the animal's face. The structure of
the hair is also remarkable, as each
thread presents under the microscope
a screw-like appearance.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_COMING_OF_SPRING" id="THE_COMING_OF_SPRING"></SPAN>THE COMING OF SPRING.</h2>
<p class="ac">E. E. BENTON.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_n.jpg" width-obs="56" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">NO ONE perhaps ever lived who
excelled Henry D. Thoreau as
a general observer of nature.
He patiently and with minute
care examined both animate and inanimate
creation, and wrote down an accurate
account of his observations,
noting particularly the effects produced
by the changes in the seasons.
He worked diligently to discover the
first sign of spring, with results not
wholly satisfactory. In one place he
asks: "What is the earliest sign of
spring? The motions of worms and
insects? The flow of sap in trees and
the swelling of buds? Do not the insects
awake with the flow of the sap?
Bluebirds, etc., probably do not come
till the insects come out. Or are there
earlier signs in the water, the tortoises,
frogs, etc.?"</p>
<p>He found that whenever there was a
warm spell during the winter some
forms of vegetation, particularly the
grasses and water plants, would begin
to grow, and some would even bloom
in favorable locations, as the skunk
cabbage. He did not fully settle the
question as to what would begin to
grow first in the spring, whether it was
the catkins of the swamp willow or the
stems and leaves of the equisetum in
the pool, or something else.</p>
<p>A list of the most striking phenomena
observed by Thoreau in early
spring is given below, and is extracted
from his journals, written when he
lived near Boston, during the years
1840 to 1860. In each case the earliest
date mentioned by Thoreau is given,
there being a difference of about a
month between the earliest and latest
spring. Many of these phenomena
and the order in which they occur are
common to a large extent of country,
including the eastern and northern
central states. Thus, the skunk cabbage
is the first flower in all this
region. A few notes are added, showing
variations.</p>
<p>February 21—Sap of the red maple
flowing. This was in 1857. It does
not usually flow until the second week
in March.</p>
<p>February 23—Yellow-spotted tortoise
seen.</p>
<p>February 24—The bluebird, "angel
of the spring," arrives; also the song-sparrow.
The <i>phebe</i> or spring note of
the chickadee, a winter bird, heard.</p>
<p>"The bluebird and song-sparrow sing
immediately on their arrival, and
hence deserve to enjoy some preëminence.
They give expression to the
joy which the season inspires, but the
robin and blackbird only peep and
<i>tchuck</i> at first, commonly, and the lark
is silent and flitting. The bluebird at
once fills the air with his sweet warbling,
and the song-sparrow, from the
top of a rail, pours forth his most joyous
strain."</p>
<p>March 1—The catkins of the willow
and aspen appear to have started to grow.</p>
<p>March 2—The caltha, or cowslip,
found growing in water.</p>
<p>The skunk cabbage in bloom in
warm, moist grounds.</p>
<p>March 5—The red maple and elm
buds expanded.</p>
<p>The spring note of the nut-hatch
heard: <i>To-what, what, what, what,
what</i>, rapidly repeated, instead of the
usual <i>quah quah</i> of this winter bird.</p>
<p>March 6—The gyrinus (water-bug)
seen in the brook.</p>
<p>First blackbird seen.</p>
<p>Green sprouts of the sassafras, hazel,
blueberry, and swamp-pink found.</p>
<p>March 7—Fuzzy gnats in the air.</p>
<p>First robins.</p>
<p>Spring note of the shrike heard,
probably silent during the winter.</p>
<p>March 8—Willow buds expanded.
Sap flowing in the white pine.</p>
<p>Flock of grackles seen.</p>
<p>Radical leaves of the golden-rods
and asters in water, growing decidedly.</p>
<p>March 9—Ducks seen.</p>
<p>March 10—Poplar and willow catkins
started; also equisetum (horse-tail),
saxifrage, and probably other
water plants. The butter-cup found
growing.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Shimmering in the air noticed,
caused by evaporation; water in the
brooks, "clear, placid, and silvery,"
both phenomena of spring.</p>
<p>March 12—Poplar catkins in bloom.</p>
<p>First meadow-lark seen.</p>
<p>March 14—Wild geese seen.</p>
<p>Fox-colored sparrows seen.</p>
<p>March 15—Grass growing in water.</p>
<p>Wood, or croaking frog heard; "the
earliest voice of the liquid pools."</p>
<p>March 16—The first phebe bird
heard. Gulls and sheldrakes seen.</p>
<p>March 17—Grass green on south
bank-sides.</p>
<p>The first flicker and red-wing seen;
also a striped squirrel; also some kind
of fly.</p>
<p>March 18—The skunk cabbage, in
moist grounds, abundantly in bloom,
attracting the first honey-bees, who,
directed by a wonderful instinct, leave
their homes and wing their way, perhaps
for miles, to find this first flower.
This seems all the more remarkable
when it is considered that the honey-bee
is an introduced, not a native insect.</p>
<p>March 19—The first shiners seen in
the brook.</p>
<p>March 20—Pussy-willow catkins in
full bloom.</p>
<p>"The tree-sparrow is perhaps the
sweetest and most melodious warbler
at present."</p>
<p>"The fishes are going up the brooks
as they open."</p>
<p>March 21—The garden chickweed in
bloom.</p>
<p>The ground-squirrel's first chirrup
heard, a sure sign, according to some
old worthies, of decided spring
weather.</p>
<p>The hyla, or tree-frog, begins to peep.</p>
<p>"The woods are comparatively silent.
Not yet the woodland birds, except
(perhaps the woodpecker, so far as it
migrates) only the orchard and river
birds have arrived."</p>
<p>March 23—The white maple in bloom
and the aspen nearly so; the alders are
generally in full bloom. "The crimson-starred
flowers of the hazel begin
to peep out."</p>
<p>March 24—Shore-larks seen.</p>
<p>March 28—Buff-edged butterflies
seen.</p>
<p>March 31—The small red butterfly
seen.</p>
<p>April 5—Swallows appear, pewee
heard, and snipe seen.</p>
<p>April 6—Cowslips nearly in bloom.</p>
<p>April 7—Gold-finches seen; also the
purple finch.</p>
<p>April 8—Pine warbler seen.</p>
<p>The epigæa (trailing arbutus) nearly
in bloom. "The earliest peculiarly
woodland,<SPAN name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></SPAN>
<SPAN href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</SPAN> herbaceous flowers are
epigæa, anemone, thalictrum (or
meadow rue), and, by the first of May,
the violet."</p>
<p>April 9—Cowslips<SPAN name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></SPAN>
<SPAN href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</SPAN> (not a woodland
flower) in bloom, "the first conspicuous
herbaceous flower, for that of the
skunk cabbage is concealed in its
spathe."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="footnotes">
<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></SPAN>
<SPAN href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></SPAN>
<span class="sc">Note.</span>—Further to the west and extending at
least to Wisconsin, the following list of early woodland
flowers may take the place of the above, blooming
in the order given: Erigenia (or harbinger of
spring), hepatica, bloodroot, and dog-tooth violet,
or perhaps the dicentra (Dutchman's breeches) may
come before the last.</p>
<p>The skunk cabbage, which is not a woodland
flower, and therefore not included in the above list, is
the first flower probably in all New England and the
northern states.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></SPAN>
<SPAN href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></SPAN>
<span class="sc">Note.</span>—In the West several conspicuous flowers,
particularly the pretty hepatica, precede the cowslip.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><SPAN name="THE_NASHVILLE_WARBLER" id="THE_NASHVILLE_WARBLER"></SPAN> THE NASHVILLE WARBLER.<br/> <span class="xx-smaller"><span style="font-weight:lighter;"> (<i>Helminthophila rubricapilla.</i>)</span></span></h2>
<p class="ac">LYNDS JONES.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE Nashville warbler is common
during the migrations in many
parts of the country, but seems
to be scarce or entirely wanting locally.
