+--------------------------------------------------------------+ | YOUNG FOLKS' | | | | LIBRARY | | | | | | SELECTIONS FROM THE CHOICEST LITERATURE OF ALL LANDS: | | FOLK-LORE, FAIRY TALES, FABLES, LEGENDS, NATURAL | | HISTORY, WONDERS OF EARTH, SEA AND SKY, | | ANIMAL STORIES, SEA TALES, BRAVE DEEDS, | | EXPLORATIONS, STORIES OF SCHOOL AND | | COLLEGE LIFE, BIOGRAPHY, | | HISTORY, PATRIOTIC | | ELOQUENCE, POETRY | | | | | | THIRD EDITION | | | | REVISED IN CONFERENCE BY | | | | THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF, | | PRESIDENT WILLIAM JEWETT TUCKER, | | HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE, HENRY | | VAN DYKE, NATHAN HASKELL DOLE | | | | | | _TWENTY VOLUMES_ _RICHLY ILLUSTRATED_ | | | | BOSTON | | HALL AND LOCKE COMPANY | | PUBLISHERS | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY HALL & LOCKE COMPANY. BOSTON, U.  S.  A. 

 Stanhope Press F.  H. GILSON COMPANY BOSTON, U.  S.  A. 

EDITORIAL BOARD

 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH, Editor-in-chief, Author, poet, former editor _Atlantic Monthly_, Boston, Mass. 

 The HON. GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR, United States Senator, Worcester, Mass. 

 The HON. JOHN D. LONG, Secretary of the United States Navy, Boston. 

 HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE, LL. D. , Author, literarian, associate editor _The Outlook_, New York. 

 ERNEST THOMPSON-SETON, Artist, author, New York. 

 JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE, Author, poet, and editor, Arlington, Mass. 

 The REVEREND CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY, Archdeacon, author, Philadelphia. 

 JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, Humorous writer, Atlanta, Ga. 

 MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD, Historical novelist, Chicago. 

 LAURA E. RICHARDS, Author, Gardiner, Me. 

 ROSWELL FIELD, Author, editor _The Evening Post_, Chicago. 

 TUDOR JENKS, Author, associate editor _Saint Nicholas_, New York. 

 GEORGE A. HENTY, Traveller, author, London, England. 

 KIRK MUNROE, Writer of stories for boys, Cocoanut Grove, Fla. 

 EDITH M. THOMAS, Poet, West New Brighton, N. Y. 

 CAROLINE TICKNOR, Author, editor, Boston. 

 WILLIAM RAINEY HARPER, D. D. , LL. D. , President Chicago University. 

 DAVID STARR JORDAN, M. D. , LL. D. , President Leland Stanford Junior University, naturalist, writer, Stanford University, Cal. 

 CHARLES ELIOT NORTON, A. M. , LL. D. , etc. , Scholar, author, Emeritus Professor of Art at Harvard University. 

 HENRY VAN DYKE, D. D. , LL. D. , Clergyman, author, Professor Princeton University. 

 The REVEREND THOMAS J. SHAHAN, Dean of the Faculty of Divinity, Professor of Early Ecclesiastical History, Catholic University, Washington, D. C. 

 WILLIAM P. TRENT, Author, editor, Professor of English Literature, Columbia University, New York City. 

 EDWARD SINGLETON HOLDEN, A. M. , LL. D. , Ex-president University of California, astronomer, author, U. S. Military Academy, West Point. 

 EDWIN ERLE SPARKS, Professor of American History, Chicago University. 

 The VERY REV. GEORGE M. GRANT. D. D. , LL. D. , Educator, author, vice-principal Queen's College, Kingston, Ont. 

 NATHAN HASKELL DOLE, Author, translator, literary editor _Current History_, Boston. 

 ABBIE FARWELL BROWN, Author, Boston. 

 CHARLES WELSH, Managing Editor, Author, lecturer, editor, Winthrop Highlands, Mass. 

LIST OF VOLUMES

 VOLUME I. 

 THE STORY TELLER Edited by CHARLES ELIOT NORTON

 VOLUME II. 

 THE MERRY MAKER Edited by JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

 VOLUME III. 

 FAMOUS FAIRY TALES Edited by ROSWELL FIELD

 VOLUME IV. 

 TALES OF FANTASY Edited by TUDOR JENKS

 VOLUME V. 

 MYTHS AND LEGENDS Edited by THOMAS J. SHAHAN

 VOLUME VI. 

 THE ANIMAL STORY BOOK Edited by ERNEST THOMPSON-SETON

 VOLUME VII. 

 SCHOOL AND COLLEGE DAYS Edited by KIRK MUNROE and MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD

 VOLUME VIII. 

 BOOK OF ADVENTURE Edited by NATHAN HASKELL DOLE

 VOLUME IX. 

 FAMOUS EXPLORERS Edited by EDWIN ERLE SPARKS

 VOLUME X. 

 BRAVE DEEDS Edited by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE

 VOLUME XI. 

 WONDERS OF EARTH, SEA, AND SKY Edited by EDWARD SINGLETON HOLDEN

 VOLUME XII. 

 FAMOUS TRAVELS Edited by GEORGE A. HENTY

 VOLUME XIII. 

 SEA STORIES Edited by CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY

 VOLUME XIV. 

 A BOOK OF NATURAL HISTORY Edited by DAVID STARR JORDAN

 VOLUME XV. 

 HISTORIC SCENES IN FICTION Edited by HENRY VAN DYKE

 VOLUME XVI. 

 FAMOUS BATTLES BY LAND AND SEA Edited by JOHN D. LONG

 VOLUME XVII. 

 MEN WHO HAVE RISEN Edited by HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE

 VOLUME XVIII. 

 BOOK OF PATRIOTISM Edited by GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR

 VOLUME XIX. 

 LEADERS OF MEN, OR HISTORY TOLD IN BIOGRAPHY Edited by WILLIAM RAINEY HARPER

 VOLUME XX. 

 FAMOUS POEMS Selected by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH, with Poetical Foreword by EDITH M. THOMAS. 

[Illustration: THE CONDOR. ]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | _Young Folks' Library in Twenty Volumes_ | | _Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Editor-in-Chief_ | | | | | | A BOOK OF | | | | NATURAL | | | | HISTORY | | | | | | EDITED BY | | DAVID STARR JORDAN | | | | _VOLUME XIV_ | | | | [Illustration] | | | | | | BOSTON | | HALL AND LOCKE COMPANY | | PUBLISHERS | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

CONTENTS

 PAGE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xiii

 ANIMALS, BIRDS, AND FISHES xv BY DAVID STARR JORDAN. 

 THE WONDER OF LIFE 1 BY PROFESSOR T.  H. HUXLEY. 

 LIFE GROWTH;--FROGS 10 BY MARGARET WARNER MORLEY. 

 THE MAN-LIKE APES 15 BY PROFESSOR T.  H. HUXLEY. 

 SOME STRANGE NURSERIES 46 BY GRANT ALLEN. 

 HOW ANIMALS SPEND THE WINTER 69 BY W.  S. BLATCHLEY. 

 BIRDS' NESTS 88 BY JOHN BURROUGHS. 

 BIRDS IN THEIR RELATION TO AGRICULTURE 121 BY LAWRENCE BRUNER. 

 THE SCISSOR BEAK 143 BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

 THE CONDOR 146 BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

 THE UMBRELLA BIRD 153 BY SIR A.  R. WALLACE. 

 HUMMING BIRDS 155 BY THOMAS G. BELT, F. G. S. 

 THE FOUNDATIONS OF A WONDERFUL CITY 158 BY MAURICE MAETERLINCK. 

 WASPS 175 BY THOMAS G. BELT, F. G. S. 

 A WASP AND ITS PREY 180 BY G.  W. AND E.  G. PECKHAM. 

 LEAF-CUTTING ANTS 190 BY THOMAS G. BELT, F. G. S. 

 SOME WONDERFUL SPIDERS 197 BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

 WHAT I SAW IN AN ANT'S NEST 201 BY ANDREW WILSON. 

 THE WILD LLAMA 228 BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

 BATS 232 BY W.  S. DALLAS, F. G. S. 

 HOW SNAKES EAT 258 BY CATHERINE C. HOPLEY. 

 WHAT WORMS DO 264 BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

 TWO FOPS AMONG THE FISHES 284 BY W.  S. BLATCHLEY. 

 SEA SLUGS AND CUTTLE-FISH 292 BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

 THE COW FISH 295 BY SIR ALFRED RUSSELL WALLACE. 

 OLD RATTLER AND THE KING SNAKE 297 BY DAVID STARR JORDAN. 

 THE STORY OF A STRANGE LAND 303 BY DAVID STARR JORDAN. 

 THE COLOR OF ANIMALS 315 BY SIR JOHN LUBBOCK BART. 

 PROTECTIVE RESEMBLANCES IN SPIDERS 343 BY E.  G. PECKHAM. 

 THE BATH OF THE BIRDS 369 BY RICHARD JEFFERIES. 

 THE LOON 378 BY HENRY D. THOREAU. 

 THE DARTMOOR PONIES 384 BY ARABELLA R. BUCKLEY. 

 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 396

 SUGGESTIONS FOR SUPPLEMENTARY READING 398

NOTE. 

The publishers' acknowledgments are due to Miss Margaret Warner Morleyand Messrs. A.  C. McClurg & Co. For permission to use "LifeGrowth, --Frogs"; to Mr. W.  S. Blatchley and _The Popular ScienceMonthly_ for "How Animals Spend the Winter" and "Two Fops Among theFishes"; to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. For "Birds' Nests, " byJohn Burroughs; to Mr. L. Bruner and the Nebraska Ornithologists'Union for "Birds in Their Relation to Agriculture"; to G.  W. And E.  G. Peckham for "A Wasp and Its Prey" and "Protective Resemblances inSpiders"; to President David Starr Jordan and _The Popular ScienceMonthly_ for "Old Rattler and the King Snake"; to President Jordan andA.  C. McClurg & Co. For "The Story of a Strange Land. "

LIST OF COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE THE CONDOR Frontispiece THE GORILLA Face Page 40 THE YELLOW BELLIED WOODPECKER 92 THE UMBRELLA BIRD 154 THE GUANACO 230 THE VAMPIRE BAT 242 THE COW FISH 296

AND ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-TWO BLACK AND WHITE ILLUSTRATIONS IN THETEXT. 

ANIMALS, BIRDS, AND FISHES

BY

DAVID STARR JORDAN, LL. D. 

This volume is made up from the writings of naturalists who have toldus of the behavior of animals as they have seen it at first hand andof the beginnings and the growth of life so far as they know about it. In selecting these from the wealth of available material the editorhas been guided by this rule: The subject matter must be interestingto young people; it must be told in a clear and attractive style; andmost important of all, it must deal with actualities. We have seen inthe last few years a marked revival of nature studies. This has led toa wider range of interest in natural phenomena and in the growth andways of animals and plants. If this movement is not to be merely apassing fad, the element of truthfulness must be constantly insistedupon. If a clever imagination, or worse, sentimental symbolism, besubstituted for the truth of nature, the value of such studies isaltogether lost. 

The essence of character-building lies in action. The chief value ofnature study in character-building is that, like life itself, itdeals with realities. One must in life make his own observations, frame his own inductions, and apply them in action as he goes along. The habit of finding out the best thing to do next and then doing itis the basis of character. Nature-study, if it be genuine, isessentially doing. To deal with truth is necessary, if we are to knowtruth when we see it in action. The rocks and shells, the frogs andlilies, always tell the absolute truth. Every leaf on the tree is anoriginal document in botany. When a thousand are used or used up, thearchives of Nature are just as full as ever. By the study of realitieswisdom is built up. In the relations of objects he can touch and move, the child finds the limitations of his powers, the laws that governphenomena, which his own actions must obey. So long as he deals withrealities, these laws stand in their proper relation. "So simple, sonatural, so true, " says Agassiz. "This is the charm of dealing withnature herself. She brings us back to absolute truth so often as wewander. "

So long as a child is led from one reality to another, never lost inwords or abstractions, --so long this natural relation remains. "Whatcan I do with it?" is the beginning of wisdom. "What is it to me?" isthe beginning of personal virtue. 

By adding near things to near, the child grows in Knowledge. Knowledge, tested and set in order, is Science. Nature-study is thebeginning of science. It is the science of the child. The "world asit is" is the province of science. In proportion as our actionsconform to the conditions of the world as it is, do we find the worldbeautiful, glorious, divine. The truth of the world as it is must bethe final inspiration of art, poetry, and religion. The world, as menhave agreed to say that it is, is quite another matter. The less ourchildren hear of this, the less they may have to unlearn. Naturestudies have long been valued as "a means of grace, " because theyarouse the enthusiasm, the love of work, which belongs to open-eyedyouth. The child blasé with moral precepts and irregular conjugationsturns with fresh delight to the unrolling of ferns or the song ofbirds. 

Nature must be questioned in earnest, or she will not reply. But toevery serious question she will return a serious answer. "Simple, natural, and true, " she tends to create simplicity and truth. Truthand virtue are but opposite sides of the same shield. As leaves passover into flowers, and flowers into fruit, so are wisdom, virtue, andhappiness inseparably related. 

This little volume is a contribution to the subject matter of NatureStudy. It is the work of students of nature, and their work is"simple, natural, and true, " in so far as it is represented here. 

[Illustration: (Signature) David Starr Jordan]

LELAND STANFORD JR. UNIVERSITY, CALIFORNIA, _April_ 22, 1902. 

A BOOK OF NATURAL HISTORY

THE WONDER OF LIFE

(FROM HIS SCIENCE PRIMER, INTRODUCTION. )

BY PROFESSOR, T.  H. HUXLEY. 

[Illustration]

Every one has seen a cornfield. If you pluck up one of the innumerablewheat plants which are fixed in the soil of the field, about harvesttime, you will find that it consists of a stem which ends in a root atone end and an ear at the other, and that blades or leaves areattached to the sides of the stem. The ear contains a multitude ofoval grains which are the seeds of the wheat plant. You know that whenthese seeds are cleared from the husk or bran in which they areenveloped, they are ground into fine powder in mills, and that thispowder is the flour of which bread is made. If a handful of flourmixed with a little cold water is tied up in a coarse cloth bag, andthe bag is then put into a large vessel of water and well kneaded withthe hands, it will become pasty, while the water will become white. Ifthis water is poured away into another vessel, and the kneadingprocess continued with some fresh water, the same thing will happen. But if the operation is repeated the paste will become more and moresticky, while the water will be rendered less and less white, and atlast will remain colorless. The sticky substance which is thusobtained by itself is called gluten; in commerce it is the substanceknown as maccaroni. 

If the water in which the flour has thus been washed is allowed tostand for a few hours, a white sediment will be found at the bottom ofthe vessel, while the fluid above will be clear and may be poured off. This white sediment consists of minute grains of starch, each ofwhich, examined with the microscope, will be found to have aconcentrically laminated structure. If the fluid from which the starchwas deposited is now boiled it will become turbid, just as white ofegg diluted with water does when it is boiled, and eventually awhitish lumpy substance will collect at the bottom of the vessel. Thissubstance is called vegetable albumin. 

Besides the albumin, the gluten, and the starch, other substancesabout which this rough method of analysis gives us no information, arecontained in the wheat grain. For example, there is woody matter orcellulose, and a certain quantity of sugar and fat. It would bepossible to obtain a substance similar to albumin, starch, saccharine, and fatty matters, and cellulose, by treating the stem, leaves, androot in a similar fashion, but the cellulose would be in far largerproportion. Straw, in fact, which consists of the dry stem and leavesof the wheat plant, is almost wholly made up of cellulose. Besidesthis, however, it contains a certain proportion of mineral bodies, among them, pure flint or silica; and, if you should ever see a wheatrick burnt, you will find more or less of this silica, in a glassycondition, in the embers. In the living plant, all these bodies arecombined with a large proportion of water, or are dissolved, orsuspended in that fluid. The relative quantity of water is muchgreater in the stem and leaves than in the seed. 

Everybody has seen a common fowl. It is an active creature which runsabout and sometimes flies. It has a body covered with feathers, provided with two wings and two legs, and ending at one end in a neckterminated by a head with a beak, between the two parts of which themouth is placed. The hen lays eggs, each of which is inclosed in ahard shell. If you break an egg the contents flow out and are seen toconsist of the colorless glairy "white" and the yellow "yolk. " If thewhite is collected by itself in water and then heated it becomesturbid, forming a white solid, very similar to the vegetable albumin, which is called animal albumin. 