Thus, in Lorain county, Ohio, as well
as in Poweshiek county, Iowa, it is
always one of the commonest warblers
during the first and second weeks of
May, and again during the second and
third weeks of September, while it is
not reported from Wayne county, Ohio,
by Mr. Harry C. Oberholser in his
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</SPAN></span>
"List of the Birds of Wayne county,
Ohio." There are other instances of its
rarity or absence from restricted localities.
Its range extends from the Atlantic
ocean west to eastern Nebraska, and
north into Labrador and the fur countries,
occasionally wandering even to
Greenland. It winters in the tropics
south of the United States.</p>
<p>In the northward migration it reaches
Texas about the third week in April
and Manitoba near the end of the first
week in May, thus passing completely
across the country in about three
weeks. A careful computation proves
that the average rate at which this warbler
traveled across the country, in the
spring of 1885, was nearly forty miles a
day. A single year, however, might
show a considerable departure from the
normal rate of migration. This instance
is given to show any who may
not be familiar with the phenomena of
bird migration that small birds, at least,
do not perform their whole migration
in a single flight, but rest a good deal
by the way.</p>
<p>The migrating Nashville warblers, in
my experience, prefer the outskirts of
the larger woods, but may be found
anywhere in the smaller woods, preferring
the middle branches, rarely
ascending to the tree-tops, not seldom
gleaning near the ground in the underbrush,
or even among the leaves on the
ground. They are by no means confined
to the woods, but glean as boldly
and sing as cheerfully among the fruit
and shade trees in town, but they are
more numerous in the woods.</p>
<p>The song has been compared to that
of the chestnut-sided warbler and the
chipping sparrow combined. To my
ear the Nashville warbler's song is
enough unlike the song of any other
bird to be easily recognized after a single
hearing. Rev. J. H. Langille's rendering:
"<i>Ke tsee, ke tsee, ke tsee,
chip ee, chip ee, chip ee, chip</i>," is a
close approximation, but seems somewhat
lacking in the true expression of
the first part of the song. My note
book renders it thus: "<i>K tsip, k tsip,
k tsip, k tsip, chip ee, chip ee, chip ee,
chip</i>." The first part of the song is thus
halting, with a considerable pause between
the phrases, while the last part
is uttered more rapidly and with little
effort. This song, issuing from the
trees in every direction, is always
closely associated in the writer's mind
with the early morning hours, the dripping
trees and the sweet incense of the
flower-decked woods and bursting buds.</p>
<p>While feeding, these warblers often
gather into groups of a dozen or twenty
individuals, and may be associated with
other species, thus forming a considerable
company. The warbler student is
familiar with the waves of warblers and
other small birds which range through
the woods, now appearing in a bewildering
flutter of a hundred wings, now
disappearing in their eager quest for a
lunch of insects.</p>
<p>The breeding-range of this warbler
extends as far south as Connecticut in
the East, and Michigan and Minnesota,
if not northern Iowa in the West, and
north to the limit of its range. In common
with the other members of this
genus, the Nashville warbler nests on
the ground, usually in a spot well protected
by dried grasses and other litter
of the previous year's growth, often in
a tangle of shrubs, ferns and bushes.
The nest is sometimes sunk flush with
the surface, and is composed of grasses,
mosses, pine needles, strips of bark and
leaves, lined with finer material of the
same sort and with hair-like rootlets,
the composition varying with the locality.
The eggs are pure white or
creamy-white, marked with spots and
dots of reddish-brown and the usual
lilac shell-markings, which are grouped
more or less around the larger end.
They are four or five in number, and
average about .61 × .48 of an inch.</p>
<p>The spring males may readily be recognized
in the bush by their small size,
by the bright yellow underparts, by
their ashy heads and back, and by their
habit of feeding in the middle branches
of the trees down to the underbrush.
The concealed rufous spot on the crown,
from which the bird takes its scientific
specific name, can rarely be seen in the
live bird, no doubt chiefly because the
bird is perpetually above you.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="NASHVILLE WARBLER." summary="NASHVILLE WARBLER.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_056.jpg" id="i_056.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_056.jpg" width="446" height="600" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">NASHVILLE WARBLER.<br/>
Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1899,<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="CHIEF_SIMON_POKAGON" id="CHIEF_SIMON_POKAGON"></SPAN>CHIEF SIMON POKAGON.</h2>
<p class="ac">C. C. MARBLE.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">Gather him to his grave again,</div>
<div class="verse indent-1_5">And solemnly and softly lay</div>
<div class="verse">Beneath the verdure of the plain,</div>
<div class="verse indent-1_5">The warrior's scattered bones away.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Bryant.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE subject of this brief sketch
died, January —, 1899, at an
advanced age. He was a full-blood
Indian, and a hereditary
chief of the Pottowattomies. As author
of "The Red Man's Greeting,"
a booklet made of white birch bark
and entitled by the late Prof. Swing,
"The Red Man's Book of Lamentations,"
he has been called the "Red-skin
poet, bard, and Longfellow of his
race." He himself said that his object
in having the book printed on the
bark of the white birch tree was out of
loyalty to his people, and "gratitude to
the Great Spirit, who in his wisdom
provided for our use for untold generations
this remarkable tree with manifold
bark used by us instead of paper,
being of greater value to us as it could
not be injured by sun or water."
Out of the bark of this wonderful tree
were made hats, caps, and dishes for
domestic use, "while our maidens tied
with it the knot that sealed their marriage
vow." Wigwams were made
of it, as well as large canoes that out-rode
the violent storms on lake and
sea. It was also used for light and fuel
at the Indian war councils and spirit
dances. Originally the shores of the
northern lakes and streams were fringed
with it and evergreen, and the "white
charmingly contrasted with the green
mirrored from the water was indeed
beautiful, but like the red man, this
tree is vanishing from our forests." He
quotes the sad truth:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">"Alas for us! Our day is o'er,</div>
<div class="verse">Our fires are out from shore to shore;</div>
<div class="verse">No more for us the wild deer bounds—</div>
<div class="verse">The plow is on our hunting grounds.</div>
<div class="verse">The pale-man's sail skims o'er the floods;</div>
<div class="verse">Our pleasant springs are dry;</div>
<div class="verse">Our children look, by power oppressed,</div>
<div class="verse">Beyond the mountains of the west—</div>
<div class="verse">Our children go—to die."</div>
</div></div>
<p>The dedication of the little book is
characteristic of the grateful appreciation
of a man of lofty spirit, who was
acquainted with the history and traditions
of his race. It is: "To the memory
of William Penn, Roger Williams,
the late lamented Helen Hunt Jackson,
and many others now in heaven, who
conceived that noble spirit of justice
which recognizes the brotherhood of
the red man, and to all others now living
defenders of our race, I most gratefully
dedicate this tribute of the forest."</p>
<p>Chief Pokagon's father sold the site of
Chicago and the surrounding country
to the United States in 1833 for three
cents an acre. Chief Simon was the
first red man to visit Mr. Lincoln after
his inauguration as president. In a
letter written home at the time, he
said: "I have met Lincoln, the great
chief; he is very tall, has a sad face, but
he is a good man; I saw it in his eyes
and felt it in his hand-grasp. He will
help us get payment for Chicago land."
Soon after this visit to Washington a
payment of $39,000 was made by the
government.</p>
<p>In 1874 he visited President Grant,
of whom he said: "I expected he
would put on military importance, but
he treated me kindly, gave me a cigar,
and we smoked the pipe of peace together."</p>
<p>In 1893 the chief secured judgment
against the United States for over $100,000,
which still remained due on the
sale of Chicago land by his father.