If the yolk is beaten up with water, no starch nor cellulose isobtained from it, but there will be plenty of fatty and somesaccharine matter, besides substances more or less similar to albuminand gluten. 

The feathers of the fowl are chiefly composed of horn; if they arestripped off and the body is boiled for a long time, the water will befound to contain a quantity of gelatin, which sets into a jelly as itcools; and the body will fall to pieces, the bones and the fleshseparating from one another. The bones consist almost entirely of asubstance which yields gelatin when it is boiled in water, impregnatedwith a large quantity of salts of lime, just as the wood of the wheatstem is impregnated with silica. The flesh, on the other hand, willcontain albumin, and some other substances which are very similar toalbumin, termed fibrin and syntonin. 

In the living bird, all these bodies are united with a great quantityof water, or dissolved, or suspended in water; and it must beremembered that there are sundry other constituents of the fowl's bodyand of the egg, which are left unmentioned, as of no presentimportance. 

The wheat plant contains neither horn, nor gelatin, and the fowlcontains neither starch, nor cellulose; but the albumin of the plantis very similar to that of the animal, and the fibrin and syntonin ofthe animal are bodies closely allied to both albumin and gluten. 

That there is a close likeness between all these bodies is obviousfrom the fact that when any of them is strongly heated, or allowed toputrefy, it gives off the same sort of disagreeable smell; and carefulchemical analysis has shown that they are, in fact, all composed ofthe elements carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, combined in verynearly the same proportions. Indeed, charcoal, which is impure carbon, might be obtained by strongly heating either a handful of corn, or apiece of fowl's flesh, in a vessel from which the air is excluded soas to keep the corn or the flesh from burning. And if the vessel werea still, so that the products of this destructive distillation, as itis called, could be condensed and collected, we should find water andammonia, in some shape or other, in the receiver. Now ammonia is acompound of the elementary bodies, nitrogen and hydrogen; thereforeboth nitrogen and hydrogen must have been contained in the bodies fromwhich it is derived. 

It is certain, then, that very similar nitrogenous compounds form avery large part of the bodies of both the wheat plant and the fowl, and these bodies are called proteids. 

It is a very remarkable fact that not only are such substances asalbumin, gluten, fibrin, and syntonin, known exclusively as productsof animal and vegetable bodies, but that every animal and every plant, at all periods of its existence, contains one or other of them, though, in other respects, the composition of living bodies may varyindefinitely. Thus, some plants contain neither starch nor cellulose, while these substances are found in some animals; while many animalscontain no horny matter and no gelatin-yielding substance. So that thematter which appears to be the essential foundation of both the animaland the plant is the proteid united with water; though it is probablethat, in all animals and plants, these are associated with more orless fatty and amyloid (or starchy and saccharine) substances, andwith very small quantities of certain mineral bodies, of which themost important appear to be phosphorus, iron, lime, and potash. 

Thus there is a substance composed of water + proteids + fat +amyloids + mineral matters which is found in all animals and plants;and, when these are alive, this substance is termed protoplasm. 

The wheat plant in the field is said to be a living thing; the fowlrunning about the farmyard is also said to be a living thing. If theplant is plucked up, and if the fowl is knocked on the head, they soondie and become dead things. Both the fowl and the wheat plant, as wehave seen, are composed of the same elements as those which enter intothe composition of mineral matter, though united into compounds whichdo not exist in the mineral world. Why, then, do we distinguish thismatter when it takes the shape of a wheat plant or a fowl, as livingmatter?

In the spring a wheat-field is covered with small green plants. Thesegrow taller and taller until they attain many times the size whichthey had when they first appeared; and they produce the heads offlowers which eventually change into ears of corn. 

In so far as this is a process of growth, accompanied by theassumption of a definite form, it might be compared with the growth ofa crystal of salt in brine: but, on closer examination, it turns outto be something very different. For the crystal of salt grows bytaking to itself the salt contained in the brine, which is added toits exterior; whereas the plant grows by addition to its interior: andthere is not a trace of the characteristic compounds of the plant'sbody, albumin, gluten, starch, or cellulose, or fat, in the soil, orin the water, or in the air. 

Yet the plant creates nothing; and, therefore, the matter of theproteins and amyloids and fats which it contains must be supplied toit, and simply manufactured, or combined in new fashions, in the bodyof the plant. 

It is easy to see, in a general way, what the raw materials are whichthe plant works up, for the plant get nothing but the materialssupplied to it by the atmosphere and by the soil. The atmospherecontains oxygen and nitrogen, a little carbonic acid gas, a minutequantity of ammoniacal salts, and a variable proportion of water. Thesoil contains clay and sand (silica), lime, iron, potash, phosphorus, sulphur, ammoniacal salts, and other matters which are of noimportance. Thus, between them, the soil and the atmosphere containall the elementary bodies which we find in the plant; but the planthas to separate them and join them together afresh. 

Moreover, the new matter, by the addition of which the plant grows, isnot applied to its outer surface, but is manufactured in its interior;and the new molecules are diffused among the old ones. 

The grain of wheat is a part of the flower of the wheat plant, which, when it becomes ripe, is easily separated. It contains a minute andrudimentary plant; and, when it is sown, this gradually grows, orbecomes developed into, the perfect plant, with its stem, roots, leaves, and flowers, which again give rise to similar seeds. Nomineral body runs through a regular series of changes of form andsize, and then gives off parts of its substance which take the samecourse. Mineral bodies present no such development, and give off noseeds or germs. They do not reproduce their kind. 

The fowl in the farmyard is incessantly pecking about and swallowingnow a grain of corn, and now a fly or a worm. In fact, it is feeding, and, as every one knows, would soon die if not supplied with food. Itis also a matter of every-day knowledge that it would not be of muchuse to give a fowl the soil of a cornfield, with plenty of air andwater, to eat. 

In this respect, the fowl is like all other animals; it cannotmanufacture the proteid materials of its body, but it has to take themready made, or in a condition which requires but very slightmodification by devouring the bodies either of other animals or ofplants. The animal or vegetable substances devoured are taken into theanimal's stomach; they are there digested or dissolved; and thus theyare fitted to be distributed to all parts of the fowl's own body, andapplied to its maintenance and growth. 

The fowl's egg is formed in the body of the hen, and is, in fact, partof her body inclosed in a shell and detached. It contains a minuterudiment of a fowl; and when it is kept at a proper temperature by thehen's sitting upon it, or otherwise for three weeks, this rudimentgrows, or develops, at the expense of the materials contained in theyolk and the white, into a small bird, the chick, which is thenhatched and grows into a fowl. The animal, therefore, is produced bythe development of a germ in the same way as the plant; and, in thisrespect, all plants and all animals agree with one another, and differfrom all mineral matter. 

Thus there is a very broad distinction between mineral matter andliving matter. The elements of living matter are identical with thoseof mineral bodies; and the fundamental laws of matter and motion applyas much to living matter as to mineral matter; but every living bodyis, as it were, a complicated piece of mechanism which "goes, " orlives, only under certain conditions. The germ contained in thefowl's egg requires nothing but a supply of warmth, within certainnarrow limits of temperature, to build the molecules of the egg intothe body of the chick. And the process of development of the egg, likethat of the seed, is neither more nor less mysterious than that, invirtue of which, the molecules of water, when it is cooled down to thefreezing-point, build themselves up into regular crystals. 

The further study of living bodies leads to the province of biology, of which there are two great divisions--botany, which deals withplants, and zoölogy, which treats of animals. 

Each of these divisions has its subdivisions--such as morphology, which treats of the form, structure, and development of living beings, and physiology, which explains their actions or functions, besidesothers. 

[Illustration]

LIFE GROWTH;--FROGS

(FROM A SONG OF LIFE. )

BY MARGARET WARNER MORLEY. [1]

[1] Copyright by A.  C. McClurg & Co. , 1891. 

[Illustration]

Somewhat higher than the fish in the scale of life is the frog. Although he begins life as a fish, and in the tadpole state breathesby gills, he soon discards the water-diluted air of the pond, and withperfect lungs boldly inhales the pure air of the upper world. His lifeas a tadpole, although so fish-like, is much inferior to true fishlife: for though the fish has not the perfect lung, he has amodification of it which he fills with air, not for breathingpurposes, but as an air-sac to make him float like a bubble in thewater. Will he rise to the surface? he inflates the air-bladder. Willhe sink to the bottom? he compresses the air-bladder. But in the frogthe air-bladder changes into the lungs, and is never the delicateballoon which floats the fish in aqueous space. When the frog's lungsare perfected, his gills close, and he forever abandons fish-life, though being a cold-blooded creature he needs comparatively littleair, and delights to return to his childhood's home in the bottom ofthe pond. But although he can stay under water for a long time, he isobliged to hold his breath while there, and when he would breathe mustcome to the surface to do so. It is possible to drown him by holdinghim under water. 

[Illustration: A FROG. ]

As a feeder the frog relies upon animal life, which he expertly seizeswith a tongue fastened by the wrong end, as compared with our tongues. He is a certain marksman, and when he aims at an insect the chancesare that the insect will enter his stomach and be there speedilychanged into a new form of animal life. 

Although from the moment the gills disappear the frog is a true landanimal, he is obliged, on account of the fish-like character of hisyoung, to lay his eggs in the water. For this purpose the frogs enterthe pools in early spring. The surface of every country pond swarmswith the bright-eyed little creatures. They have awakened from along, cold, winter sleep, to find the spring about them and withinthem. Life has suddenly become abundant and joyous. Their sluggishblood flows faster, their hearts beat quicker; they leap, they swim, they swell out their throats and call to each other in various keys. The toads are with them, and the pretty tree-frogs that change theircolor to suit their emotions. And all are rapturously screaming. Theirvoices are not musical, according to man's standard, but seem toafford great satisfaction to the performers in the shrill orchestra ofthe swamps, who thus give vent to the flood of life that sweepsthrough them after the still, icy winter. 

As though the new spring-life were too plentiful to find room in thefrogs and toads already existing, it calls for more frogs and toads;and new creatures are born to share the extra vitality. Like theflowers and the fish, the frogs, too, give forth new life. Withinthem, too, the miracle is performed. The tiny eggs of the one wake upand begin to grow. The tiny living bodies in the fertilizing principleof the other also wake up and begin to grow. But higher life is betterguarded, because less prolific. The frog and the toad lay but few eggsas compared with the fish. Fish eggs may drop under the stones orfloat away, and so escape the vital touch of the fertilizingprinciple. There are so many that numbers may be lost and yet enoughremain to continue the family. Not so with the frog family. No egg maybe lost. So we find that the eggs of the frog are not dropped singly, like so many shot, but are bound together by a colorless, transparent, jelly-like substance, much like that found in the morning-glory seed, and which like that supplies nourishment to the young life, for thetadpole feeds upon it until he is able to seek other food. Moreover, instinct has taught the frog the need of extreme caution in the act offertilization. Every egg _must_ be fertilized. As the time draws nearfor the dropping of the few eggs into the water, the male frog soplaces himself that the moment the eggs are being laid, he pours overthem, one by one, as they fall into the water, the fertilizing fluid. 

And thus the mystery of life is again repeated. The union of theliving, microscopic bodies of the fertilizing principle with the newlaid egg is followed by the growth of the two elements into a livingcreature, able to eat, to breathe, to see, to feel. In some unknownway the atom of fertilizing principle seems to have contained thewhole life of the father-frog, for it can give to his sons anddaughters any of his peculiarities, either of color, form, motion, ordisposition; and the tiny egg seems to have contained the whole lifeof the mother-frog, and can give to her sons and daughters any of herpeculiarities; though, as is true of all inheritance, the tadpoles, asthe young frogs are called, share the natures of both parents, inheriting some peculiarities from the father and others from themother. 

[Illustration: A FROG. ]

But, like other life, although the frogs may vary a good deal withinfrog limits, none of them can escape their own limits and enter intothose of any other life. Once a frog, always a frog; and no frog-eggmay hope to develop into a turtle, or a bird, or anything but a frog. The life in the fertilizing principle of the frog is sacred to frogeggs, and is lifeless in contact with any other. 

Our common frogs, like many of the fishes, do not trouble themselvesabout the fate of their eggs after they are carefully laid in a safeplace. They trust Mother Nature to see the little tadpoles safelythrough the perils of childhood, to help them change their dresses andget rid of their tails, and cut, not their teeth, but their arms andlegs. 

In Venezuela, however, there dwells a frog with well developedmaternal instinct. The mothers have pockets on their backs, not fortheir own convenience, but as cradles for their babies. The fathersput the fertilized eggs into the pockets of the mothers; and therethey remain, well guarded, until the young are able to care forthemselves. 

[Illustration: TADPOLES. ]

THE MAN-LIKE APES

(FROM EVIDENCE AS TO MAN'S PLACE IN NATURE. )

BY PROFESSOR T.  H. HUXLEY. 

[Illustration: HEAD OF GORILLA. ]

Sound knowledge respecting the habits and mode of life of the man-likeApes has been even more difficult of attainment than correctinformation regarding their structure. 

Once in a generation, a Wallace may be found physically, mentally, andmorally qualified to wander unscathed through the tropical wilds ofAmerica and of Asia, to form magnificent collections as he wanders, and withal to think out sagaciously the conclusions suggested by hiscollections; but, to the ordinary explorer or collector, the denseforests of equatorial Asia and Africa, which constitute the favoritehabitation of the Orang, the Chimpanzee, and the Gorilla, presentdifficulties of no ordinary magnitude; and the man who risks his lifeby even a short visit to the malarious shores of those regions maywell be excused if he shrinks from facing the dangers of the interior;if he contents himself with stimulating the industry of thebetter-seasoned natives, and collecting and collating the more or lessmythical reports and traditions with which they are too ready tosupply him. 

In such a manner most of the earlier accounts of the habits of theman-like Apes originated; and even now a good deal of what passescurrent must be admitted to have no very safe foundation. The bestinformation we possess is that based almost wholly on direct Europeantestimony respecting the Gibbons; the next best evidence relates tothe Orangs; while our knowledge of the habits of the Chimpanzee andthe Gorilla stands much in need of support and enlargement byadditional testimony from instructed European eye-witnesses. 

It will therefore be convenient in endeavoring to form a notion ofwhat we are justified in believing about these animals, to commencewith the best known man-like Apes, the Gibbons, and Orangs; and tomake use of the perfectly reliable information respecting them as asort of criterion of the probable truth or falsehood of assertionsrespecting the others. 

Of the Gibbons, half a dozen species are found scattered over theAsiatic Islands, Java, Sumatra, Borneo, and through Malacca, Siam, Arracan, and an uncertain extent of Hindostan on the mainland of Asia. The largest attain a few inches above three feet in height, from thecrown to the heel, so that they are shorter than the other man-likeApes, while the slenderness of their bodies renders their mass farsmaller in proportion even to this diminished height. 

Dr. Salomon Müller, an accomplished Dutch naturalist, who lived formany years in the Eastern Archipelago, and to the result of whosepersonal experience I shall frequently have occasion to refer, statesthat the Gibbons are true mountaineers, loving the slopes and edges ofthe hills, though they rarely ascend beyond the limit of thefig-trees. All day long they haunt the tops of the tall trees, andthough toward evening, they descend in small troops to the openground, no sooner do they spy a man than they dart up the hillsidesand disappear in the darker valleys. 

All observers testify to the prodigious volume of voice possessed bythese animals. According to the writer whom I have just cited, in oneof them, the Siamang, "the voice is grave and penetrating, resemblingthe sounds gōek, gōek, gōek, gōek, goek ha ha ha ha haaāāā, and may beeasily heard at a distance of half a league. " While the cry is beinguttered, the great membranous bag under the throat which communicateswith the organ of voice, the so-called "laryngeal sac, " becomesgreatly distended, diminishing again when the creature relapses intosilence. 

M. Duvaucel, likewise, affirms that the cry of the Siamang may beheard for miles--making the woods ring again. So Mr. Martin describesthe cry of the agile Gibbon as "overpowering and deafening" in a room, and "from its strength, well calculated for resounding through thevast forests. " Mr. Waterhouse, an accomplished musician as well aszoölogist, says, "The Gibbon's voice is certainly much more powerfulthan that of any singer I ever heard. " And yet it is to be recollectedthat this animal is not half the height of, and far less bulky inproportion than, a man. 

[Illustration: A GIBBON. ]

There is good testimony that various species of Gibbon readily take tothe erect posture. Mr. George Bennett, a very excellent observer, indescribing the habits of a male _Hylobates syndactylus_ which remainedfor some time in his possession, says: "He invariably walks in theerect posture when on a level surface; and then the arms either hangdown, enabling him to assist himself with his knuckles; or, what ismore usual, he keeps his arms uplifted in nearly an erect position, with the hands pendent ready to seize a rope, and climb up on theapproach of danger or on the obtrusion of strangers. He walks ratherquick in the erect posture, but with a waddling gait, and is soon rundown if, while pursued, he has no opportunity of escaping byclimbing. . . . When he walks in the erect posture, he turns the leg andfoot outward, which occasions him to have a waddling gait and to seembow-legged. "

Dr. Burrough states of another Gibbon, the Horlack or Hooluk:

"They walk erect; and when placed on the floor, or in an open field, balance themselves very prettily by raising their hands over theirhead and slightly bending the arm at the wrist and elbow, and then runtolerably fast, rocking from side to side; and, if urged to greaterspeed, they let fall their hands to the ground, and assist themselvesforward, rather jumping than running, still keeping the body, however, nearly erect. "

Somewhat different evidence, however, is given by Dr. Winslow Lewis:

"Their only manner of walking was on their posterior or inferiorextremities, the others being raised upward to preserve theirequilibrium, as rope-dancers are assisted by long poles at fairs. Their progression was not by placing one foot before the other, but bysimultaneously using both, as in jumping. " Dr. Salomon Müller alsostates that the Gibbons progress upon the ground by short series oftottering jumps, effected only by the hind limbs, the body being heldaltogether upright. 

But Mr. Martin, who also speaks from direct observation, says of theGibbons generally:

"Pre-eminently qualified for arboreal habits, and displaying among thebranches amazing activity, the Gibbons are not so awkward orembarrassed on a level surface as might be imagined. They walk erectwith a waddling or unsteady gait, but at a quick pace, the equilibriumof the body requiring to be kept up, either by touching the groundwith the knuckles, first on one side then on the other, or byuplifting the arms so as to poise it. As with the Chimpanzee, thewhole of the narrow, long sole of the foot is placed upon the groundat once, and raised at once, without any elasticity of step. "

After this mass of concurrent and independent testimony, it cannotreasonably be doubted that the Gibbons commonly and habitually assumethe erect attitude. 

But level ground is not the place where these animals can displaytheir very remarkable and peculiar locomotive powers, and thatprodigious activity which almost tempts one to rank them among flying, rather than among ordinary climbing mammals. 

Mr. Martin has given so excellent and graphic an account of themovements of a _Hylobates agilis_, living in the Zoölogical Gardens, in 1840, that I will quote it in full:

"It is almost impossible to convey in words an idea of the quicknessand graceful address of her movements: they may indeed be termedaërial, as she seems merely to touch in her progress the branchesamong which she exhibits her evolutions. In these feats her hands andarms are the sole organs of locomotion, her body, hanging as ifsuspended by a rope, sustained by one hand (the right, for example), she launches herself, by an energetic movement, to a distant branch, which she catches with the left hand; but her hold is less thanmomentary; the impulse for the next launch is acquired; the branchthen aimed at is attained by the right hand again, and quittedinstantaneously, and so on, in alternate succession. In this mannerspaces of twelve and eighteen feet are cleared, with the greatest easeand uninterruptedly, for hours together, without the slightestappearance of fatigue being manifested; and it is evident that, ifmore space could be allowed, distances very greatly exceeding eighteenfeet would be as easily cleared; so that Duvaucel's assertion that hehas seen these animals launch themselves from one branch to another, forty feet asunder, startling as it is, may be well credited. Sometimes, on seizing a branch in her progress, she will throwherself, by the power of one arm only, completely round it, making arevolution with such rapidity as almost to deceive the eye, andcontinue her progress with undiminished velocity. It is singular toobserve how suddenly this Gibbon can stop, when the impetus giving bythe rapidity and distance of her swinging leaps would seem to requirea gradual abatement of her movements. In the very midst of her flighta branch is seized, the body raised, and she is seen, as if by magic, quietly seated on it, grasping it with her feet. As suddenly she againthrows herself into action. 

"The following facts will convey some notion of her dexterity andquickness. A live bird was let loose in her apartment; she marked itsflight, made a long swing to a distant branch, caught the bird withone hand in her passage, and attained the branch with her other hand, her aim, both at the bird and at the branch, being as successful as ifone object only had engaged her attention. It may be added that sheinstantly bit off the head of the bird, picked its feathers, and thenthrew it down without attempting to eat it. 

"On another occasion this animal swung herself from a perch, across apassage at least twelve feet wide, against a window which it wasthought would be immediately broken: but not so; to the surprise ofall, she caught the narrow framework between the panes with her hand, in an instant attained the proper impetus, and sprang back again tothe cage she had left--a feat requiring not only great strength, butthe nicest precision. "

The Gibbons appear to be naturally very gentle, but there is very goodevidence that they will bite severely when irritated, a female_Hylobates agilis_ having so severely lacerated one man with her longcanines that he died; while she had injured others so much that, byway of precaution, these formidable teeth had been filed down; but ifthreatened she would still turn on her keeper. The Gibbons eatinsects, but appear generally to avoid animal food. A Siamang, however, was seen by Mr. Bennett to seize and devour greedily a livelizard. They commonly drink by dipping their fingers in the liquid andthen licking them. It is asserted that they sleep in a sittingposture. 

Duvaucel affirms that he has seen the females carry their young to thewater-side and there wash their faces, in spite of resistance andcries. They are gentle and affectionate in captivity--full of tricksand pettishness, like spoiled children, and yet not devoid of acertain conscience, as an anecdote, told by Mr. Bennett will show. Itwould appear that his Gibbon had a peculiar inclination fordisarranging things in the cabin. Among these articles a piece of soapwould especially attract his notice, and for the removal of this hehad been once or twice scolded. "One morning, " says Mr. Bennett, "Iwas writing, the Ape being present in the cabin, when, casting my eyestoward him, I saw the little fellow taking the soap. I watched himwithout him perceiving that I did so: and he occasionally would cast afurtive glance toward the place where I sat. I pretended to write; heseeing me busily occupied, took the soap, and moved away with it inhis paw. When he had walked half the length of the cabin, I spokequietly, without frightening him. The instant he found I saw him hewalked back again and deposited the soap nearly in the same place fromwhence he had taken it. There was certainly something more thaninstinct in that action: he evidently betrayed a consciousness ofhaving done wrong both by his first and last actions--and what isreason if that is not an exercise of it?"

The most elaborate account of the natural history of the Orang-Utanextant is that given in the "_Verhandelingen over de NatuurlijkeGeschiedenis der Nederlandsche overzeeche Bezittingen (1839–45)_, " byDr. Salomon Müller and Dr. Schlegel, and I shall base what I have tosay upon this subject almost entirely on their statements, adding hereand there particulars of interest from the writings of Brooke, Wallace, and others. 

The Orang-Utan would rarely seem to exceed four feet in height, butthe body is very bulky, measuring two thirds of the height incircumference. 

The Orang-Utan is found only in Sumatra and Borneo, and is common ineither of these islands--in both of which it occurs always in low, flat plains, never in the mountains. It loves the densest and mostsombre of the forests, which extend from the seashore inland, and thusis found only in the eastern half of Sumatra, where alone such forestsoccur, though, occasionally, it strays over to the western side. 

On the other hand it is generally distributed through Borneo, exceptin the mountains, or where the population is dense. In favorableplaces the hunter may, by good fortune, see three or four in a day. 

[Illustration: HEAD OF ORANG-UTAN. ]

Except in the pairing time, the old males usually live by themselves. The old females and the immature males, on the other hand, are oftenmet with in twos and threes; and the former occasionally have youngwith them, though the pregnant females usually separate themselves, and sometimes remain apart after they have given birth to theiroffspring. The young Orangs seem to remain unusually long under theirmother's protection, probably in consequence of their slow growth. While climbing the mother always carries her young against her bosom, the young holding on by the mother's hair. At what time of life theOrang-Utan becomes capable of propagation, and how long the females gowith young is unknown, but it is probable that they are not adultuntil they arrive at ten or fifteen years of age. A female which livedfor five years at Batavia had not attained one-third the height of thewild females. It is probable that, after reaching adult years, they goon growing, though slowly, and that they live to forty or fifty years. The Dyaks tell of old Orangs which have not only lost all theirteeth, but which find it so troublesome to climb that they maintainthemselves on windfalls and juicy herbage. 

The Orang is sluggish, exhibiting none of that marvellous activitycharacteristic of the Gibbons. Hunger alone seems to stir him toexertion, and when it is stilled he relapses into repose. When theanimal sits, it curves its back and bows its head, so as to lookstraight down on the ground; sometimes it holds on with its hands by ahigher branch, sometimes lets them hang phlegmatically down by itsside; and in these positions the Orang will remain for hours together, in the same spot, almost without stirring, and only now and thengiving utterance to its deep, growling voice. By day he usually climbsfrom one tree-top to another, and only at night descends to theground: and if then threatened with danger he seeks refuge among theunderwood. When not hunted, he remains a long time in the samelocality, and sometimes stops for many days on the same tree, a firmplace among its branches serving him for a bed. It is rare for theOrang to pass the night in the summit of a large tree, probablybecause it is too windy and cold there for him; but as soon as nightdraws on he descends from the height and seeks out a fit bed in thelower and darker part, or in the leafy top of a small tree, amongwhich he prefers Nibong palms, Pandani, or one of those parasiticorchids which gave the primeval forests of Borneo so characteristicand striking an appearance. But whenever he determines to sleep, therehe prepares himself a sort of nest; little boughs and leaves are drawntogether round the selected spot, and bent crosswise over oneanother; while to make the bed soft, great leaves of ferns, oforchids, of _Pandanus fascicularis_, _Nipa fruticans_, etc. , arelaid over them. Those which Müller saw, many of them being very fresh, were situated at a height of ten to twenty-five feet above the ground, and had a circumference, on the average, of two or three feet. Somewere packed many inches thick with _pandanus_ leaves; others wereremarkable only for the cracked twigs, which, united in a commoncentre, formed a regular platform. "The rude _hut_, " says Sir JamesBrooke, "which they are stated to build in the trees, would be moreproperly called a seat or nest, for it has no roof or cover of anysort. The facility with which they form this nest is curious, and Ihad an opportunity of seeing a wounded female weave the branchestogether and seat herself within a minute. "

According to the Dyaks the Orang rarely leaves his bed before the sunis well above the horizon and has dissipated the mists. He gets upabout nine, and goes to bed again about five; but sometimes not tilllate in the twilight. He lies sometimes on his back, or, by way ofchange, turns on one side or the other, drawing his limbs up to hisbody, and resting his head on his hand. When the night is cold, windy, or rainy, he usually covers his body with a heap of _pandanus nipa_, or fern leaves, like those of which his bed is made, and he isespecially careful to wrap up his head in them. It is this habit ofcovering himself up which has probably led to the fable that the Orangbuilds huts in the trees. 

Although the Orang resides mostly amid the boughs of great treesduring the daytime, he is very rarely seen squatting on a thick branchas other apes, and particularly the Gibbons, do. The Orang, on thecontrary, confines himself to the slender leafy branches, so that heis seen right at the top of the trees, a mode of life which is closelyrelated to the constitution of his hinder limbs, and especially tothat of his seat. For this is provided with no callosites such asare possessed by many of the lower apes, and even by the Gibbons; andthose bones of the pelvis, which are termed the ischia, and which formthe solid framework of the surface on which the body rests in thesitting posture, are not expanded like those of the apes which possesscallosities, but are more like those of man. 

An Orang climbs so slowly and cautiously as, in this act, to resemblea man more than an ape, taking great care of his feet, so that injuryof them seems to affect him far more than it does other apes. Unlikethe Gibbons, whose forearms do the greater part of the work as theyswing from branch to branch, the Orang never makes even the smallestjump. In climbing, he moves alternately one hand and one foot, or, after having laid fast hold with the hands, he draws up both feettogether. In passing from one tree to another he always seeks out aplace where the twigs of both come close together, or interlace. Evenwhen closely pursued, his circumspection is amazing; he shakes thebranches to see if they will bear him, and then bending an overhangingbough down by throwing his weight gradually along it, he makes abridge from the tree he wishes to quit to the next. 

On the ground the Orang always goes laboriously and shakily on allfours. At starting he will run faster than a man, though he may soonbe overtaken. The very long arms which, when he runs, are but littlebent, raise the body of the Orang remarkably, so that he assumes muchthe posture of a very old man bent down by age, and making his wayalong by the help of a stick. In walking, the body is usually directedstraight forward, unlike the other apes, which run more or lessobliquely, except the Gibbons, who in these, as in so many otherrespects, depart remarkably from their fellows. 

The Orang cannot put its feet flat on the ground, but is supportedupon their outer edges, the heel resting more on the ground, while thecurved toes partly rest upon the ground by the upper side of theirfirst joint, the two outermost toes of each foot completely resting onthis surface. The hands are held in the opposite manner, their inneredges serving as the chief support. The fingers are then bent out insuch a manner that their foremost joints, especially those of the twoinner-most fingers, rest upon the ground by their upper sides, whilethe point of the free and straight thumb serves as an additionalfulcrum. 

The Orang never stands on its hind legs, and all the picturesrepresenting it as so doing are as false as the assertion that itdefends itself with sticks and the like. 

The long arms are of especial use, not only in climbing, but in thegathering of food from boughs to which the animal could not trust hisweight. Figs, blossoms, and young leaves of various kinds, constitutethe chief nutriment of the Orang; but strips of bamboo two or threefeet long were found in the stomach of a male. They are not known toeat living animals. 

Although, when taken young, the Orang-Utan soon becomes domesticated, and indeed seems to court human society; it is naturally a very wildand shy animal, though apparently sluggish and melancholy. The Dyaksaffirm that when the old males are wounded with arrows only they willoccasionally leave the trees and rush raging upon their enemies, whosesole safety lies in instant flight, as they are sure to be killed ifcaught. 

But, though possessed of immense strength, it is rare for the Orang toattempt to defend itself, especially when attacked with firearms. Onsuch occasions he endeavors to hide himself, or to escape along thetop-most branches of the trees, breaking off and throwing down theboughs as he goes. When wounded he betakes himself to the highestattainable point of the tree, and emits a singular cry, consisting atfirst of high notes, which at length deepen into a low roar, notunlike that of a panther. While giving out the high notes the Orangthrusts out his lips into a funnel-shape; but in uttering the lownotes he holds his mouth wide open, and at the same time the greatthroat bag, or laryngeal sac, becomes distended. 

According to the Dyaks, the only animal the Orang measures hisstrength with is the crocodile, who occasionally seizes him on hisvisits to the water-side. But they say that the Orang is more than amatch for his enemy, and beats him to death, or rips up his throat bypulling the jaws asunder!

Much of what has been here stated was probably derived by Dr. Müllerfrom the reports of his Dyak hunters; but a large male, four feethigh, lived in captivity under his observation for a month, andreceives a very bad character. 

"He was a very wild beast, " says Müller, "of prodigious strength, andfalse and wicked to the last degree. If any one approached he rose upslowly with a low growl, fixed his eyes in the direction in which hemeant to make his attack, slowly passed his hand between the bars ofhis cage, and then, extending his long arm, gave a suddengrip--usually at the face. " He never tried to bite (though Orangs willbite one another), his great weapons of offence and defence being hishands. 

His intelligence was very great; and Müller remarks that, though thefaculties of the Orang have been estimated too highly, yet Cuvier, hadhe seen this specimen, would not have considered its intelligence tobe only a little higher than that of a dog. 

His hearing was very acute, but the sense of vision seemed to be lessperfect. The under lip was the great organ of touch, and played a veryimportant part in drinking, being thrust out like a trough, so aseither to catch the falling rain or to receive the contents of thehalf cocoanut shell full of water with which the Orang was supplied, and which, in drinking, he poured into the trough thus formed. 