This judgment was paid and the money
divided pro rata among members of
the tribe, who soon dissipated it, however,
and became as great a charge
upon the chief as ever.</p>
<p>Pokagon was honored on Chicago
Day at the World's Fair by first ringing
the new Bell of Liberty and
speaking in behalf of his race to the
greatest multitude, it is believed, ever
assembled in one inclosure. After his
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</SPAN></span>
speech, "Glory Hallelujah" was sung
before the bell for the first time on the
fair grounds. The little book, "The
Red Man's Greeting," above referred
to, was prepared for this occasion and
read for the first time. It was well received,
and many papers referred to it
in terms of extravagance. It was undoubtedly
full of eloquence characteristic
of the aborigines.</p>
<p>Chief Pokagon's contributions to
bird literature have been numerous and
original. That he was a lover of nature
is manifest through all his writings.
And he was a humane man, like Johnny
Appleseed, after quoting:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">"An inadvertent step may crush the snail</div>
<div class="verse">That crawls at evening in the public path;</div>
<div class="verse">But he that hath humanity, forewarn'd,</div>
<div class="verse">Will tread aside, and let the reptile live."</div>
</div></div>
<p>"In early life," he says, "I was deeply
mortified as I witnessed the grand old
forests of Michigan, under whose shades
my forefathers lived and died, falling
before the cyclone of civilization as before
the prairie fire. In those days I
traveled thousands of miles along our
winding trails, through the wild solitude
of the unbroken forest, listening
to the song of the woodland birds, as
they poured forth their melodies from
the thick foliage above and about me.
Very seldom now do I catch one familiar
note from those early warblers
of the woods. They have all passed
away, but with feelings of the deepest
gratitude I now listen to the songs of
other birds which have come with the
advance of civilization. They are with
us all about our homes and, like the
wild-wood birds which our fathers
used to hold their breath to hear, they
sing in concert, without pride, without
envy, without jealousy—alike in forest
and field; alike before the wigwam and
the castle; alike for savage and for sage;
alike for beggar and for prince; alike
for chief and for king."</p>
<p>Writing of the wild goose, he says:
"I begged my father to try and catch
me a pair of these birds alive, that I
might raise a flock of them. He finally
promised me he would try, and
made me pledge myself to kindly care
for them. He made me a stockade
park to put them in, enclosing one-half
acre of land. One corner ran into
the lake, so as to furnish plenty of
water for the prospective captives. He
then made a brush box, three feet
square, trimming it with rice straw from
the lake and left it at the water's edge
for future use. He then waded into
the lake where geese were in the habit
of feeding, finding the water nowhere
above his chin. On the following
morning a flock was seen feeding in the
lake. We went quietly to the shore;
father placed the box over his head and
waded carefully into the water. Soon
I could see only the box; it appeared
to be floating and drifted by the wind
toward the geese. At length it moved
in among the great birds. I held my
breath, fearing they would fly away.
Soon I saw one disappear, then another,
both sinking like lead into the water.
Not a sound could I hear. The rice
box began to slowly drift back. On
nearing the shore father emerged from
it with a live goose under each arm.
They seemed the most beautiful creatures
I had ever seen." The young
chief in three years raised a fine flock
of geese, which, he says, he treated as
prisoners of war, and was as kind to as
a mother to her children. He taught
them to eat corn from his hand and
each one to recognize a name given to
it. After the first year he gave them
their liberty, except in fall and spring,
when they were determined to migrate.
If he let them out with wings clipped,
so they could not fly, they would start
on the journey afoot for the south or
northland according to the time of
year.</p>
<p>It is believed that the old chief left
behind him many interesting manuscripts.
One of thirty thousand words
is known to the present writer. It is
autobiographical and historical of the
Pottowattomie tribe of Indians, and
will doubtless be printed, sooner or
later, if not on white birch bark, then
on good white paper.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="NATURE_AT_FIRST_HAND" id="NATURE_AT_FIRST_HAND"></SPAN>NATURE AT FIRST HAND.</h2>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">When beauty, blushing, from her bed</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Arose to bathe in morning dew,</div>
<div class="verse">The sun, just lifting up his head,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The vision saw and back withdrew</div>
<div class="verse">Behind a cloud, with edges red:</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">"Till beauty," then he coyly said,</div>
<div class="verse">"Shall veil her peerless form divine</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">I may not let my glory shine."</div>
<div class="verse ar">C. C. M.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_a.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">AS TO the pleasures derived from
pursuing the science of ornithology
in nature's interminable
range, there are delights the
field ornithologist experiences quite
unknown to his stay-at-home namesake.
For instance, what a thrill of pride
courses through him as he clings to the
topmost branches of the tallest pine
tree, making himself acquainted with
the rude cradle of the sparrow-hawk;
or when examining the beautiful and
richly marked eggs of the windhover,
laid bare and nestless in the magpie's old
abode, some sixty feet or more in the
branches of a towering oak. When, if
ever, do our closet naturalists inspect
these lovely objects in their elevated
cradle? Again, how elated the field
naturalist will feel when, after hours of
patient watching, he gets a sight of a
troop of timid jays, or the woodpecker,
busy in his search for food on some
noble tree! How elated when, scaling
the cliff's rugged side in search of sea
birds' eggs, or tramping over the wild
and barren moor, he flushes the snipe
or ring ousel from its heathery bed,
or startles the curlew from its meal in
the fathomless marsh! We might enlarge
upon this subject <i>ad infinitum</i>, but
to a field naturalist these pleasures are
well known, and to the closet personage
uncared for. Suffice it to say, that
he who takes nature for his tutor
will experience delights indescribable
from every animate and inanimate object
of the universe; from the tiny
blade of grass to the largest forest
tree—the tiniest living atom, seemingly
without form or purpose, to its gigantic
relation of much higher development.
The pages of nature's mighty book are
unrolled to the view of every man who
cares to haunt her sanctuaries. The
doctrine it teaches is universal, pregnant
with truth, endless in extent, eternal
in duration, and full of the widest
variety: Upon the earth it is illustrated
by endless forms beautiful and grand,
and in the trackless ether above, the
stars and suns and moons gild its immortal
pages.—<i>Rural Bird-Life in England.</i></p>
<p>The aspects of nature change ceaselessly,
by day and by night, through
the seasons of the year, with every difference
in latitude and longitude; and
endless are the profusion and variety
of the results which illustrate the
operation of her laws. But, let the
productions of different climes and
countries be never so unlike, she works
by the same methods; the spirit of her
teachings never changes; nature herself
is always the same, and the same
wholesome, satisfying lessons are to be
learned in the contemplation of any of
her works. We may change our skies,
but not our minds, in crossing the sea
to gain a glimpse of that bird-life which
finds its exact counterpart in our own
woods and fields, at the very threshold
of our own homes.—<i>Coues.</i></p>
<p>The boy was right, in a certain sense,
when he said that he knew nature when
she passed. Alone, he had hunted
much in the woods day and night. He
knew the tall trees that were the coons'
castles, and the high hills of the 'possum's
rambles. He had a quick eye
for the smooth holes where the squirrels
hid or the leafy hammocks where
they dozed the heated hours away.