In Borneo, the Orang-Utan of the Malays goes by the name of "_Mias_"among the Dyaks, who distinguish several kinds as _Mias Pappan_, or_Zimo_, _Mias Kassu_, and _Mias Rambi_. Whether these are distinctspecies, however, or whether they are mere races, and how far any ofthem are identical with the Sumatran Orang, as Mr. Wallace thinks theMias Pappan to be, are problems which are at present undecided; andthe variability of these great apes is so extensive that thesettlement of the question is a matter of great difficulty. Of theform called "Mias Pappan, " Mr. Wallace observes: "It is known by itslarge size, and by the lateral expansion of the face into fattyprotuberances, or ridges, over the temporal muscles, which have beenmistermed callosites, as they are perfectly soft, smooth, andflexible. Five of this form, measured by me, varied only from 4 feet1 inch to 4 feet 2 inches in height, from the heel to the crown of thehead, the girth of the body from 3 feet to 3 feet 7½ inches, and theextent of the outstretched arms from 7 feet 2 inches to 7 feet6 inches; the width of the face from 10 to 13¼ inches. The color andlength of the hair varied in different individuals, and in differentparts of the same individual; some possessed a rudimentary nail on thegreat toe, others none at all; but they otherwise present no externaldifferences on which to establish even varieties of a species. 

"Yet, when we examine the crania of these individuals, we findremarkable differences of form, proportion, and dimension, no twobeing exactly alike. The slope of the profile, and the projection ofthe muzzle, together with the size of the cranium, offer differencesas decided as those existing between the most strongly marked forms ofthe Caucasian and African crania in the human species. The orbits varyin width and height, the cranial ridge is either single or double, either much or little developed, and the zygomatic aperture variesconsiderably in size. This variation in the proportions of the craniaenables us satisfactorily to explain the marked difference presentedby the single-crested and double-crested skulls, which have beenthought to prove the existence of two large species of Orang. Theexternal surface of the skull varies considerably in size, as do alsothe zygomatic aperture and the temporal muscle: but they bear nonecessary relation to each other, a small muscle often existing with alarge cranial surface, and vice versa. Now those skulls which have thelargest and strongest jaws, and the widest zygomatic aperture, havethe muscles so large that they meet on the crown of the skull, anddeposit the bony ridge which separates them, and which is the highestin that which has the smallest cranial surface. In those which combinea large surface with comparatively weak jaws, and small zygomaticaperture, the muscles, on each side, do not extend to the crown, aspace of from 1 to 2 inches remaining between them, and along theirmargins small ridges are formed. Intermediate forms are found, inwhich the ridges meet only in the hinder part of the skull. The formand size of the ridges are therefore independent of age, beingsometimes more strongly developed in the less aged animal. ProfessorTemminck states that the series of skulls in the Leyden Museum showsthe same result. "

Mr. Wallace observed two male adult Orangs (Mias Kassu of the Dyaks), however, so very different from any of these that he concludes them tobe specially distinct; they were respectively 3 feet 8½ inches and3 feet 9½ inches high, and possessed no sign of the cheek excrescences, but otherwise resembled the larger kinds. The skull has no crest, buttwo bony ridges, 1¾ to 2 inches apart, as in the _Simia morio_ ofProfessor Owen. The teeth, however, are immense, equalling orsurpassing those of the other species. The females of both thesekinds, according to Mr. Wallace, are devoid of excrescences, andresemble the smaller males, but are shorter by 1½ to 3 inches, andtheir canine teeth are comparatively small, subtruncated and dilatedat the base, as in the so-called _Simia morio_, which is, in allprobability, the skull of a female of the same species as the smallermales. Both males and females of this smaller species aredistinguishable, according to Mr. Wallace, by the comparatively largesize of the middle incisors of the upper jaw. 

So far as I am aware, no one has attempted to dispute the accuracy ofthe statements which I have just quoted regarding the habits of thetwo Asiatic man-like Apes; and if true, they must be admitted asevidence that such an ape--

1stly, May readily move along the ground in the erect, or semi-erect, position, and without direct support from its arms. 

2dly, That it may possess an extremely loud voice--so loud as to bereadily heard one or two miles. 

3dly, That it may be capable of great viciousness and violence whenirritated; and this is especially true of adult males. 

4thly, That it may build a nest to sleep in. 

Such being well-established facts respecting the Asiatic anthropoids, analogy alone might justify us in expecting the African species tooffer similar peculiarities, separately or combined; or, at any rate, would destroy the force of any attempted _à priori_ argument againstsuch direct testimony as might be adduced in favor of their existence. And if the organization of any of the African apes could bedemonstrated to fit it better than either of its Asiatic allies forthe erect position and for efficient attack, there would be still lessreason for doubting its occasional adoption of the upright attitude, or of aggressive proceedings. 

[Illustration: HEAD OF CHIMPANZEE. ]

From the time of Tyson and Tulpius downward the habits of the youngChimpanzee in a state of captivity have been abundantly reported andcommented upon. But trustworthy evidence as to the manners and customsof adult anthropoids of this species, in their native woods, wasalmost wanting up to the time of the publication of the paper by Dr. Savage, to which I have already referred, containing notes of theobservations which he made, and of the information which he collectedfrom sources which he considered trustworthy, while resident at CapePalmas, at the north-western limit of the Bight of Benin. 

The adult Chimpanzees, measured by Dr. Savage, never exceeded, thoughthe males may almost attain, five feet in height. 

"When at rest, the sitting posture is that generally assumed. They aresometimes seen standing and walking, but when thus detected, theyimmediately take to all fours and flee from the presence of theobserver. Such is their organization that they cannot stand erect, butlean forward. Hence they are seen, when standing, with the handsclasped over the occiput, or the lumbar region, which would seemnecessary to balance or ease of posture. 

"The toes of the adult are strongly flexed and turned inward, andcannot be perfectly straightened. In the attempt the skin gathers intothick folds on the back, showing that the full expansion of the foot, as is necessary in walking, is unnatural. The natural position is onall fours, the body anteriorly resting upon the knuckles. These aregreatly enlarged, with the skin protuberant and thickened like thesole of the foot. 

"They are expert climbers, as one would suppose from theirorganization. In their gambols they swing from limb to limb at a greatdistance, and leap with astonishing agility. It is not unusual to seethe 'old folks' (in the language of an observer) sitting under a treeregaling themselves with fruit and friendly chat, while their'children' are leaping around them, and swinging from tree to treewith boisterous merriment. 

"As seen here, they cannot be called _gregarious_, seldom more thanfive, or ten at most, being found together. It has been said, on goodauthority, that they occasionally assemble in large numbers, ingambols. My informant asserts that he saw once not less than fifty soengaged, hooting, screaming, and drumming with sticks upon old logs, which is done in the latter case with equal facility by the fourextremities. They do not appear ever to act on the offensive, and, seldom, if ever, really on the defensive. When about to be captured, they resist by throwing their arms about their opponent, andattempting to draw him into contact with their teeth. "

With respect to this last point Dr. Savage is very explicit in anotherplace:

"_Biting_ is their principal art of defence. I have seen one man whohad been thus severely wounded in the feet. 

"The strong development of the canine teeth in the adult would seem toindicate a carnivorous propensity; but in no state save that ofdomestication do they manifest it. At first they reject flesh, buteasily acquire a fondness for it. The canines are early developed, andevidently designed to act the important part of weapons of defence. When in contact with man almost the first effort of the animal is--_tobite_. 

"They avoid the abodes of men, and build their habitations in trees. Their construction is more that of _nests_ than _huts_, as they havebeen erroneously termed by some naturalists. They generally build notfar above the ground. Branches or twigs are bent, or partly broken, and crossed, and the whole supported by the body of a limb or acrotch. Sometimes a nest will be found near the _end_ of a _strongleafy branch_ twenty or thirty feet from the ground. One I have latelyseen that could not be less than forty feet, and more probably it wasfifty. But this is an unusual height. 

"Their dwelling-place is not permanent, but changed in pursuit of foodand solitude, according to the force of circumstances. We most oftensee them in elevated places; but this arises from the fact that thelow grounds, being more favorable for the natives' rice-farms, are theoftener cleared, and hence are almost always wanting in suitable treesfor their nests. . . . It is seldom that more than one or two nests areseen upon the same tree, or in the same neighborhood: five have beenfound, but it was an unusual circumstance. " . . . 

"They are very filthy in their habits. It is a tradition with thenatives generally here that they were once members of their own tribe;that for their depraved habits they were expelled from all humansociety, and that, through an obstinate indulgence of their vilepropensities, they have degenerated into their present state oforganization. They are, however, eaten by them, and when cooked withthe oil and pulp of the palm-nut considered a highly palatable morsel. 

"They exhibit a remarkable degree of intelligence in their habits, and, on the part of the mother, much affection for their young. Thesecond female described was upon a tree when first discovered, withher mate and two young ones (a male and a female). Her first impulsewas to descend with great rapidity and make off into the thicket withher mate and female offspring. The young male remaining behind, shesoon returned to the rescue. She ascended and took him in her arms, atwhich moment she was shot, the ball passing through the forearm of theyoung one, on the way to the heart of the mother. . . . 

"In a recent case the mother, when discovered, remained upon the treewith her offspring, watching intently the movements of the hunter. Ashe took aim, she motioned with her hand, precisely in the manner of ahuman being, to have him desist and go away. When the wound has notproved instantly fatal, they have been known to stop the flow of bloodby pressing with the hand upon the part, and when they did notsucceed, to apply leaves and grass. . . . When shot, they give a suddenscreech, not unlike that of a human, being in sudden and acutedistress. 

"The ordinary voice of the Chimpanzee, however, is affirmed to behoarse, guttural, and not very loud, somewhat like 'whoo-whoo. '"

The analogy of the Chimpanzee to the Orang, in its nest-building habitand in the mode of forming its nest, is exceedingly interesting, while, on the other hand, the activity of this ape, and its tendencyto bite, are particulars in which it rather resembles the Gibbons. Inextent of geographical range, again, the Chimpanzees--which are foundfrom Sierra Leone to Congo--remind one of the Gibbons rather than ofeither of the other man-like Apes; and it seems not unlikely that, asis the case with the Gibbons, there may be several species spread overthe geographical area of the genus. 

The same excellent observer, from whom I have borrowed the precedingaccount of the habits of the adult Chimpanzee, published an account ofthe Gorilla, which has, in its most essential points, been confirmedby subsequent observers, and to which so very little has really beenadded, that, in justice to Dr. Savage, I give it almost in full:

"It should be borne in mind that my account is based upon thestatements of the aborigines of that region (the Gaboon). In thisconnection it may also be proper for me to remark that, having been amissionary resident for several years, studying, from habitualintercourse, the African mind and character, I felt myself prepared todiscriminate and decide upon the probability of their statements. Besides, being familiar with the history and habits of its interestingcongener (_Trogniger_, Geoff. ), I was able to separate their accountsof the two animals, which, having the same locality and a similarityof habit, are confounded in the minds of the mass, especially as butfew--such as traders to the interior, and huntsmen--have ever seen theanimal in question. 

"The tribe from which our knowledge of the animal is derived, andwhose territory forms its habitat, is the _Mpongwe_, occupying bothbanks of the River Gaboon, from its mouth to some fifty or sixty milesupward. . . . 

"If the word 'Pongo' be of African origin, it is probably a corruptionof the word _Mpongwe_, the name of the tribe on the banks of theGaboon, and hence applied to the region they inhabit. Their local namefor the Chimpanzee is _Enché-eko_, as near as it can be Anglicized, from which the common term 'Jocko' probably conies. The _Mpongwe_apellation for its new congener is _Engé-ena_, prolonging the sound ofthe first vowel, and slightly sounding the second. 

"The habitat of the _Engé-ena_ is the interior of Lower Guinea, whilethat of the _Enché-eko_ is nearer the seaboard. 

"Its height is about five feet; it is disproportionately broad acrossthe shoulders, thickly covered with coarse black hair, which is saidto be similar in its arrangement to that of the _Enché-eko_; with ageit becomes gray, which fact has given rise to the report that bothanimals are seen of different colors. 

"Head. --The prominent features of the head are the great width andelongation of the face, the depth of the molar region, the branches ofthe lower jaw being very deep and extending far backward, and thecomparative smallness of the cranial portion; the eyes are very large, and said to be like those of the _Enché-eko_, a bright hazel; nosebroad and flat, slightly elevated toward the root; the muzzle broad, and prominent lips and chin, with scattered gray hairs; the under liphighly mobile, and capable of great elongation when the animal isenraged, then hanging over the chin; skin of the face and ears nakedand of a dark-brown, approaching to black. 

"The most remarkable feature of the head is a high ridge, or crest ofhair, in the course of the sagittal suture, which meets posteriorlywith a transverse ridge of the same, but less prominent, running roundfrom the back of one ear to the other. The animal has the power ofmoving the scalp freely forward and back, and when enraged is said tocontract it strongly over the brow, thus bringing down the hairy ridgeand pointing the hair forward, so as to present an indescribablyferocious aspect. 

[Illustration: THE GORILLA. ]

"Neck short, thick, and hairy; chest and shoulders very broad, andsaid to be fully double the size of the _Enché-ekos;_ arms very long, reaching some way below the knee--the forearm much the shortest; handsvery large, the thumbs much larger than the fingers. . . . 

"The gait is shuffling; the motion of the body, which is never uprightas in man, but bent forward, is somewhat rolling, or from side toside. The arms being longer than the Chimpanzee, it does not stoop asmuch in walking; like that animal, it makes progression by thrustingits arms forward, resting the hands on the ground, and then giving thebody a half-jumping, half-swinging motion between them. In this act itis said not to flex the fingers, as does the Chimpanzee, resting onits knuckles, but to extend them, making a fulcrum of the hand. Whenit assumes the walking posture, to which it is said to be muchinclined, it balances its huge body by flexing its arms upward. 

"They live in bands, but are not so numerous as the Chimpanzees; thefemales generally exceed the other sex in number. My informants allagree in the assertion that but one adult male is seen in a band; thatwhere the young males grow up a contest takes place for mastery, andthe strongest, by killing and driving out the others, establisheshimself as the head of the community. "

Dr. Savage repudiates the stories about the Gorillas carrying offwomen and vanquishing elephants, and then adds:

"Their dwellings, if they may be so called, are similar to those ofthe Chimpanzee, consisting simply of a few sticks and leafy branches, supported by the crotches and limbs of trees; they afford no shelter, and are occupied only at night. 

"They are exceedingly ferocious, and always offensive in theirhabits, never running from man, as does the Chimpanzee. They areobjects of terror to the natives, and are never encountered by themexcept on the defensive. The few that have been captured were killedby elephant-hunters and native traders, as they came suddenly uponthem while passing through the forests. 

"It is said that when the male is first seen he gives a terrific yell, that resounds far and wide through the forest, something like kh--ah!kh--ah! prolonged and shrill. His enormous jaws are widely opened ateach expiration, his under-lip hangs over the chin, and the hairyridge and scalp are contracted upon the brow, presenting an aspect ofindescribable ferocity. 

"The females and young, at the first cry, quickly disappear. He thenapproaches the enemy in great fury, pouring out his horrid cries inquick succession. The hunter awaits his approach with his gunextended; if his aim is not sure he permits the animal to grasp thebarrel, and as he carries it to his mouth (which is his habit) hefires. Should the gun fail to go off, the barrel (that of the ordinarymusket, which is thin), is crashed between his teeth and the encountersoon proves fatal to the hunter. 

"In the wild state their habits are in general like those of the_Troglodytes niger_, building their nests loosely in trees, livingon similar fruits, and changing their place of resort from force ofcircumstances. "

Dr. Savage's observations were confirmed and supplemented by those ofMr. Ford, who communicated an interesting paper on the Gorilla to thePhiladelphian Academy of Sciences, in 1852. With respect to thegeographical distribution of this greatest of all the man-like Apes, Mr. Ford remarks:

"This animal inhabits the range of mountains that traverse theinterior of Guinea from the Cameroon in the north to Angola in thesouth, and about one hundred miles inland, and called by thegeographers Crystal Mountains. The limit to which this animal extends, either north or south, I am unable to define. But that limit isdoubtless some distance north of this river [Gaboon]. I was able tocertify myself of this fact in a late excursion to the head-waters ofthe Mooney (Danger) River, which comes into the sea some sixty milesfrom this place. I was informed (credibly, I think), that they werenumerous among the mountains in which that river rises, and far northof that. 