The tangles where the bob-whites
would stand and sun themselves stood
out to him at a glance, and when the
ruffed grouse drummed he knew his
perch and the screens to dodge behind
as he crept up on him.—<i>Baskett.</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_QUAILS_QUADRILLE" id="THE_QUAILS_QUADRILLE"></SPAN>THE QUAILS' QUADRILLE.</h2>
<p class="ac">BY MRS. A. S. HARDY.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_o.jpg" width-obs="57" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">ONE who loves the birds and is so
much in sympathy with them
as to make it appear sometimes
that they have taken her
into their "order," had a charming
glimpse, a few years ago, of a covey of
quails in one of their frolics. She described
it as follows:</p>
<p>"I never hear the call of 'Ah, Bob
White!' or catch a glimpse of those
shy little vocalists, that I do not think
of how I once surprised them in the
prettiest dance I ever saw. I had heard
of the games and the frolics of birds
and have often watched them with delight,
but I never saw any bird-play
that interested me as this, that seemed
like a quadrille of a little company of
quails.</p>
<p>"They were holding their pretty
carnival at the side of a country road
along which I was slowly strolling, and
I came in sight of them so quietly as
to be for a time unobserved, although
they had two little sentinels posted—one
at each end of the company.</p>
<p>"Between these bright-eyed little
watchers, always on the alert, a dozen or
more birds were tip-toeing in a square.
Every motion was with all the grace
and harmony which are nature's own.
At some little bird-signal which I didn't
see, two birds advanced from diagonal
corners of the square, each bird tripping
along with short, airy and graceful
steps, something like what we
imagine characterized the old-time
'minuet.' Each bird, as the partners
came near each other, bobbed its head
in a graceful little bow, and both tripped
back as they came to their places
in the square. Immediately the birds
from the two other corners advanced
with the same airy grace, the same
short, quick, and tripping steps, saluting
and retreating as the others had
done.</p>
<p>"A wagon driven along the road disturbed
the band of dancers, who scudded
away under leaves, through the fence,
into the deep grass of the field beyond.
When the team had passed out
of sight and the ball-room was again
their own, back came the pretty revelers
stealthily, their brown heads uplifted
as their bright eyes scanned the
landscape. Seeing no intruder, they
again took their places the same as
before and began again the same quadrille—advancing,
meeting, bowing, and
retreating.</p>
<p>"It was the prettiest and most graceful
little 'society affair' you can imagine!
There was no music—no song
that I could hear—yet every little bird
in every turn and step while the dance
was on, moved as to a measured harmony.</p>
<p>"Did the birds keep 'time—time, in
a sort of runic rhyme' to melody in
their hearts, or to a symphony, I
could not hear, but which goes up
unceasingly like a hymn of praise from
nature's great orchestra? I longed to
know.</p>
<p>"In my delight and desire to learn
more of the bewitching bird-play, I
half forgot I was a clumsy woman, and
an unconscious movement betrayed my
presence. The little sentinel nearest
me quickly lifted his brown head, and
spying me gave his signal—how, I
could not guess, for not a sound was
uttered; but all the dancers stretched
their little necks an instant and sped
away. In a moment the ground was
cleared and the dancers came not
back."</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="ENGLISH GRAPES." summary="ENGLISH GRAPES.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_069.jpg" id="i_069.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_069.jpg" width="473" height="600" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">PRESENTED BY LOUIS G. KUNZE.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">.<br/>
⅔ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1899,<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_GRAPE" id="THE_GRAPE"></SPAN>THE GRAPE.</h2>
<p class="ac">C. C. M.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE name grape is from the
French <i>grappe</i>, a bunch of
grapes; from the same root as
<i>gripe</i> or <i>grab</i>, to grasp. It is
one of the most valuable fruits, not
only because of its use in the manufacture
of wine, and is the source also
from which brandy, vinegar, and tartaric
acid are obtained, but because,
both in a fresh and dried state, it forms
not a mere article of luxury, but a
great part of the food of the inhabitants
of some countries.</p>
<p>The cultivation of the vine was introduced
into England by the Romans,
and of late years its cultivation has
much increased in gardens, on the walls
of suburban villas and of cottages, but
chiefly for the sake of the fresh fruit,
although wine is also made in small
quantities for domestic use.</p>
<p>The first attempt at the culture of
the vine in the United States for wine-making
was in Florida in 1564; and another
was made by the British colonist
in 1620. In Delaware wine was made
from native grapes as early as 1648.
In 1683 William Penn engaged in the
cultivation of the vine near Philadelphia,
but with only partial success. In
1825 the Catawba vine, a native of
North Carolina, came into prominence;
and it was afterward cultivated extensively
near Cincinnati by Nicholas
Longworth, who has been called the
father of this culture in the United
States. In 1858 the entire production
of Catawba wine in Ohio amounted to
400,000 gallons. In the states east of
the Rocky mountains the greatest extent
of territory in vineyards occurs
in Ohio, New York, Missouri, Pennsylvania,
Illinois, Iowa, and Kansas, but
at present they exist in nearly every
state in the Union. Of all of the states,
however, California is the most important
for vine-growing. The vineyards
were first cultivated there during
the middle of the last century, the first
grape planted being the Los Angeles,
which was the only one grown till
1820.</p>
<p>The cultivation of the vine varies
much in different countries. In the vineries
of Britain the vines are carefully
trained in various ways so as most completely
to cover the walls and trellises
and to turn the whole available space
to the utmost account. The luxuriant
growth of the plant renders the frequent
application of the pruning-knife
necessary during the summer. The
bunches of grapes are generally thinned
out with great care, in order that finer
fruit may be produced. By such means,
and the aid of artificial heat, grapes
are produced equal to those of the
most favored climates, and the vine
attains to a large size and a great age.
The famous vine at Hampton Court
has a stem more than a foot in circumference,
one branch measuring one hundred
and fourteen feet in length, and
has produced in one season two thousand
two hundred bunches of grapes,
weighing on an average one pound
each, or in all about a ton.</p>
<hr class="small" />
<p>About 250 years ago Dr. Power attributed
the fly's locomotive power to
"a furry kind of substance like little
sponges with which she hath lined the
soles of her feet, which substance is
also repleated with a whitish viscous
liquor, which she can at pleasure
squeeze out, and so sodder and be-glue
herself to the place she walks on,
which otherwise her gravity would hinder,
especially when she walks in those
inverted positions." Scientific men
refused to believe this explanation,
and taught that the bottom of a fly's
foot resembled the leather sucker used
by boys to lift stones, and that this
formation enabled it to move back
downwards. However it has been
proved that Dr. Power was right in
every point but the sticky nature of
the liquid that exudes from the fly's
foot. This substance is not sticky, and
the attachment which it causes is
brought about by capillary attraction.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="PROSE_POEMS_OF_IVAN_TURGENIEF" id="PROSE_POEMS_OF_IVAN_TURGENIEF"></SPAN> PROSE POEMS OF IVAN TURGENIEF.</h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_i.jpg" width-obs="24" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">I DREAMED that I stepped into a
vast, subterranean, highly arched
hall. A brilliant light illuminated
it. In the middle of this hall was
seated the majestic figure of a woman,
clothed in a green robe that fell in
many folds around her. Her head
rested upon her hand; she seemed to
be sunk in deep meditation. Instantly
I comprehended that this woman must
be nature herself, and a sudden feeling
of respectful terror stole into my awed
soul. I approached the woman, and,
saluting her with reverence, said:</p>
<p>"O mother of us all, on what dost
thou meditate? Thinkest thou, perchance,
on the future fate of humanity,
or of the path along which mankind
must journey in order to attain the
highest possible perfection—the highest
happiness?"</p>
<p>The woman slowly turned her dark,
threatening eyes upon me. Her lips
moved and, in a tremendous, metallic
voice she replied:</p>
<p>"I was pondering how to bestow
greater strength upon the muscles of
the flea's legs, so that it may more rapidly
escape from its enemies. The balance
between attack and flight is deranged;
it must be readjusted."</p>
<p>"What!" I answered, "is that thy only
meditation? Are not we, mankind,
thy best-loved and most precious children?"</p>
<p>The woman slightly bent her brows
and replied: "All living creatures are
my children; I cherish all equally, and
annihilate all without distinction."</p>
<p>"But Virtue, Reason, Justice!" I faltered.</p>
<p>"Those are human words," replied
the brazen voice. "I know neither
good nor evil. Reason to me is no
law. And what is justice? I gave thee
life; I take it from thee and give it
unto others; worms and men are all the
same to me.... And thou must
maintain thyself meanwhile, and leave
me in peace."</p>
<p>I would have replied, but the earth
quaked and trembled, and I awoke.</p>
<p>I was returning from hunting, and
walking along an avenue of the garden,
my dog running in front of me.</p>
<p>Suddenly he took shorter steps, and
began to steal along as though tracking
game.</p>
<p>I looked along the avenue, and saw
a young sparrow, with yellow about its
beak and down on its head. It had
fallen out of the nest (the wind was
violently shaking the birch trees in the
avenue) and sat unable to move, helplessly
flapping its half-grown wings.</p>
<p>My dog was slowly approaching it,
when, suddenly darting from a tree
close by, an old dark-throated sparrow
fell like a stone right before his
nose, and all ruffled up, terrified, with
despairing and pitiful chirps, it flung
itself twice towards the open jaws of
shining teeth. It sprang to save; it
cast itself before its nestling, but all its
tiny body was shaking with terror; its
note was harsh and strange. Swooning
with fear, it offered itself up!</p>
<p>What a huge monster must the dog
have seemed to it! And yet it could
not stay on its high branch out of danger....
A force stronger than its
will flung it down.</p>
<p>My Tresor stood still, drew back....
Clearly he, too, recognized this
force.</p>
<p>I hastened to call off the disconcerted
dog, and went away full of reverence.</p>
<p>Yes; do not laugh. I felt reverence
for that tiny heroic bird for its impulse
of love.</p>
<p>Love, I thought, is stronger than
death or the fear of death. Only by
it, by love, life holds together and advances.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_BLUEBIRD" id="THE_BLUEBIRD"></SPAN>THE BLUEBIRD.</h2>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse indent-1_5">Soft warbling note</div>
<div class="verse indent-1_5">From azure throat,</div>
<div class="verse">Float on the gentle air of spring;</div>
<div class="verse indent-1_5">To my quick ear</div>
<div class="verse indent-1_5">It doth appear</div>
<div class="verse">The sweetest of the birds that sing.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>C. C. M.</i></div>
</div></div>
<p>A bit of heaven itself.—<i>Spofford.</i></p>
<p>The bluebird carries the sky on his
back.—<i>Thoreau.</i></p>
<p>Winged lute that we call a bluebird.—<i>Rexford.</i></p>
<p>The bluebird is the color-bearer of
the spring brigade.—<i>Wright.</i></p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">A wise bluebird</div>
<div class="verse">Puts in his little heavenly word.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Lanier.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="poetry-container p1">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">The bluebird, shifting his light load of song</div>
<div class="verse">From post to post along the cheerless fence.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Lowell.</i></div>
</div></div>
<p>It is his gentle, high-bred manner
and not his azure coat which makes the
bluebird.—<i>Torrey.</i></p>
<p>How can we fail to regard its azure
except as a fragment from the blue of
the summer noonday arch?—<i>Silloway.</i></p>
<p>The bluebird always bears the national
colors—red, white, and blue—and
in its habits is a model of civilized
bird-life.—<i>Dr. Cooper.</i></p>
<p>At the first flash of vernal sun among
the bare boughs of his old home he
hies northward to greet it with his song,
and seems, unlike the oriole, to help
nature make the spring.—<i>Baskett.</i></p>
<p>As he sits on a branch lifting his
wings there is an elusive charm about
his sad, quivering <i>tru-al-ly</i>, <i>tru-al-ly</i>.
Ignoring our presence, he seems preoccupied
with unfathomable thoughts
of field and sky.—<i>Merriam.</i></p>
<p>And yonder bluebird, with the earth
tinge on his breast and the sky tinge
on his back, did he come down out of
heaven on that bright March morning
when he told us so softly and plaintively
that if we pleased, spring had
come?—<i>Burroughs.</i></p>
<p>He is "true blue," which is as rare a
color among birds as it is among flowers.
He is the banner-bearer of bird-land
also, and loyally floats the tricolor from
our trees and telegraph wires; for, besides
being blue, is he not also red and
white?—<i>Coues.</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><SPAN name="THE_FIRST_BLUEBIRD" id="THE_FIRST_BLUEBIRD"></SPAN>THE FIRST BLUEBIRD.</h2>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Jest rain and snow! and rain again!</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And dribble! drip! and blow!</div>
<div class="verse">Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Some more rain and snow!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">This morning I was 'most afeared</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">To wake up—when, I jing!</div>
<div class="verse">I seen the sun shine out and heerd</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The first bluebird of spring!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Mother she'd raised the winder some;</div>
<div class="verse">And in acrost the orchard come,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Soft as an angel's wing,</div>
<div class="verse">A breezy, treesy, beesy hum,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Too sweet fer anything!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">The winter's shroud was rent apart—</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The sun burst forth in glee—</div>
<div class="verse">And when <i>that bluebird</i> sung, my heart</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Hopped out o' bed with me!</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Riley.</i></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="SWIFT FOX." summary="SWIFT FOX.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_083.jpg" id="i_083.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_083.jpg" width="600" height="445" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">SWIFT FOX.<br/>
¼ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1899,<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_KIT_FOX" id="THE_KIT_FOX"></SPAN>THE KIT FOX.</h2>
<p class="ac">C. C. M.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_o.jpg" width-obs="57" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">ONE of the smallest of the foxes
is the kit fox (<i>Vulpes velox</i>),
sometimes called the swift fox
and also the burrowing fox, getting
the latter name for the ability and
rapidity with which it digs the holes in
the ground in which it lives. It is an
inhabitant of the northwestern states
and of the western Canadian provinces,
covering the region from southeastern
Nebraska northwest to British Columbia.
Its length is about twenty inches,
exclusive of the tail, which is about
twelve inches long. The overhair is
fine, the back is a pure gray, the sides
yellow, and the under parts white. The
ears are small and covered with hair
and the soles are also hairy. The kit
fox is much smaller in size than either
the gray or red fox, but has proportionately
longer limbs than either of
them.</p>
<p>Reynard, of all animals, in spite of
the fact that he is accepted as the emblem
of cunning, slyness, deceit, and
mischief, is praised by proverb and
tradition, and the greatest of German
poets, Goethe, made him the subject of
an epic. Pechuel-Loesche says:</p>
<p>"The fox of tradition and poetry and
the fox in real life are really two very
different animals. Whoever observes
him with an unprejudiced mind fails to
discover any extraordinary degree of
that much-praised presence of mind,
cleverness, cunning, and practical sense,
or even an unusually keen development
of the senses. In my opinion he is by
no means superior in his endowments
to other beasts of prey, especially
the wolf. The most that can be
truly said in his praise is to admit that,
when he is pursued, he knows how to
adapt himself to the surrounding circumstances,
but scarcely more so
than other sagacious animals. Like
many other animals, including the
harmless species, some old foxes may
have their wits unusually sharpened by
experience, but every huntsman who
has had much to do with foxes will admit
that there are a great many which
are not ingenious, and some which may
even be called stupid, and this refers
not only to young, inexperienced foxes,
but also to many old ones. The fox is
a rascal and knows his trade, because
he has to make a living somehow. He is
impudent, but only when driven by
hunger or when he has to provide for
his little family; and in bad plights he
shows neither presence of mind nor
deliberation, but loses his head completely.