"In the south, this species extends to the Congo River, as I am toldby native traders who have visited the coast, between the Gaboon andthat river. Beyond that, I am not informed. This animal is only foundat a distance from the coast in most cases, and, according to my bestinformation, approaches it nowhere so nearly as on the south side ofthis river, where they have been found within ten miles of the sea. This, however, is only of late occurrence. I am informed by some ofthe oldest Mpongwe men that formerly he was only found on the sourcesof the river, but that at present he may be found within half a day'swalk of its mouth. Formerly he inhabited the mountainous ridge whereBushmen alone inhabited, but now he boldly approaches the Mpongweplantations. This is doubtless the reason of the scarcity ofinformation in years past, as the opportunities for receiving aknowledge of the animal have not been wanting; traders having for onehundred years frequented this river, and specimens, such as have beenbrought here within a year, could not have been exhibited withouthaving attracted the attention of the most stupid. "

One specimen Mr. Ford examined weighed one hundred and seventy pounds, without the thoracic or pelvic viscera, and measured four feet fourinches round the chest. This writer describes so minutely andgraphically the onslaught of the Gorilla--though he does not for amoment pretend to have witnessed the scene--that I am tempted to givethis part of his paper in full, for comparison with other narratives. 

"He always rises to his feet when making an attack, though heapproaches his antagonist in a stooping posture. 

"Though he never lies in wait, yet, when he hears, sees, or scents aman, he immediately utters his characteristic cry, prepares for anattack, and always acts on the offensive. The cry he utters resemblesa grunt more than a growl, and is similar to the cry of the Chimpanzeewhen irritated, but vastly louder. It is said to be audible at a greatdistance. His preparation consists in attending the females and youngones, by whom he is usually accompanied, to a little distance. He, however, soon returns with his crest erect and projecting forward, hisnostrils dilated, and his under-lip thrown down; at the same timeuttering his characteristic yell, designed, it would seem, to terrifyhis antagonist. Instantly, unless he is disabled by a well-directedshot, he makes an onset, and, striking his antagonist with the palm ofhis hands, or seizing him with a grasp from which there is no escape, he dashes him upon the ground, and lacerates him with his tusks. 

"He is said to seize a musket, and instantly crush the barrel betweenhis teeth. . . . This animal's savage nature is very well shown by theimplacable desperation of a young one that was brought here. It wastaken very young, and kept four months, and many means were used totame it; but it was incorrigible, so that it bit me an hour before itdied. "

[Illustration: HAND OF GORILLA, ORANG, GIBBON, AND CHIMPANZEE. ]

SOME STRANGE NURSERIES

(FROM NATURE'S WORKSHOP. )

BY GRANT ALLEN. 

[Illustration]

You could hardly find a better rough test of relative development inthe animal (or vegetable) world than the number of young produced andthe care bestowed upon them. The fewer the offspring, the higher thetype. Very low animals turn out thousands of eggs with recklessprofusion; but they let them look after themselves, or be devoured byenemies, as chance will have it. The higher you go in the scale ofbeing, the smaller the families, but the greater amount of painsexpended upon the rearing and upbringing of the young. Large broodsmean low organization; small broods imply higher types and more carein the nurture and education of the offspring. Primitive kinds produceeggs wholesale, on the off chance that some two or three among themmay perhaps survive an infant mortality of ninety-nine per cent, so asto replace their parents. Advanced kinds produce half a dozen young, or less, but bring a large proportion of these on an average up toyears of discretion. 

[Illustration: SEA-HORSES. ]

Without taking into account insects and such other "small deer, "--toquote Shakespeare's expression, --this fundamental principle ofpopulation will become at once apparent if we examine merely familiarinstances of back-boned or vertebrate animals. The lowest vertebratesare clearly the fishes: and the true fishes have almost invariablygigantic families. A single cod, for example, is said to produce, roughly speaking, nine million eggs at a birth (I cannot pretend Ihave checked this calculation); but supposing they were only amillion, and that one-tenth of those eggs alone ever came to maturity, there would still be a hundred thousand codfish in the sea this yearfor every pair that swam in it last year: and these would increase toa hundred thousand times that number next year; and so on, till infour or five years' time the whole sea would be but one solid mass ofclosely-packed cod-banks. We can see for ourselves that nothing of thesort actually occurs--practically speaking, there are about the samenumber of cod one year as another. In spite of this enormousbirth-rate, therefore, the cod population is not increasing--it is ata standstill. What does that imply? Why, that taking one brood and oneyear with another, only a pair of cod, roughly speaking, survive tomaturity out of each eight or nine million eggs. The mother cod laysits millions, in order that two may arrive at the period of spawning. All the rest get devoured as eggs, or snapped up as young fry, or elsedie of starvation, or are otherwise unaccounted for. It seems to us awasteful way of replenishing the earth: but it is nature's way; we canonly bow respectfully to her final decision. 

Frogs and other amphibians stand higher in the scale of life thanfish; they have acquired legs in place of fins, and lungs instead ofgills; they can hop about on shore with perfect freedom. Now, frogsstill produce a great deal of spawn, as every one knows: but the eggsin each brood are numbered in their case by hundreds, or at most by athousand or two, not by millions as with many fishes. The spawnhatches out as a rule in ponds, and we have all seen the little blacktadpoles crowding the edges of the water in such innumerable massesthat one would suppose the frogs to be developed from them must coverthe length and breadth of England. Yet what becomes of them all?Hundreds are destroyed in the early tadpole stage--eaten up orstarved, or crowded out for want of air and space and water: a fewalone survive or develop four legs, and absorb their tails and hop onshore as tiny froglings. Even then the massacre of the innocentscontinues. Only a tithe of those which succeeded in quitting theirnative pond ever return to it full grown, to spawn in due time, andbecome the parents of further generations. 

Lizards and other reptiles make an obvious advance on the frog type;they lay relatively few eggs, but they begin to care for their young. The family is not here abandoned at birth, as among frogs, but isfrequently tended and fed and overlooked by the mother. In birds wehave a still higher development of the same marked parental tendency;only three or four eggs are laid each year, as a rule, and on theseeggs the mother sits, while both parents feed the callow nestlingstill such time as they are able to take care of themselves and pickup their own living. Among mammals, which stand undoubtedly at thehead of created nature, the lower types, like mice and rabbits, havefrequent broods of many young at a time; but the more advanced groups, such as the horses, cows, deer, and elephants, have usually one foalor calf at a birth, and seldom produce more than a couple. Moreover, in all these higher cases alike, the young are fed with milk by themother, and so spared the trouble of providing for themselves in theirearly days, like the young codfish or the baby tadpole. Starvation atthe outset is reduced to a minimum. 

It is interesting to note, too, that anticipations of higher types, soto speak, often occur among lower races. An animal here and thereamong the simpler forms hits upon some device essentially similar tothat of some higher group with which it is really quite unrelated. Forexample, those who have read my account of the common earwig (given inthe sixth chapter of "Flashlights on Nature") will recollect how thatlowly insect sits on her eggs much as a hen does, and brings up herbrood of callow grubs as if they were chickens. In much the same way, anticipations of the mammalian type occur pretty frequently amonglower animals. Our commonest English lizard, for example, whichfrequents moors and sandhills, does not lay or deposit its eggs atall, but hatches them out in its own body, and so apparently bringsthem forth alive: while among snakes, the same habit occurs in theadder or viper. The very name _viper_, indeed, is a corruption of_vivipara_, the snake which produces living young. Still more closelydo some birds resemble mammals in the habit of secreting a sort ofmilk for the sustenance of their nestlings. Most people think thephrase "pigeon's milk" is much like the phrase "the horse-marines, " aburlesque name for an absurd and impossible monstrosity. But it isnothing of the sort: it answers to a real fact in the economy ofcertain doves, which eat grain or seeds, grind and digest it in theirown gizzards into a fine soft pulp or porridge, and then feed theiryoung with it from their crops and beaks. This is thus a sort ofbird-like imitation of milk. Only the cow or the goat takes grass orleaves, chews, swallows, and digests them, and manufactures from themin her own body that much more nutritive substance, milk, with whichall mammals feed their infant offspring. 

Now, after this rather long preamble, I am going to show you in thispresent article a few other examples of special care taken of theyoung in certain quarters where it might be least expected. Fish arenot creatures from which we look for marked domestic virtues: yet wemay find them there abundantly. Let us begin with that familiar friendof our childhood, the common English stickleback. 

Which of us cannot look back in youth to the mysteries of thestickleback fisheries? Captains courageous, we sailed forth with bentpin and piece of thread, to woo the wily quarry with half an inch ofchopped earthworm. For stickleback abound in every running stream andpond in England. They are beautiful little creatures, too, when youcome to examine them, great favorites in the fresh-water aquarium; themale in particular is exquisitely colored, his hues growing brighterand his sheen more conspicuous at the pairing season. There are manyspecies of sticklebacks--in England we have three very differentkinds--but all are alike in one point which gives them their commonname, that is to say, in their aggressive and protective prickliness. They are armed against all comers. The dorsal fin is partly replacedin the whole family by strong spines or "stickles, " which differ innumber in the different species. One of our English sorts is a loverof salt water: he lives in the sea, especially off the Cornish coast, and has fifteen stickles or spines; on which account he is commonlyknown as the Fifteen-spined Stickleback; our other two sorts belong tofresher waters, and are known as the Ten-spined and the Three-spinedrespectively. 

The special peculiarity of the male stickleback consists in the factthat he is, above all things, a model father. In his acute sense ofparental responsibility he has few equals. When spring comes round, hefirst exhibits his consciousness of his coming charge by suddenlyenduing himself in a glowing coat of many colors and of iridescentbrilliancy. That is in order to charm the eyes of the prospectivemate, or rather mates, for I may as well confess the sad truth at oncethat our amiable friend is a good parent but an abandoned polygamist. We all know that

 "In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest; In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. "

Not to be out of the fashion, therefore, the romantic stickleback doesprecisely the same thing as all these distinguished and poeticalcompeers. And he does it for the same reason, too; because he wants toget himself an appropriate partner. "There is a great deal of humannature in man, " it has been said: I am always inclined to add, "Andthere is a great deal of human nature in plants and animals. " The morewe know of our dumb relations, the more closely do we realize thekinship between us. Fish in the spring are like young men at afair--all eager for the attention of their prospective partners. 

[Illustration: NO. 1. FEMALE STICKLEBACK ABOUT TO ENTER NEST. ]

The first care of the male stickleback, when he has acquired hiscourting suit, is to build a suitable home for his future wives andchildren. So he picks up stems of grass and water-weeds with hismouth, and weaves them deftly into a compact nest as perfect as abird's, though some what different in shape and pattern, it ratherresembles a barrel, open at both ends, as though the bottom wereknocked out: this form is rendered necessary because the eggs, whenlaid, have to be constantly aerated by passing a current of waterthrough the nest as I shall describe hereafter. No.  1 shows us such anest when completed, with the female stickleback loitering aboutundecided as to whether or not she shall plunge and enter it. Youwill observe that the fabric is woven round a fixed support of somewaving water-weeds; but the cunning little architect does not trust inthis matter to his textile skill alone; he cements the straws andother materials together with a gummy mortar of mucous threadssecreted for the purpose by his internal organs. 

[Illustration: NO. 2. FEMALE STICKLEBACK LAYING EGGS IN NEST. ]

As soon as the building operations are fully completed, the eagerlittle householder sallies forth into his pond or brook in search ofa mate who will come and stock his neatly-built home for him. At thisstage of the proceedings, his wedding-garment becomes even morebrilliant and glancing than ever; he gleams in silver and changefulgems; when he finds his lady-love, he dances round her, "mad withexcitement, " as Darwin well phrased it, looking his handsomest andbest with his lustrous colours glistening like an opal. If she willlisten to his suit, he grows wild with delight, and coaxes her intothe nest with most affectionate endearments. In No.  2, as youperceive, the mate of his choice has been induced to enter, and islaying her eggs in the dainty home his care has provided for her. Thefather fish, meanwhile dances and capers around, in a _pas detriomphe_ at the success of his endeavors. 

One wife, however, does not suffice to fill the nest with eggs; andthe stickleback is a firm believer in the advantages of largefamilies. So, as soon as his first mate has laid all her spawn, hesets out once more in search of another. Thus he goes on until thehome is quite full of eggs, bringing back one wife after another, inproportion to his success in wooing and fighting. For, like almost allpolygamists, your stickleback is a terrible fighter. The males joinwager of battle with one another for possession of their mates; intheir fierce duels they make fearful use of the formidable spines ontheir backs, sometimes entirely ripping up and cutting to pieces theirill-fated adversary. The spines thus answer to the spurs of thegamecock or the antlers of the deer; they are masculine weapons in thestruggle for mates. Indeed, you may take it for granted that brilliantcolors and decorative adjuncts in animals almost invariably go withirascible tempers, pugnacious habits, and the practice of fighting forthe possession of the harem. The consequence is, with thesticklebacks, that many males get killed during the struggle forsupremacy, so that the survivors wed half a dozen wives each, likelittle Turks that they are in their watery seraglios. Only the mostbeautiful and courageous fish succeed in gaining a harem of their own:and thus the wager of battle tells in the end for the advantage of therace, by eliminating the maimed, the ugly, and the cowardly, andencouraging the strong, the handsome, the enterprising, and thevaliant. This is nature's way of preventing degeneracy. 

In No.  3 the nest is seen full of eggs, and the excellent father nowcomes out in his best light as their guardian and protector. Hewatches over them with ceaseless care, freeing them from parasites, and warding off the attacks of would-be enemies who desire to devourthem, even though the intruder be several times his own size. Thespines on his back here stand him once more in good stead: for smallas he is, the stickleback is not an antagonist to be lightly despised:he can inflict a wound which a perch or a trout knows how to estimateat its full value. But that is not all the good parent's duty. Hetakes the eggs out of the nest every now and then with his snout, airsthem a little in the fresh water outside, and then replaces andrearranges them, so that all may get a fair share of oxygen and mayhatch out about simultaneously. It is this question of oxygen, indeed, which gives the father fish all the greatest trouble. That necessaryof life is dissolved in water in very small quantities; and it isabsolutely needed by every egg in order to enable it to undergo thosevital changes which we know as hatching. To keep up a due supply ofoxygen, therefore, the father stickleback ungrudgingly devoteslaborious days in poising himself delicately just above the nest, asyou see in No.  3, and fanning the eggs with his fins and tail, so asto set up a constant current of water through the centre of thebarrel. He sits upon the eggs just as truly as a hen does; only, hesits upon them, not for warmth, but for aeration. 

[Illustration: NO. 3. MALE STICKLEBACK WATCHING EGGS IN NEST. ]

For weeks together this exemplary parent continues his monotonoustask, ventilating the spawn many times every day, till the time comesfor hatching. It takes about a month for the eggs to develop: and thenthe proud father's position grows more arduous than ever. He has torock a thousand cradles at once, so to speak, and to pacify a thousandcrying babies. On the one hand, enemies hover about, trying to eat thetender transparent glass-like little fry, and these he must drive off:on the other hand, the good nurse must take care that the active youngfish do not stray far from the nest, and so expose themselvesprematurely to the manifold dangers of the outer world. Till they arebig enough to take care of themselves, he watches with incessantvigilance over their safety; as soon as they can go forth withtolerable security upon the world of their brook or pond, he takes alast well-merited holiday. 

It is not surprising under these circumstances to learn thatsticklebacks are successful and increasing animals. Their numbers areenormous, wherever they get a fair chance in life, because theymultiply rapidly up to the extreme limit of the means of subsistence, and develop as fast as food remains for them. There the inexorableMalthusian law at last steps in: when there is not food enough for allsome must starve; that is the long and the short of the greatpopulation question. But while provender is forthcoming they increasegayly. Sticklebacks live mainly on the spawn of other fish, thoughthey are so careful of their own, and they are therefore naturallyhated by trout-preservers and owners of fisheries in general. Thousands and thousands are caught each year; in some places, indeed, they are so numerous that they are used as manure. It is theirnumbers, of course, that make them formidable; they are the locusts ofthe streams, well armed and pugnacious, and provided with mostremarkable parental instincts of a protective character, which enablesthem to fill up all vacancies in their ranks as fast as they occurwith astonishing promptitude. 