He is caught in clumsy traps,
and this even repeatedly. In the open
country he allows a sled to approach
him within gunshot; he permits himself
to be surrounded in a hunt in
spite of the noise and shots, instead of
wisely taking to his heels; in short, this
animal, which is more relentlessly pursued
than any other inhabitant of the
woods, still has not learned to see
through all the tricks of men and shape
his actions accordingly."</p>
<p>All of which may be literally true,
nevertheless Reynard is the hero of a
hundred stories and pictures and he
will continue to be regarded as a remarkably
clever and interesting animal.</p>
<p>The coat of the fox corresponds
closely to his surroundings. Those
species living on plains and deserts
show the similarity of their color with
that of the ground; the southern fox
differs considerably from the northern
and the fox of the mountains from that
of the plains.</p>
<p>The fox usually selects his home in
deep hollows, between rocks covered
with branches, or between roots of
trees. Whenever he can avoid doing
so he does not dig a burrow himself,
but establishes himself in some old, deserted
badger's hole, or shares it with
the badger in spite of the latter's objections.
If it is possible, the fox excavates
his burrows in mountain walls, so
that the conduits lead upwards, without
running close to the surface. In his
prowlings he regards his security as
paramount to every other consideration,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</SPAN></span>
according to fox hunters. He is
suspicious, and only the pangs of hunger
can goad him into reckless actions.
Then he becomes bold. Once a fox,
which was being hunted by hounds and
had twice heard the shot whizzing by,
seized a sick hare in his flight and carried
it with him a considerable distance.
Another was surrounded in a field; he
came out, attacked a wounded hare,
killed it before the eyes of the huntsmen,
rapidly buried it in the snow, and
then fled directly through the line
formed by the sportsmen.</p>
<p>Litters of young foxes are born
about the end of April or the beginning
of May. Their number varies between
three and twelve.</p>
<p>Lenz had a tame female fox which he
received just as she was beginning to
eat solid food, but had already become
so vicious and so much addicted to biting
that she always growled when eating
her favorite food and bit right and left
into straw and wood, even when nobody
was disturbing her. Kind treatment
soon made her so tame that she would
allow him to take a freshly-killed rabbit
out of her bloody mouth and insert his
fingers instead. Even when grown up
she liked to play with him, was demonstrative
in her joy when he visited her,
wagged her tail, whined, and jumped
around. She was just as much pleased
to see a stranger, and she distinguished
strangers at a distance of fifty paces, when
they were turning the corner of the
house, and with loud cries would invite
them to come up to her, an honor which
she never accorded either to him or his
brother, who usually fed her, probably
because she knew they would do so
anyway.</p>
<p>Reynard has been known to attack
and kill young calves and lambs, and if
the seashore is near will revel in oysters
and shellfish. A group of rabbits are
feeding in a clover-patch. He'll crawl
along, nibbling the juicy flowers until
near enough to make a grab. He'll
stalk a bird, with his hind legs dragging
behind him, until near enough to
spring. How farmers dread his inroads
in the poultry yard! Fasten the yard
up tight and he will burrow a winding
passage into the ground beneath and
suddenly appear among the drowsy
chickens and stupid geese, whose shrill
and alarmed cries arouse the farmer
from his bed to sally forth, finding all
safe. Then the fox will sneak back
and pack away with the plumpest
pullet or the fattest goose.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><SPAN name="AMONG_ANIMALS" id="AMONG_ANIMALS"></SPAN>AMONG ANIMALS.</h2>
<p>The deer really weeps, its eyes being
provided with lachrymal glands.</p>
<p>Ants have brains larger in proportion
to the size of their bodies than any
other living creature.</p>
<p>There are three varieties of the dog
that never bark—the Australian dog,
the Egyptian shepherd dog and the
"lion-headed" dog of Tibet.</p>
<p>The insect known as the water boatman
has a regular pair of oars, his legs
being used as such. He swims on his
back, as in this position there is less resistance
to his progress.</p>
<p>Seventeen parcels of ants' eggs from
Russia, weighing 550 pounds, were sold
in Berlin recently for 20 cents a pound.</p>
<p>The peacock is now kept entirely, it
would seem, for ornament—for the ornament
of garden terraces (among old-fashioned
and trim-kept yew hedges he
is specially in place)—in his living state,
and for various æsthetic uses to which
his brilliant plumage and hundred-eyed
tailfeathers are put when he is dead or
moulting. But we seldom eat him now,
though he used to figure with the boar's
head, the swan and the baron of beef
on those boards which were beloved by
our forefathers, more valiant trenchermen
than ourselves. Yet young peahen
is uncommonly good eating, even
now, at the end of the nineteenth century,
and in the craze that some people
have for new birds—Argus pheasants,
Reeve's pheasants, golden pheasants
and what not—to stock their coverts,
it is a wonder that some one has not
tried a sprinkling of peacocks.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="SPRING_FASHIONS" id="SPRING_FASHIONS"></SPAN>SPRING FASHIONS.</h2>
<p class="ac">ELLA GILBERT IVES.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_e.jpg" width-obs="56" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">EVEN in birddom some of the
styles come from Paris, where
the <i>rouge gorge</i> smartens up his
red waistcoat as regularly as
the spring comes round. Our staid
American robin tries to follow suit,
though he never can equal his old-world
models. Even the English redbreast
excels him in beauty and song.
I must tell the truth, as an honest reporter,
though I am not a bit English,
and would not exchange our <i>Merula
migratoria</i> for a nightingale; for beauty
is but feather-deep, and when our robin
shines up his yellow bill—a spring
fashion of his own—the song that
comes from it is dearer than the pot of
gold at the end of the rainbow. That
little relative of his whom our forefathers
called the "blue robin," has the
same rufous color in his waistcoat,
though it stops so short it always
seems as if the stuff must have given
out. No Parisian or London dandy
set the style for his lovely coat. If
ever a fashion came down from heaven,
that did; and it came to the fresh, new
world and stopped here. No blue-coats
perch on the rails in old England;
perhaps because there is never
clear sky enough to spare for a bird's
back. We have so much on this continent,
that half a dozen birds dress in
the celestial hue; some of them, like
the jay, all the year round.</p>
<p>But indigo bunting, whose summer
coat and vest seem interwoven of blue
sky and a thunder cloud, and then
dipped in a sea-wave of foamy green,
is not so lavish of his beauty. His
plain wife and children, who dress
almost like common sparrows, have
only shreds and patches of blue in
their attire, and indigo <i>pater</i> puts on
the same dull shade for his winter overcoat.
But in spring, what a spruce old
beau he is!—and how he does like to
show off in the tasseled oaks! So
beautiful is his changeable silk that
one half suspects him of borrowing
from the peacock's wardrobe. A grain
of that lordly fowl's disposition may
have mixed with the dye; for if there
is a pointed spruce tree near, indigo is
sure to perch on the tip-top and sing
until you look at him. Still, he loves
beauty for beauty's sake, and is not
really vain like the tanager.</p>
<p>That gorgeous bird actually sings,
"<i>Here pretty, pretty here!</i>" with variations,
as if all loveliness focused in
his feathers. He arrives just when the
tender young foliage of May will half
veil his vivid scarlet coat; and as it is
less dependent on light than the indigo's,
he does not affect tree-tops,
but perches under a spray of golden
oak leaves or the delicate green of an
elm, and shines like a live coal in a
bed of leaves. If he were a British
trooper he could not be more resplendent
in scarlet and black. Tanager is
uniformed first for conquest, then for
guard duty. He wears his bright trappings
during courting and nesting
time, and the rest of the year doffs his
scarlet and wears olive-green like that
of his modest mate. He still carries black
wings and tail, however, to mark his sex.</p>
<p>So does gay little goldfinch, bird of
winsome ways and a happy heart. He,
too, dresses up for courting; and how
do you think he does it? All winter
long he has worn an olive-brown coat,
as subdued as any finch's needs to be;
but when the willows begin to hint at
the fashionable spring color, and the
spice bush breathes its name, and the
dandelions print the news on the grass
and the forsythia emblazons it on
every lawn, and the sunset sky is a
great bulletin board to announce it—then
this dainty bird peels off his dull
winter overcoat, each tiny feather
dropping a tip, and lo! underneath a
garb that a Chinese Chang might
covet. To match his wings and tail,
he puts on a black cap, and then you
never saw a more perfect "glass of fashion
and mold of form"—at least that is
Mme. Goldfinch's opinion.</p>
<p>"<i>No dis-pu-ting a-bout tastes!</i>" chirps
chipping sparrow. He prefers a dress
of sober tints and thinks nothing so
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</SPAN></span>
durable as gray and black and brown.
Though not a slave to fashion, he does
freshen up a bit in the spring and puts
on a new cap of chestnut, not to be
too old fogyish. But he believes in
wearing courting clothes all the year
round. Young chippies put on striped
bibs until they are out of the nursery,
but the old folks like a plain shirt front.</p>
<p>No such notion has the barn-swallow.
He believes in family equality,
even in the matter of clothes; and having
been born in a pretty and becoming
suit, wears it all the time. When the
cinquefoil fingers the grass, you may
look for his swallow-tailed coat in the
air; and if the April sun strikes its
steel-blue broadcloth, and discloses
the bright chestnut muffler and the
pale-tinted vest, you will rejoice that
old fashions prevail in swallow-land.
These swift-flying birds have something
higher to think about than changing
their clothes.</p>
<p>It seems otherwise with some birds
of the meadow. That gay dandy, the
bobolink, for instance, lays himself out
to make a sensation in the breast of his
fair one. When he started on his
southern trip last autumn, he wore a
traveling-suit of buff and brown, not
unlike Mistress Bobolink's and the little
Links'. No doubt he knew the danger
lurking in the reeds of Pennsylvania
and the rice-fields of Carolina, and
hoped to escape observation while fattening
there. In the spring, if fortunate
enough to have escaped the gunner,
he flies back to his northern home,
"dressed to kill," in human phrase, happily
not, in bird language. Robert
o'Lincoln is a funny fellow disguised
as a bishop. Richard Steele, the rollicking
horse-guardsman, posing as a
Christian hero, is a human parallel.
With a black vest buttoned to the
throat, a black cap and choker, bobolink's
front is as solemn as the end-man's
at a minstrel show. But what a
coat! Buff, white and black in eccentric
combination; and at the nape of the
neck, a yellow posy, that deepens with
the buttercups and fades almost as
soon. Bobby is original, but he conforms
to taste, and introduces no discordant
color-tone into his field of buttercups
and clover. In his ecstatic
flight he seems to have caught a field
flower on his back; and if a golden-hearted
daisy were to speak, surely it
would be in such a joyous tongue.</p>
<p>A red, red rose never blooms in a
clover meadow, and the grosbeak does
not go there for his chief spring adornment.
Red roses do bloom all the
year, though none so lovely as the rose
of June; and so the grosbeak wears his
distinctive flower at his throat the
round year, but it is loveliest in early
summer. I do not know a prettier
fashion—do you?—for human kind or
bird, than a flower over the heart. I
fancy that a voice is sweeter when a
breast is thus adorned. If ever the
rich passion of a red, red rose finds expression,
it is in the caressing, exultant
love-song of the rose-breasted grosbeak.
The one who inspires it looks
like an overgrown sparrow; but grosbeak
knows the difference, if you do
not. If that wise parent should ever
be in doubt as to his own son, who
always favors the mother at the start,
he has but to lift up the youngster's
wings, and the rose-red lining will show
at once that he is no common sparrow.</p>
<p>That pretty fashion of a contrast in
linings is not confined to the grosbeak.
The flicker, too, has his wings delicately
lined with—a scrap of sunset
sky. I do not know whether he found his
material there or lower down in a
marsh of marigolds; but when he flies
over your head into the elm tree and
plies his trade, you will see that he is
fitly named, golden-winged woodpecker.
He makes no fuss over his
spring clothes. A fresh red tie, which,
oddly enough, he wears on the back of
his neck, a retinting of his bright lining,
a new gloss on his spotted vest
and striped coat, and his toilet is made.
Madame Flicker is so like her spouse
that you would be puzzled to tell them
apart, but for his black mustache.</p>
<p>The flicker fashion of dressing alike
may come from advanced notions of
equality; whatever its source, the purple
finch is of another mind. He sacrifices
much, almost his own identity,
to love of variety; and yet he is never
purple. His name simply perpetuates
a blunder for which no excuse can be
offered. Pokeberry is his prevailing
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</SPAN></span>
hue, but so variously is it intermingled
with brown at different times and seasons
and ages, that scarcely two finches
look alike. The mother-bird wears the
protective colors of the sparrow, while
young males seem to be of doubtful
mind which parent to copy; and so a
purple finch family presents diversity
of attire puzzling to a novice.</p>
<p>But why, pray, should a bird family
wear a uniform, as if a charity school
or a foundling hospital? The gay little
warblers are not institutional to that
degree. An example of their originality
is redstart—another misnamed
bird. He wears the colors of Princeton
College, or rather, the college wears
his; and a lordly male privilege it is,
in both cases. His mate contents herself
with pale yellow and gray, while
the young male waits three years before
putting on his father's coat. The
first year he wears his mother's dress;
the second, a motley betwixt and between;
the third, he is a tree "<i>candelita</i>,"
or little torch, lighting up his
winter home in a Cuban forest, and
bringing Spanish fashions to New England
with the May blossoms.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent-2">When dame nature in the spring</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">For her annual opening</div>
<div class="verse">Has her doors and windows washed by April showers;</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">When the sun has turned the key,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And the loosened buds are free</div>
<div class="verse">To come out and pile the shelving rocks with flowers;</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent-2">When the maple wreathes her head</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">With a posy-garland red,</div>
<div class="verse">And the grass-blade sticks a feather in his cap;</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">When the tassels trim the birch,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And the oak-tree in the lurch</div>
<div class="verse">Hurries up to get some fringes for his wrap;</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent-2">When the willow's yellow sheen</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And the meadow's emerald green</div>
<div class="verse">Are the fashionable colors of the day;</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">When the bank its pledges old</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Pays in dandelion gold,</div>
<div class="verse">And horse-chestnut folds its baby hands to pray—</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent-2">Then from Cuba and the isles</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Where a tropic sun beguiles,</div>
<div class="verse">And from lands beyond the Caribbean sea,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Every dainty warbler flocks</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">With a tiny music-box</div>
<div class="verse">And a trunk of pretty feathers duty-free.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent-2">And in colors manifold,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Orange, scarlet, blue, and gold,</div>
<div class="verse">Green and yellow, black, and brown and grays galore,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">They will thread the forest aisles</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">With the very latest styles,</div>
<div class="verse">And a tune apiece to open up the score.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent-2">But they do not care to part</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">With their decorative art,</div>
<div class="verse">Which must always have the background of a tree;</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And will surely bring a curse</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">To a grasping mind or purse,</div>
<div class="verse">Since God loves the birds as well as you and me.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h2><SPAN name="BIRDS_THAT_DO_NOT_SING" id="BIRDS_THAT_DO_NOT_SING"></SPAN> BIRDS THAT DO NOT SING.</h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_s.jpg" width-obs="60" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">SINGING is applied to birds in the
same sense that it is to human
beings—the utterance of musical
notes. Every person makes vocal
sounds of some kind, but many persons
never attempt to sing. So it is with
birds. The eagle screams, the owl
hoots, the wild goose honks, the crow
caws, but none of these discordant
sounds can be called singing.</p>
<p>With the poet, the singing of birds
means merry, light-hearted joyousness,
and most of us are poetic enough to view
it in the same way. Birds sing most in
the spring and the early summer, those
happiest seasons of the year, while employed
in nest-building and in rearing
their young. Many of our musical singers
are silent all the rest of the year; at
least they utter only low chirpings.</p>
<p>Outside of what are properly classed
as song birds there are many species
that never pretend to sing; in fact,
these far outnumber the musicians.