To those whose acquaintance with fish is mainly culinary, it may seemodd to hear that the father stickleback alone takes part in the careof the nursery. But this is the rule among the whole class of fish;wherever the young are tended, it is almost always the father, not themother, who undertakes the duty of incubation. Only two instancesoccur where the female fish assumes maternal functions towards heryoung; about these I shall have more to say a little later on. We mustremember that reptiles, birds, and mammals are in all probabilitydescended from fish as ancestors, and it is therefore clear that thehabit of handing over the care of the young to the female alonebelongs to the higher grades of vertebrates--in other words, is oflater origin. We need not be astonished, therefore, to find that inmany cases among birds and other advanced vertebrates a partialreversion to the earlier habit not infrequently takes place. Withdoves, for example, the cock and hen birds sit equally on the eggs, taking turns about at the nest; and as for the ostriches, the malebird there does most of the incubation, for he accepts the whole ofthe night duty, and also assists at intervals during the daytime. There are numerous other cases where the father bird shares the tasksof the nursery at least equally with the mother. I will glance first, however, at one of the rare exceptions among fish where the main dutydoes not devolve on the devoted father. 

[Illustration: NO. 4. FEMALE TUBE-MOUTH. ]

In No.  4 we have an illustration of the tube-mouth or Solenostoma, oneof the two known kinds of fish in which the female shows a sense ofher position as a mother. The tube-mouth, as you can see at a glance, is a close relation of our old friend the seahorse, whose disguisedand undisguised forms in Australia and the Mediterranean we havealready observed when dealing with the question of animalmasqueraders. Solenostoma is a native of the Indian Ocean, fromZanzibar to China. In the male, the lower pair of fins are separate, as is usual among fish; but in the female, represented in theaccompanying sketch, they are lightly joined at the edge, so as toform a sort of pouch like a kangaroo's, in which the eggs aredeposited after being laid, and thus carried about in the mother'ssafe keeping. No.  5 shows the arrangement of this pouch in detail, with the eggs inside it. The mother Solenostoma not only takes chargeof the spawn while it is hatching in this receptacle, but also looksafter the young fry, like the father stickleback, till they are of anage to go off on their own account in quest of adventures. The mostfrequent adventure that happens to them on the way is, of course, being eaten. 

[Illustration: NO. 5. POUCH OF TUBE-MOUTH. ]

[Illustration: NO. 6. PIPE-FISH. ]

The common English pipe-fish is a good example of the other and muchmore usual case in which the father alone is actuated by a propersense of parental responsibility. The pipe-fish, indeed, might almostbe described as a pure and blameless rate-payer. No.  6 shows you theouter form of this familiar creature, whom you will recognize at aglance as still more nearly allied to the sea-horses than even thetube-mouth. Pipe-fishes are timid and skulking creatures. Like theirhorse-headed relations, they lurk for the most part among sea-weedfor protection, and being but poor swimmers, never venture far fromthe covering shelter of their native thicket. But the curious part ofthem is that in this family the father fish is provided with a poucheven more perfect than that of the female tube-mouth, and that hehimself, not his mate takes sole charge of the young, incubates themin his sack, and escorts them about for some time after hatching. Thepouch, which is more fully represented in No.  7, is formed by a loosefold of skin arising from either side of the creature. In theillustration this fold is partly withdrawn, so as to show the youngpipe-fish within their safe retreat after hatching out. It is said, Iknow not how truly, that the young fry will stroll out for anoccasional swim on their own account, but will return at any threat ofdanger to their father's bosom, for a considerable time after thefirst hatching. This is just like what one knows of kangaroos and manyother pouched mammals, where the mother's pouch becomes a sort ofnursery, or place of refuge, to which the little ones return forwarmth or safety after every excursion. 

[Illustration: NO. 7. POUCH OF PIPE-FISH. ]

The sea-horses and many other fish have similar pouches; but, oddlyenough, in every case it is the male fish which bears it, and whichundertakes the arduous duty of nurse for his infant offspring. 

A few female fish, on the other hand, even hatch the eggs within theirown bodies, and so apparently bring forth their young alive, like theEnglish lizard among reptiles. This, however, is far from a commoncase: indeed, in an immense number of instances, neither parent paysthe slightest attention to the eggs after they are once laid and gotrid of: the spawn is left to lie on the bottom and be eaten or sparedas chance directs, while the young fry have to take care ofthemselves, without the aid of parental advice and education. Butexceptions occur where both parents show signs of realizing theresponsibilities of their position. In some little South Americanriver fish, for instance, the father and mother together build a nestof dead leaves for the spawn, and watch over it in unison until theyoung are hatched. This case is exactly analogous to that of the dovesamong birds: I may add that wherever such instances occur they alwaysseem to be accompanied by a markedly gentle and affectionate nature. Brilliantly-coloured fighting polygamous fishes are fierce and cruel:monogamous and faithful animals are seldom bright-hued, but they matefor life and are usually remarkable for their domestic felicity. Thedoves and love-birds are familiar instances. 

Frogs are very closely allied to fish: indeed, one may almost say thatevery frog begins life as a fish, limbless, gill-bearing, and aquatic, and ends it as something very like a reptile, four-legged, lung-bearing, and more or less terrestrial. For the tadpole ispractically in all essentials a fish. It is not odd, therefore, tofind that certain frogs reproduce, in a very marked manner, thefatherly traits of their fish-like ancestors. There is a common kindof frog in France, Belgium, and Switzerland, which does not extend toEngland, but which closely recalls the habits of the stickleback andthe pipe-fish. Among these eminently moral amphibians, it is thefather, not the mother, who takes entire charge of the family. Thefemale lays her spawn in the shape of long strings or rolls, lookingat first sight like slimy necklaces. I have seen them as much as acouple of yards long, lying loose on the grass where the frog laysthem. As soon as she has deposited them, however, the father frog hopsup, twists the garlands dexterously in loose festoons round his legsand thighs, and then retires with his precious burden to some hole inthe bank of his native pond, where he lurks in seclusion till the eggsdevelop. Frogs do not need frequent doses of food--their meals areoften few and far between--and during the six or eight weeks that theeggs take to mature the father probably eats very little, though hemay possibly sally forth at night, unobserved, in search of provender. At the end of that time the devoted parent, foreseeing developments, takes to the water once more, so that the tadpoles may be hatched intheir proper element. I may add that this frog is a great musician inthe breeding season, but that as soon as the tadpoles are hatched outhe loses his voice entirely, and does not recover his manly croak tillthe succeeding spring. This is also the case with the song of manybirds, the crest of the newt, the plumes of certain highly-decoratedtrogons and nightjars, and, roughly speaking, the decorative andattractive features of the male sex in general. Such features aregiven them during the mating period as allurements for theirconsorts: they disappear, for the time at least, like a ball-dressafter a ball, as soon as no immediate use can any longer be made ofthem. 

[Illustration: POUCHED FROG. ]

Some American tree-frogs, on the other hand, imitate rather themotherly Solenostoma than the fatherly instincts of the pipe-fish orthe stickleback. These pretty little creatures have a pouch like thekangaroo, but in their case (as in the kangaroo's) it is the femalewho bears it. Within this safe receptacle the eggs are placed by themale, who pushes them in with his hind feet; and they not only undergotheir hatching in the pouch, but also pass through their whole tadpoledevelopment in the same place. Owing to the care which is thusextended to the eggs and young, these advanced tree-frogs are enabledto lay only about a dozen to fifteen eggs at a time, instead of thecountless hundreds often produced by many of their relations. 

Tree-frogs have, of course, in most circumstances much greaterdifficulty in getting at water than pond-frogs; and this is especiallytrue in certain tropical or desert districts. Hence most of the frogswhich inhabit such regions have had to find out or invent someingenious plan for passing through the tadpole stage with a minimum ofmoisture. The devices they have hit upon are very curious. Some ofthem make use of the little pools collected at the bases of hugetropical leaf-stalks, like those of the banana plant; others dispensewith the aid of water altogether, and glue their new-laid eggs totheir own backs, where the fry pass through the tadpole stage with theslimy mucus which surrounds them. Nature always discovers such cunningschemes to get over apparent difficulties in her way: and thetree-frogs have solved the problem for themselves in half a dozenmanners in different localities. Oddest of all, perhaps, is the dodgeinvented by "Darwin's frog, " a Chilean species, in which the maleswallows the eggs as soon as laid, and gulps them into thethroat-pouch beneath his capacious neck: there they hatch out and passthrough their tadpole stage: and when at last they arrive at froglymaturity, they escape into the world through the mouth of theirfather. 

[Illustration: NO. 8. THE SURINAM TOAD. ]

The Surinam toad, represented in No.  8, is also the possessor of oneof the strangest nurseries known to science. It lives in the densetropical forests of Guiana and Brazil, and is a true water-haunter. But at the breeding season the female undergoes a curious change ofintegument. The skin on her back grows pulpy, soft, and jelly-like. She lays her eggs in the water: but as soon as she has laid them, herlord and master plasters them on to her impressionable back with hisfeet, so as to secure them from all assaults of enemies. Every egg ispressed separately into a bed of the soft skin, which soon closes overit automatically, thus burying each in a little cell or niche, whereit undergoes its further development. The tadpoles pass through theirlarval stage within the cell, and then hop out, in the four-leggedcondition. As soon as they have gone off to shift for themselves, themother toad finds herself with a ragged and honeycombed skin, whichmust be very uncomfortable. So she rubs the remnant of it off againststones or the bark of trees, and re-develops a similar back afresh atthe next breeding season. 

Almost never do we find a device in nature which occurs once only. Theunique hardly exists: nature is a great copyist. At least two animalsof wholly unlike kinds are all but sure to hit independently upon theself-same mechanism. So it is not surprising to learn that a cat-fishhas invented an exactly similar mode of carrying its young to thatadopted by the Surinam toad: only, here it is on the under surface, not the upper one, that the spawn is plastered. The eggs of thiscat-fish, whose scientific name is Aspredo, are pressed into the skinbelow the body, and so borne about by the mother till they hatch. Thisis the second instance of which I spoke above, where the female fishherself assumes the care of her offspring, instead of leaving itentirely to her excellent partner. 

Higher up in the scale of life we get many instances which showvarious stages in the same progressive development towards greatercare for the safety and education of the young. Among the largerlizards, for example, a distinct advance may be traced between thecomparatively uncivilized American alligator and his near ally, themuch more cultivated African crocodile. On the banks of theMississippi, the alligator lays a hundred eggs or thereabouts, whichshe deposits in a nest near the water's edge, and then covers them upwith leaves and other decaying vegetable matter. The fermentation ofthese leaves produces heat and so does for the alligator's eggs whatsitting does for those of hens and other birds: the mother deputes hermaternal functions, so to speak, to a festering heap of decomposingplant-refuse. Nevertheless, she loiters about all the time, likeMiriam round the ark which contained Moses, to see what happens; andwhen the eggs hatch out, she leads her little ones down to the river, and there makes alligators of them. This is a simple and relativelylow stage in the nursery arrangements of the big lizards. 

The African crocodile, on the other hand, goes a stage higher. It laysonly about thirty eggs, but these it buries in warm sand, and thenlies on top of them at night, both to protect them from attack and tokeep them warm during the cooler hours. In short, it sits upon them. When the young crocodiles within the eggs are ready to hatch, theyutter an acute cry. The mother then digs down to the eggs, and laysthem freely on the surface, so that the little reptiles may have spaceto work their way out unimpeded. This they do by biting at the shellwith a specially developed tooth; at the end of two hours' nibblingthey are free, and are led down to the water by their affectionateparent. In these two cases we see the beginnings of the instinct ofhatching, which in birds, the next in order in the scale of being, hasbecome almost universal. 

I say _almost_ universal, because even among birds there are a fewkinds which have not to this day progressed beyond the alligatorlevel. Australia is the happy hunting-ground of the zoölogist insearch of antiquated forms, elsewhere extinct, and several Australianbirds, such as the brush-turkeys, still treat their eggs essentiallyon the alligator method. The cock birds heap up huge mounds of earthand decaying vegetable matter, as much as would represent severalcartloads of mould; and in this natural hot-bed the hens lay theireggs, burying each separately with a good stock of leaves around it. The heat of the sun and the fermenting mould hatch them out betweenthem; to expedite the process, the birds uncover the eggs during thewarmer part of the day, expose them to the sun, and bury them again inthe hot-beds towards evening. Several intermediate steps may also befound between this early stage of communal nesting by proxy and thetrue hatching instinct; a good one is supplied by the ostrich, whichpartially buries its eggs in hot sand, but sits on them at intervals, both father and mother birds taking shares by turn in the duties ofincubation. 

The vast subject which I have thus lightly skimmed is not withoutinterest, again, from its human implications. Savages as a ruleproduce enormous families; but then, the infant mortality in savagetribes is proportionally great. Among civilized races, families aresmaller, and deaths in infancy are far less numerous. The higher theclass or the natural grade of a stock, the larger as a rule theproportion of children safely reared to the adult age. The goaltowards which humanity is slowly moving would thus seem to be onewhere families in most cases will be relatively small--perhaps notmore on an average than three to a household--but where most or all ofthe children brought into the world will be safely reared to fullmaturity. This is already becoming the rule in certain favored ranksof European society. 

[Illustration: TADPOLES AND YOUNG FROG. ]

HOW ANIMALS SPEND THE WINTER

(FROM GLEANINGS FROM NATURE. )[2]

BY W.  S. BLATCHLEY. 

[2] "Popular Science Monthly, " February, 1897. Copyright by WilliamStanley Blatchley, 1899. 

[Illustration: A COCOON. ]

One of the greatest problems which each of the living forms about ushas had to solve, during the years of its existence on earth, is howbest to perpetuate its kind during that cold season which once eachyear, in our temperate zone, is bound to come. Many are the solutionsto this problem. Each form of life has, as it were, solved it best tosuit its own peculiar case, and to the earnest student of Nature thereis nothing more interesting than to pry into these solutions and notehow varied, strange, and wonderful they are. 

To fully appreciate some of the facts mentioned below it must be bornein mind that there is no such thing as "spontaneous generation" oflife. Every cell is the offspring of a pre-existing cell. Nothing buta living thing can produce a living thing. Hence every weed that nextseason will spring up and provoke the farmer's ire, and every insectwhich will then make life almost intolerable for man or beast, existsthroughout the winter in some form. . . . 

Beginning with the earth-worms and their kindred, we find that at theapproach of winter they burrow deep down where the icy breath of thefrost never reaches, and there they live, during the cold season, alife of comparative quiet. That they are exceedingly sensitive towarmth, however, may be proven by the fact that when a warm rain comessome night in February or March, thawing out the crust of the earth, the next morning reveals in our dooryards the mouths of hundreds ofthe pits or burrows of these primitive tillers of the soil, eachsurrounded by a little pile of pellets, the castings of the activeartisans of the pits during the night before. 

If we will get up before dawn on such a morning we can find the wormscrawling actively about over the surface of the ground, but when thefirst signs of day appear they seek once more their protectiveburrows, and only an occasional belated individual serves as abreakfast for the early birds. 

The eyes of these lowly creatures are not visible, and consist ofsingle special cells scattered among the epidermal cells of the skin, and connected by means of a sensory nerve fibre with a little bunch ofnervous matter in the body. Such a simple visual apparatus serves themonly in distinguishing light from darkness, but this to them is mostimportant knowledge, as it enables them to avoid the surface of theearth by day, when their worst enemies, the birds, are in activesearch for them. 

The fresh-water mussels and snails and the crayfish burrow deep intothe mud and silt at the bottom of ponds and streams where they liemotionless during the winter. The land snails, in late autumn, crawlbeneath logs, and, burrowing deep into the soft mould, they withdrawfar into their shells. Then each one forms with a mucous secretion twothin transparent membranes, one across the opening of the shell andone a little farther within, thus making the interior of the shellperfectly air-tight. There for five or six months he sleeps, free fromthe pangs of hunger and the blasts of winter, and when the balmybreezes of spring blow up from the south he breaks down and devoursthe protecting membrane and goes forth with his home on his back toseek fresh leaves for food and to find for himself a mate. 

Next in the scale come the insects, which comprise four-fifths of allexisting animals, and each one of the mighty horde seen in summer haspassed the winter in some form. One must look for them in strangeplaces and under many disguises; for they cannot migrate, as do themajority of the birds, nor can they live an active life while thesource of their food supply, the plants, are inactive. 

The majority of those insects which in May or June will be foundfeeding on the buds or leaves of our trees, or crawling worm-like overthe grass of our lawns, or burrowing beneath the roots of our gardenplants, are represented in the winter by the eggs alone. These eggsare deposited in autumn by the mother insect, on or near the objectdestined to furnish the young, or larvæ, their food. Each eggcorresponds to a seed of one of our annual plants; being, like it, but a form of life so fashioned and fitted as to withstand for a longperiod intense cold; the mother insect, like the summer form of theplant, succumbing to the first severe frost. 

Thus myriads of the eggs of grasshoppers are in the early autumndeposited in the ground, in compact masses of forty to sixty each. About mid-April they begin to hatch, and the sprightly little insects, devoid of wings, but otherwise like their parents, begin theirlife-work of changing grass into flesh. 

[Illustration: HEDGEHOG CATERPILLAR. ]

A comparatively small number of insects pass the winter in the larvalor active stage of the young. Of these, perhaps the best known is thebrown "woolly worm" or "hedgehog caterpillar, " as it is familiarlycalled. It is thickly covered with stiff black hairs on each end, andwith reddish hairs on the middle of the body. These hairs appear to beevenly and closely shorn, so as to give the animal a velvety look; andas they have a certain degree of elasticity, and the caterpillar curlsup at the slightest touch, it generally manages to slip away whentaken into the hand. Beneath loose bark, boards, rails, and stones, this caterpillar may be found in mid-winter, coiled up and apparentlylifeless. On the first bright, sunny days of spring it may be seencrawling rapidly over the ground, seeking the earnest vegetation whichwill furnish it a literal "breakfast. " In April or May the chrysalis, surrounded by a loose cocoon formed of the hairs of the bodyinterwoven with coarse silk, may be found in situations similar tothose in which the larva passed the winter. From this, the perfectinsect, the Isabella tiger moth, _Pyrrharctia isabella_ Smith, emergesabout the last of June. It is a medium sized moth, dull orange incolor, with three rows of small black spots on the body, and somescattered spots of the same color on the wings. 

By breaking open rotten logs one can find in mid-winter the grubs orlarvæ of many of the wood-boring beetles, and, beneath logs and stonesnear the margins of ponds and brooks, hordes of the maggots or larvæof certain kinds of flies may often be found huddled together in greatmasses. The larvæ of a few butterflies also live over winter beneathchips or bunches of leaves near the roots of their food plant, or inwebs of their own construction, which are woven on the stems close tothe buds, whose expanding leaves will furnish them their first meal inspring. 

Many insects pass the winter in the quiescent or pupal stage; a stateexceedingly well fitted for hibernating, requiring as it does, nofood, and giving plenty of time for the marvellous changes which arethen undergone. Some of these pupæ are enclosed in dense silkencocoons, which are bound to the twigs of the plants upon which thelarvæ feed, and thus they swing securely in their silken hammocksthrough all the storms of winter. Perhaps the most common of these isthat of the brown Cecropian moth, _Attacus cecropia_ L. , the largeoval cocoon of which is a conspicuous object in the winter on thetwigs of our common shade and fruit trees. Many other pupæ may befound beneath logs or on the under side of bark, and usually have thechrysalis surrounded by a thin covering of hairs, which are ratherloosely arranged. A number pass the cold season in the earth with noprotective covering whatever. Among these is a large brown chrysaliswith a long tongue case bent over so as to resemble the handle of ajug. Every farm boy has ploughed or spaded it up in the spring, and isit but the pupa of a large sphinx moth, _Protoparce celeus_ Hub. , thelarva of which is the great green worm, with a "horn on its tail, " socommon on tomato plants in the late summer. 

[Illustration: CHRYSALIS OF TOMATO WORM. ]

Each of the winter forms of insects above mentioned can withstand longand severe cold weather--in fact, may be frozen solid for weeks andretain life and vigor, both of which are shown when warm weather andfood appear again. Indeed, it is not an unusually cold winter, but oneof successive thawings and freezings, which is most destructive toinsect life. A mild winter encourages the growth of mould whichattacks the hibernating larvæ and pupæ as soon as, from excess of rainor humidity, they become sickly; and it also permits the continuedactivity of insectivorous mammals and birds. Thus, moles, shrews, and field mice, instead of burying themselves deeply in the ground, run about freely during an open winter and destroy enormous numbersof pupæ; while such birds as the woodpeckers, titmice, and chickadeesare constantly on the alert, and searching in every crevice and crannyof fence and bark of tree for the hibernating larvæ. 

Of the creeping, wingless creatures, which can ever be found beneathrocks, rails, chunks, and especially beneath those old decaying logswhich are half buried in the rich vegetable mould, the myriapods, or"thousand-legs, " deserve more than a passing notice. They are typicalexamples of that great branch of the animal kingdom known as_arthropods_, which comprises all insects and crustaceans. Eacharthropod has the body composed of rings placed end to end and bearingjointed appendages, and in the myriapods each ring and its appendagescan be plainly seen; whereas in the higher forms of the branch many ofthe rings are so combined as to be very difficult to distinguish. 

Full forty kinds of myriapods occur in any area comprising one hundredsquare miles in the eastern United States. About twenty-five of themgo by the general name of "thousand-legs" or millipedes, as each hasfrom forty to fifty-five cylindrical rings in the body, and two pairsof legs to each ring. The other fifteen belong to the "centipede"group, the body consisting of about sixteen flattened segments, orrings, each bearing a single pair of legs. When disturbed, the"thousand-legs" generally coils up and remains motionless, shammingdeath, or "playing possum, " as it is popularly put, as a means ofdefence; while the centipede scampers hurriedly away and endeavors tohide beneath leaf, chip, or other object. 

[Illustration: CENTIPEDE. ]

All those found in the Northern States are perfectly harmless, thetrue centipede, whose bite is reputed much more venomous than itreally is, being found only in the South. True, some of the centipedegroup can pinch rather sharply with their beetle-like jaws; and one, our largest and most common species, a brownish red fellow about threeinches long and without eyes, can even draw blood if its jaws happento strike a tender place. When handled it always tries to bite, perhaps out of revenge for the abominably long Latin name given it byits describer. In fact the name is longer than the animalitself--_Sco-lo-po-cryp-tops sex-spi-no-sus_ (Say)--being its cognomenin full. With such a handle attached to it, who can blame it forattempting to bite? Yet, to the scientist up on his Latin, each partof the above name bears a definite and tangible meaning. All themyriapods found in the woods and fields feed upon decaying vegetation, such as leaves, stems of weeds, and rotten wood, and in winter threeor four species can usually be found within or beneath every decayinglog or stump. One species with very long legs, _Scutigera forceps_(Raf. ), is often found in damp houses or in cellars. It is sometimescalled the "wall-sweeper, " on account of its rapid ungainly gait, andis even reputed to prey upon cockroaches and other household pests. 

Spiders, which do not undergo such changes as do most of the common, six-footed insects, winter either as eggs or in the mature form. Themembers of the "sedentary" or web-spinning group, as a rule, formnests in late autumn, in each of which are deposited from fifty toeighty eggs, which survive the winter and hatch in the spring, as soonas the food supply of gnats, flies, and mosquitoes appear. Thedifferent forms of spiders' nests are very interesting objects ofstudy. Some are those close-spun, flat, button-shaped objects, abouthalf an inch in diameter, which are so common in winter on the underside of bark, chunks and flat rocks. Others are balloon-shaped andattached to weeds. Within the latter the young spiders often hatch inearly winter, make their first meal off their empty egg cases, andthen begin a struggle for existence, the stronger preying upon theweaker until the south winds blow again, when they emerge and scatterfar and wide in search of more nutritious sustenance. 

The "wandering" spiders never spin webs, but run actively about andpounce upon their prey with a tiger-like spring. Six or eight of thelarger species of this group winter in the mature form beneath logsand chunks, being often frozen solid during cold weather, but thawingout as healthy as ever when the temperature rises. Retiring beneaththe loose-fitting bark of hickory or maple trees, a number of thesmaller tube-weaving spiders construct about themselves a protectingweb of many layers of the finest silk. Within this snug retreat theylie from November until April--a handsome, small, black fellow, withgreen jaws and two orange spots on his abdomen, being the most commonspecies found motionless within this seeming shroud of silk on a dayin mid-winter. 

In any Northern State as many as four hundred different kinds of thesix-footed or true insects, in the winged or adult stage, may be takenin winter by any one who is so disposed, and knows where to search forthem. Among the _Orthoptera_, the "grouse grasshoppers" live duringthe cold season beneath the loose bark of logs, or beneath the bottomrails of the old Virginia worm fences. From these retreats every warm, sunny day tempts them forth in numbers. On such occasions the earthseems to swarm with them, as they leap before the intruder, their hardbodies striking the dead leaves with a sound similar to that producedby falling hail. The common field cricket belongs also to the_Orthoptera_, and the young of various sizes winter under rails andlogs, bidding defiance to Jack Frost from within a little burrow orpit beneath the protecting shelter. 

[Illustration: CHINCH BUG. ]

The true bugs, or _Hemiptera_, hibernate in similar places; squashbugs, chinch bugs, "stink" bugs, and others being easily found innumbers beneath loose bark or hidden between the root leaves ofmullein and other plants. 

Nearly three hundred species of _Coleoptera_, or beetles, occupysimilar positions. Almost any rotten log or stump when broken opendiscloses a half dozen or more "horn" or "bess beetles, " _Passaluscornutus_ L. , great, shining, clumsy, black fellows with a curved hornon the head. They are often utilized as horses by country children, the horn furnishing an inviting projection to which may be fastened, by a thread or cord, chips and pieces of bark to be dragged about bythe strong and never lagging beast of burden. When tired of "playinghorse" they can make of the insect an instrument of music; for, whenheld by the body, it emits a creaking, hissing noise, produced byrubbing the abdomen up and down against the inside of the hard, hornywing covers. This beetle passes its entire life in cavities in therotten wood on which it feeds, and when it wishes a larger or morecommodious home it has only to eat the more. 

[Illustration: THIRTEEN-SPOTTED LADY BEETLE. ]

The handsome and beneficial lady beetles winter beneath fallen leavesor between and beneath the root leaves of the mullein and the thistle. Our most common species, the thirteen-spotted lady beetle, _Megillamaculata_ De G. , is gregarious, collecting together by thousands onthe approach of cold weather, and lying huddled up like sheep until abreath of spring gives them the signal to disperse. Snout beetlesgalore can be found beneath piles of weeds near streams and theborders of ponds or beneath chunks and logs in sandy places. All areinjurious, and the farmer by burning their hibernating places inwinter can cause their destruction in numbers. Rove beetles, groundbeetles, and many others live deep down in the vegetable mould beneathold logs, where they are, no doubt, as secure from the ice king as ifthey followed the swallow to the tropics. 

Of the _Diptera_, or flies, but few forms winter in the perfect state, yet the myriads of house flies and their kin, which next summer willdistract the busy house-wife, are represented in winter by a fewisolated individuals which creep forth occasionally from crevice orcranny and greet us with a friendly buzz. 

In mid-winter one may also see in the air swarms of small, gnat-likeinsects. They belong to this order and live beneath the bark offreshly fallen beech and other logs. On warm, sunny days they go forthin numbers for a sort of rhythmical courtship; their movements whilein the air being peculiar in that they usually rise and fall in thesame vertical line--performing a curious aërial dance which is longcontinued. 

Among the dozen or more butterflies and moths which winter in theperfect state, the most common and the most handsome is the"Camberwell beauty" or "mourning cloak, " _Vanessa antiopa_ L. , a largebutterfly whose wings are a rich purplish brown above, duller beneath, and broadly margined with a yellowish band. It is often found inwinter beneath chunks which are raised a short distance above theground, or in the crevices of old snags and fence rails. It is thenapparently lifeless, with the antennæ resting close along the back, above which the wings are folded. But one or two warm days arenecessary to restore it to activity, and I have seen it on the wing asearly as the 2d of March, hovering over the open flowers of the littlesnow trillium. 

All the species of ants survive the winter as mature forms, either intheir nests in the ground or huddled groups in half rotten logs andstumps; while here and there beneath logs a solitary queen bumble-bee, bald hornet, or yellow jacket is found--the sole representatives oftheir races. 

Thus insects survive the winter in many ways and in many places, someas eggs, others as larvæ, still others as pupæ, and a large number asadults--all being able to withstand severe cold and yet retainvitality sufficient to recover, live, grow, and replenish the earthwith their progeny when the halcyon days of spring appear once more. 

In the scale of animal life the vertebrates or back-boned animalssucceed the insects. Beginning with the fishes, we find that in lateautumn they mostly seek some deep pool in pond or stream at the bottomof which the water does not freeze. Here the herbivorous forms eke outa precarious existence by feeding upon the innumerable diatoms andother small plants which are always to be found in water, while thecarnivorous prey upon the herbivorous, and so maintain the strugglefor existence. The moving to these deeper channels and pools in autumnand the scattering in the spring of the assembly which has gatheredthere constitute the so-called "migration of fishes, " which is farfrom being so extensive and methodical as that practiced by themigratory birds. 

Many of the smaller species of fishes, upon leaving these winterresorts, ascend small, clear brooks in large numbers for the purposeof depositing their eggs; as, when hatched in such a place, the youngwill be comparatively free from the attacks of the larger carnivorousforms. Among the lowest vertebrate often found in numbers in earlyspring in these meadow rills and brooks is the lamprey, _Ammocœtesbranchialis_ (L. ), or "lamper eel, " as it is sometimes called. It hasa slender eel-like body, of a uniform leaden or blackish color, andwith seven purse-shaped gill openings on each side. The mouth isfitted for sucking rather than biting, and with it they attachthemselves to the bodies of fishes and feed on their flesh, which theyscrape off with their rasp-like teeth. Later in the season theydisappear from these smaller streams, probably returning in midsummerto deeper water. Thoreau, who studied their habits closely, says ofthem: "They are rarely seen on their way down stream, and it isthought by fishermen that they never return, but waste away and die, clinging to rocks and stumps of trees for an indefinite period; atragic feature to the scenery of the river bottoms worthy to beremembered with Shakespeare's description of the sea floor. "

[Illustration: A LAMPREY. ]

A few of the fishes, as the mud minnow and smaller catfishes, together with most frogs, turtles, and salamanders, on the approach ofwinter, burrow into the mud at the bottom of the streams and ponds, orbeneath logs near their margins. There they live without moving aboutand with all the vital processes in a partially dormant condition, thus needing little if any food. 

The box tortoise or "dry land terrapin, " the common toad, and somesalamanders burrow into the dry earth, usually going deep enough toescape frost; while snakes seek some crevice in the rocks or hole inthe ground where they coil themselves together, oftentimes in vastnumbers, and prepare for their winter's sleep. In an open winter thishibernation is often interrupted, the animal emerging from its retreatand seeking its usual summer haunts as though spring had come again. Thus I have, on one occasion, seen a soft-shelled turtle movinggracefully over the bottom of a stream on a day in late December, andhave in mid-January captured snakes and salamanders from beneath apile of drift-wood, where they had taken temporary refuge. 

[Illustration: TURTLE. ]

With frogs, especially, this hibernation is not a perfect one, andthere is a doubt if in a mild winter some species hibernate at all. For example, the little cricket frog or "peeper" has been seen manytimes in mid-winter alongside the banks of flowing streams, and duringthe open winter of 1888–89 numerous specimens of leopard and greenfrogs were seen on different occasions in December and January, whileon February 18th they, together with the "peepers, " were in fullchorus. 

Of our mammals, a few of the rodents or gnawers, as the ground-hogs, gophers and chipmunks, hibernate in burrows deep enough to escape thecold, and either feed on a stored supply of food, or, like the snakesand crayfish, do not feed at all. 