They include the water birds of every
kind, both swimmers and waders; all
the birds of prey, eagles, hawks, owls,
and vultures; and all the gallinaceous
tribes, comprising pheasants, partridges,
turkeys, and chickens. The gobble of
the turkey cock, the defiant crow of the
"bob-white," are none of them true
singing; yet it is quite probable that all
of these sounds are uttered with precisely
similar motives to those that inspire
the sweet warbling of the song-sparrow,
the clear whistle of the robin,
or the thrilling music of the wood-thrush.—<i>Philadelphia
Times.</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="HYACINTH." summary="HYACINTH.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_098.jpg" id="i_098.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_098.jpg" width="445" height="600" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">CHICAGO COLORTYPE CO., CHIC. & NEW YORK.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">HYACINTH.<br/>Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1899,<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_HYACINTH" id="THE_HYACINTH"></SPAN>THE HYACINTH.</h2>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">I sometimes think that never blows so red</div>
<div class="verse">The rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;</div>
<div class="verse">That every hyacinth the garden wears</div>
<div class="verse">Dropt in her lap from some once lovely head.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Omar Khayyam.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_h.jpg" width-obs="64" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">HYACINTH, also called Jacinth,
is said to be "supreme amongst
the flowers of spring." It was
in cultivation before 1597, and
is therefore not a new favorite. Gerard,
at the above date, records the existence
of six varieties. Rea, in 1676, mentions
several single and double varieties as
being then in English gardens, and Justice,
in 1754, describes upwards of fifty
single-flowered varieties, and nearly
one hundred double-flowered ones, as a
selection of the best from the catalogues
of two then celebrated Dutch
growers. One of the Dutch sorts, called
<i>La Reine de Femmes</i>, is said to have produced
from thirty-four to thirty-eight
flowers in a spike, and on its first appearance
to have sold for fifty guilders
a bulb. Others sold for even larger
sums. Justice relates that he himself
raised several very valuable double-flowered
kinds from seeds, which many
of the sorts he describes are noted for
producing freely.</p>
<p>It is said that the original of the cultivated
hyacinth (<i>Hyacinthus orientalis</i>)
is by comparison an insignificant plant,
bearing on a spike only a few small, narrow-lobed,
wash, blue flowers. So great
has been the improvement effected by
the florists that the modern hyacinth
would hardly be recognized as the descendant
of the type above referred to,
the spikes being long and dense, composed
of a large number of flowers; the
spikes not infrequently measure six or
seven inches in length and from seven
to nine inches in circumference, with
the flowers closely set on from bottom
to top. Of late years much improvement
has been effected in the size of
the individual flowers and the breadth
of their recurving lobes, as well as in
securing increased brilliancy and depth
of color. The names of hyacinths are
now almost legion, and of all colors,
carmine red, dark blue, lilac-pink, bluish
white, indigo-blue, silvery-pink, rose,
yellow, snow-white, azure-blue. The
bulbs of the hyacinths are said to be as
near perfection as can be; and if set
early in well-prepared soil, free from
all hard substances, given plenty of
room, and mulched with leaves and
trash, which should be removed in the
spring, they will be even more beautiful
than any description can indicate.
When potted for winter bloom in the
house, good soil, drainage, and space
must be given to them and they must
be kept moist and cool, as well as in
the dark while forming roots preparatory
to blooming. After they are
ready to bloom they do best in rooms
having a southern exposure, as they
will need only the warmth of the sunlight
to perfect them. The hyacinth
does not tolerate gas and artificial heat.</p>
<p>There is a pretty legend connected
with the hyacinth. Hyacinthus was a
mythological figure associated with the
hyacinthia, a festival celebrated by the
Spartans in honor of Apollo of Amyclæ,
whose primitive image, standing on a
throne, is described by Pausanias. The
legend is to the effect that Hyacinthus,
a beautiful youth beloved by the god,
was accidentally killed by him with a
discus. From his blood sprang a dark-colored
flower called after him hyacinth,
on whose petals is the word "alas."
The myth is one of the many popular
representations of the beautiful spring
vegetation slain by the hot sun of summer.
The sister of Hyacinthus is Polyboca,
the much-nourishing fertility of
the rich Amyclæan valley; while his
brother is Cynortas, the rising of the
dog (the hot) star. But with the death
of the spring is united the idea of its
certain resuscitation in a new year.
The festival took place on the three
hottest days of summer, and its rites
were a mixture of mourning and rejoicing.</p>
<p class="ar">C. C. M.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="A_QUARREL_BETWEEN_JENNY_WREN_AND_THE_FLYCATCHERS" id="A_QUARREL_BETWEEN_JENNY_WREN_AND_THE_FLYCATCHERS"></SPAN> A QUARREL BETWEEN JENNY WREN AND THE FLYCATCHERS.</h2>
<p class="ac">C. L. GRUBER,<br/>
<span class="smaller">State Normal School, Kutztown, Pa.</span></p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_f.jpg" width-obs="59" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">FOR a number of years a crested
flycatcher has built his nest in
a hole in an apple tree in my
yard, about twenty feet from a
house constructed for the habitation
of the wrens. Jenny usually showed
no animosity toward her neighbor; but
one spring, while nest-building was in
progress, she suddenly seemed to have
decided that the flycatcher's abode was
in too close proximity to her own
domicile and deliberately invaded the
flycatcher's domains and dumped the
materials of his nest on the walk beneath
the tree. When the flycatcher
returned the air was filled with his protests,
while the wren saucily and defiantly
answered him from the roof of
her own dwelling. The flycatcher immediately
proceeded to build anew,
but before he had fairly commenced,
the pugnacious wren made another
raid and despoiled his nest again.
This happened a third time; then the flycatcher
and his mate took turns in watching
and building. While one went out in
search of building material the other
remained on guard just inside the door.
The situation now became exceedingly
interesting, and at times ludicrous.
Jenny Wren is a born fighter, and can
whip most birds twice her size, but she
seemed to consider the flycatcher more
than a match for her. The first few
times after the flycatcher made it his
business to stay on guard, the wren
would fly boldly to the opening, but
would flee just as precipitately on the
appearance of the enemy from the inside.
After each retreat there was a
great deal of threatening, scolding,
and parleying, and Jenny several times
seemed fairly beside herself with rage,
while the flycatcher coolly whistled
his challenge on the other side of the
line of neutrality. The wren now
adopted different strategy. She flew
to the tree from a point where the flycatcher
could not see her, then hurried
along the limb in which the flycatcher
lay concealed and circled around the
hole, all the time endeavoring to take a
peep on the inside without herself being
observed, in the vain hope that her
enemy might not be at home. Suddenly
there would be a flutter of wings
and a brown streak through the air,
followed by another as the flycatcher,
shot like a bullet from the opening in
the tree; but the active marauder was
safely hidden amid the grapevines, and
the baffled flycatcher returned to his
picket line, hurling back epithets and
telling Jenny that he would surely
catch her next time. In this manner
the strife continued for several days.
Then a truce seemed to have been arranged.
Certainly the flycatcher was
still on guard, but the wrens went
about their work and did not molest
the flycatchers except at long intervals.
I thought the flycatchers had
conquered; but one morning when I
came out, there on the walk were three
broken, brown-penciled eggs, nest,
snakeskin, and all. The flycatcher had
put too much trust in the wren's unconcernedness,
and came back to find
himself once more without a nest. But
Jenny seemed to have desired only one
more stroke of revenge, and the flycatchers
finally succeeded in raising
their family in front of the home of
Jenny Wren.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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