[Illustration: CHIPMUNK. ]

Others, as the rabbits, field-mice, and squirrels, are more or lessactive and forage freely on whatever they can find, eating many thingswhich in summer they would spurn with scorn. To this class belongsthat intelligent but injurious animal the musquash or muskrat. Thosewhich inhabit the rivers and larger streams live in burrows dug deepbeneath the banks, but those inhabiting sluggish streams and pondsusually construct a conical winter house about three feet in diameterand from two to three feet in height. These houses are made of coarsegrasses, rushes, branches of shrubs, and small pieces of driftwood, closely cemented together with stiff, clayey mud. The top of the houseusually projects two feet or more above the water, and when sun-driedis so strong as to easily sustain the weight of a man. The walls aregenerally about six inches in thickness and are very difficult to pullto pieces. Within is a single circular chamber with a shelf or floorof mud, sticks, leaves and grass, ingeniously supported on coarsesticks stuck endwise into the mud after the manner of piles. In thecentre of this floor is an opening, from which six or eight divergingpaths lead to the open water without, so that the little artisan hasmany avenues of escape in case of danger. These houses are oftenrepaired and used for several winters in succession, but are vacatedon the approach of spring. During the summer the muskrat is, in themain, a herbivorous animal, but in winter necessity develops itscarnivorous propensities and it feeds then mainly upon the mussels andcrayfish which it can dig from the bottom of the pond or stream inwhich its house is built. 

The bats pass the winter in caves, the attics of houses, and barns, orin hollow trees, hanging downward by their hind claws. Motionless formonths they thus remain, and those in the more exposed situations are, doubtless, frozen solid. Yet, in time, their blood flows freely onceagain and they become as expert on the wing as though the year wereone continual jubilee of insect chasing, and frost and snow were tothem unknown. 

All the carnivora, or flesh-eaters, as the mink, skunk, opossum, fox, and wolf, are in winter active and voracious, needing much food tosupply the necessary animal heat of the body. Hence they are then muchmore bold than in summer, and the hen yard or sheep pen of the farmeris too frequently called upon to supply this extra demand. 

[Illustration: A WOLF. ]

But of all our animals it seems to me the birds have solved the winterproblem best. Possessing an enduring power of flight and a knowledgeof a southern sunny sky, beneath which food is plentiful, they aloneof all the living forms about us have little fear of the coming of thefrost. True, fifty or more species remain in each of the NorthernStates during the cold season, but they are hardy birds which feedmainly upon seeds, as the snow-bird and song sparrow; on flesh, as thehawks and crows; or on burrowing insects, as the nut-hatches andwoodpeckers. 

Such are some of the solutions to the problem of life in winter whichthe plants and animals about us have worked out; such some of theforms which they undergo; the places which they inhabit. 

To the thinking mind a knowledge of these solutions but begets otherand greater problems, such as how can a living thing be frozen solidfor weeks and yet retain vitality enough to fully recover? How can awarm-blooded animal sleep for months without partaking of food ordrink? And greater than either, what is that which we call life?

I hold in my hand two objects, similar in size, color, organs, everything--twins from the same mother in all outward respects. Onepulsates and throbs with that which we call "life. " It possesses heat, bodily motion, animal power. The other is cold, motionless, pulseless, throbless--a thing of clay. What is that "life" which the onepossesses and the other lacks? Ah, there's the rub! With the wisest ofmen we can only answer, "_Quien sabe?_" (Who knows?)

[Illustration: WINTER HOUSE OF MUSKRAT. ]

BIRDS' NESTS

(FROM WAKE ROBIN. )[3]

BY JOHN BURROUGHS. 

[3] Copyright by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

[Illustration]

How alert and vigilant the birds are, even when absorbed in buildingtheir nests! In an open space in the woods, I see a pair ofcedar-birds collecting moss from the top of a dead tree. Following thedirection in which they fly, I soon discover the nest placed in thefork of a small soft-maple, which stands amid a thick growth ofwild-cherry trees and young beeches. Carefully concealing myselfbeneath it, without any fear that the workmen will hit me with a chipor let fall a tool, I await the return of the busy pair. Presently Ihear the well-known note, and the female sweeps down and settlesunsuspectingly into the half-finished structure. Hardly have her wingsrested, before her eye has penetrated my screen, and with a hurriedmovement of alarm, she darts away. In a moment, the male, with a tuftof wool in his beak (for there is a sheep pasture near), joins her, and the two reconnoitre the premises from the surrounding bushes. Withtheir beaks still loaded, they move around with a frightened look, andrefuse to approach the nest till I have moved off and lain down behinda log. Then one of them ventures to alight upon the nest, but, stillsuspecting all is not right, quickly darts away again. Then they bothtogether come, and after much peeping and spying about, and apparentlymuch anxious consultation, cautiously proceed to work. In less thanhalf an hour, it would seem that wool enough has been brought tosupply the whole family, real and prospective, with socks, if needlesand fingers could be found fine enough to knit it up. In less than aweek, the female has begun to deposit her eggs, --four of them in asmany days, --white tinged with purple, with black spots on the largerend. After two weeks of incubation, the young are out. 

Excepting the American goldfinch, this bird builds later in the springthan any other, its nest, in our northern climate, seldom beingundertaken till July. As with the goldfinch, the reason is, probably, that suitable food for the young cannot be had at an earlier period. 

Like most of our common species, as the robin, sparrow, bluebird, pewee, wren, etc. , this bird sometimes seeks wild, remote localitiesin which to rear its young; at others, takes up its abode near that ofman. I knew a pair of cedar-birds, one season, to build in anapple-tree, the branches of which rubbed against the house. For a dayor two before the first straw was laid, I noticed the pair carefullyexploring every branch of the tree the female taking the lead, themale following her with an anxious note and look. It was evident thatthe wife was to have her choice this time; and, like one whothoroughly knew her mind, she was proceeding to take it. Finally thesite was chosen upon a high branch extending over one low wing of thehouse. Mutual congratulations and caresses followed, when both birdsflew away in quest of building material. That most freely used is asort of cotton-bearing plant, which grows in old, worn-out fields. Thenest is large for the size of the bird, and very soft. It is in everyrespect a first-class domicile. 

On another occasion, while walking, or rather sauntering, in the woods(for I have discovered that one cannot run and read the book ofnature), my attention was arrested by a dull hammering, evidently buta few rods off. I said to myself, "Some one is building a house. " Fromwhat I had previously seen, I suspected the builder to be a red-headedwoodpecker, in the top of a dead oak stub near by. Moving cautiouslyin that direction, I perceived a round hole, about the size of thatmade by an inch-and-a-half auger, near the top of the decayed trunk, and the white chips of the workman strewing the ground beneath. Whenbut a few paces from the tree, my foot pressed upon a dry twig, whichgave forth a very slight snap. Instantly the hammering ceased, and ascarlet head appeared at the door. Though I remained perfectlymotionless, forbearing even to wink till my eye smarted, the birdrefused to go on with his work, but flew quietly off to a neighboringtree. What surprised me was, that amid his busy occupation down inthe heart of the old tree he should have been so alert and watchful asto catch the slightest sound from without. 

The woodpeckers all build in about the same manner, excavating thetrunk or branch of a decayed tree, and depositing the eggs on the finefragments of wood at the bottom of the cavity. Though the nest is notespecially an artistic work, --requiring strength rather thanskill, --yet the eggs and the young of few other birds are socompletely housed from the elements, or protected from their naturalenemies--the jays, crows, hawks, and owls. A tree with a naturalcavity is never selected, but one which has been dead just long enoughto have become soft and brittle throughout. The bird goes inhorizontally for a few inches, making a hole perfectly round andsmooth and adapted to his size; then turns downward, graduallyenlarging the hole, as he proceeds, to the depth of ten, fifteen, twenty inches, according to the softness of the tree and the urgencyof the mother bird to deposit her eggs. While excavating, male andfemale work alternately. After one has been engaged fifteen or twentyminutes, drilling, and carrying out chips, it ascends to an upperlimb, utters a loud call or two, when its mate soon appears, and, alighting near it on the branch, the pair chatter and caress a moment;then the fresh one enters the cavity and the other flies away. 

A few days since, I climbed up to the nest of the downy woodpecker, inthe decayed top of a sugar-maple. For better protection againstdriving rains, the hole which was rather more than an inch indiameter, was made immediately beneath a branch which stretched outalmost horizontally from the main stem. It appeared merely a deepershadow upon the dark and mottled surface of the bark with which thebranches were covered, and could not be detected by the eye until onewas within a few feet of it. The young chirped vociferously as Iapproached the nest, thinking it was the old one with food; but theclamor suddenly ceased as I put my hand on that part of the trunk inwhich they were concealed, the unusual jarring and rustling alarmingthem into silence. The cavity, which was about fifteen inches deep, was gourd-shaped, and was wrought with great skill and regularity. Thewalls were quite smooth and clean and new. 

[Illustration: WOODPECKER'S NEST. (Dotted lines indicate inside ofnest and eggs). ]

I shall never forget the circumstance of observing a pair ofyellow-bellied woodpeckers, --the most rare and secluded, and, next tothe red-headed, the most beautiful species found in ourwoods, --breeding in an old, truncated beech in the BeaverkillMountains, an off-shoot of the Catskills. We had been travelling, three of us, all day in search of a trout lake, which lay far in amongthe mountains, had twice lost our course in the trackless forest, and, weary and hungry, had sat down to rest upon a decayed log. Thechattering of the young, and the passing to and fro of the parentbirds, soon arrested my attention. The entrance to the nest was on theeast side of the tree, about twenty-five feet from the ground. Atintervals of scarcely a minute, the old birds, one after another, would light upon the edge of the hole with a grub or worm in theirbeaks; then each in turn would make a bow or two, cast an eye quicklyaround, and by a single movement place itself in the neck of thepassage. Here it would pause a moment, as if to determine in whichexpectant mouth to place the morsel, and then disappear within. Inabout half a minute, during which time the chattering of the younggradually subsided, the bird would again emerge, but this time bearingin its beak the ordure of one of the helpless family. Flying away veryslowly with head lowered and extended, as if anxious to hold theoffensive object as far from its plumage as possible, the bird droppedthe unsavory morsel in the course of a few yards, and, alighting on atree, wiped its bill on the bark and moss. This seemed to be the orderall day, --carrying in and carrying out. I watched the birds for anhour, while my companions were taking their turn in exploring the layof the land around us, and noted no variation in the programme. Itwould be curious to know if the young are fed and waited upon inregular order, and how, amid the darkness and the crowded state of theapartment, the matter is so neatly managed. But ornithologists are allsilent upon the subject. 

[Illustration: THE YELLOW-BELLIED WOODPECKER. ]

This practice of the birds is not so uncommon as it might at firstseem. It is, indeed, almost an invariable rule among all land birds. With woodpeckers and kindred species, and with birds that burrow inthe ground, as bank swallows, kingfishers, etc. , it is a necessity. The accumulation of the excrement in the nest would prove most fatalto the young. 

But even among birds that neither bore nor mine, but which build ashallow nest on the branch of a tree or upon the ground, as the robin, the finches, the buntings, etc. , the ordure of the young is removed toa distance by the parent bird. When the robin is seen going away fromits brood with a slow, heavy flight, entirely different from itsmanner a moment before on approaching the nest with a cherry or worm, it is certain to be engaged in this office. One may observe the socialsparrow, when feeding its young, pause a moment after the worm hasbeen given, and hop around on the brink of the nest, observing themovements within. 

The instinct of cleanliness no doubt prompts the action in all cases, though the disposition to secrecy or concealment may not be unmixedwith it. 

The swallows form an exception to the rule, the excrement being voidedby the young over the brink of the nest. They form an exception, also, to the rule of secrecy, aiming not so much to conceal the nest as torender it inaccessible. 

Other exceptions are the pigeons, hawks, and water-fowls. 

But to return. Having a good chance to note the color and markings ofthe woodpeckers as they passed in and out at the opening of the nest, I saw that Audubon had made a mistake in figuring or describing thefemale of this species with the red spot upon the head. I have seen anumber of pairs of them, and in no instance have I seen the motherbird marked with red. 

The male was in full plumage, and I reluctantly shot him for aspecimen. Passing by the place again next day, I paused a moment tonote how matters stood. I confess it was not without some compunctionsthat I heard the cries of the young birds, and saw the widowed mother, her cares now doubled, hastening to and fro in the solitary woods. Shewould occasionally pause expectantly on the trunk of a tree, and uttera loud call. 

It usually happens when the male of any species is killed during thebreeding season, that the female soon procures another mate. Thereare, most likely, always a few unmated birds of both sexes, within agiven range, and through these the broken links may be restored. Audubon or Wilson, I forgot which, tells a pair of fish-hawks, orospreys, that built their nest in an ancient oak. The male was sozealous in the defence of the young that it actually attacked withbeak and claw a person who attempted to climb into his nest, puttinghis face and eyes in great jeopardy. Arming himself with a heavy club, the climber felled the gallant bird to the ground and killed him. Inthe course of a few days, the female had procured another mate. Butnaturally enough the step-father showed none of the spirit and pluckin defence of the brood that had been displayed by the originalparent. When danger was nigh, he was seen afar off, sailing around inplacid unconcern. 

It is generally known that when either the wild turkey or domesticturkey begins to lay, and afterwards to sit and rear the brood, shesecludes herself from the male, who then, very sensibly, herds withothers of his sex, and betakes himself to haunts of his own till maleand female, old and young, meet again on common ground, late in thefall. But rob the sitting bird of her eggs, or destroy her tenderyoung, and she immediately sets out in quest of a male, who is nolaggard when he hears her call. The same is true of ducks and otheraquatic fowls. The propagating instinct is strong, and surmounts allordinary difficulties. No doubt the widowhood I had caused in the caseof the woodpeckers was of short duration, and chance brought, or thewidow drummed up, some forlorn male, who was not dismayed by theprospect of having a large family of half grown birds on his hands atthe outset. 

I have seen a fine cock robin paying assiduous addresses to a femalebird as late as the middle of July; and I have no doubt that hisintentions were honorable. I watched the pair for half an hour. Thehen, I took it, was in the market for the second time that season; butthe cock, from his bright, unfaded plumage, looked like a new arrival. The hen resented every advance of the male. In vain he strutted aroundher and displayed his fine feathers; every now and then she would makeat him in a most spiteful manner. He followed her to the ground, poured into her ear a fine, half-suppressed warble, offered her aworm, flew back to the tree again with a great spread of plumage, hopped around her on the branches, chirruped, chattered, flewgallantly at an intruder, and was back in an instant at her side. Nouse, --she cut him short at every turn. 

The _dénouement_ I cannot relate, as the artful bird, followed by herardent suitor, soon flew away beyond my sight. It may not be rash toconclude, however that she held out no longer than was prudent. 

On the whole, there seems to be a system of Women's Rights prevailingamong the birds, which, contemplated from the standpoint of the male, is quite admirable. In almost all cases of joint interest, the femalebird is the most active. She determines the site of the nest, and isusually the most absorbed in its construction. Generally, she is morevigilant in caring for the young, and manifests the most concern whendanger threatens. Hour after hour I have seen the mother of a brood ofblue grossbeaks pass from the nearest meadow to the tree that held hernest, with a cricket or grasshopper in her bill, while herbetter-dressed half was singing serenely on a distant tree or pursuinghis pleasure amid the branches. 

Yet among the majority of our song birds, the male is most conspicuousboth by his color and manners and by his song, and is to that extent ashield to the female. It is thought that the female is humbler cladfor her better concealment during incubation. But this is notsatisfactory, as in some cases she is relieved from time to time bythe male. In the case of the domestic dove, for instance, promptly atmid-day the cock is found upon the nest. I should say that the dull orneutral tints of the female were a provision of nature for her greatersafety at all times, as her life is far more precious to the speciesthan that of the male. The indispensable office of the male reducesitself to little more than a moment of time, while that of his mateextends over days and weeks, if not months. 

In migrating northward, the males precede the females by eight or tendays; returning in the fall, the females and young precede the malesby about the same time. 

[Illustration: NEST OF THE CHICADEE. ]

After the woodpeckers have abandoned their nests, or rather chambers, which they do after the first season, their cousins, the nut-hatches, chickadees, and brown creepers, fall heir to them. These birds, especially the creepers and nut-hatches, have many of the habits ofthe _picidæ_, but lack their powers of bill, and so are unable toexcavate a nest for themselves. Their habitation, therefore, is alwayssecond-hand. But each species carries in some soft material of variouskinds, or, in other words, furnishes the tenement to its liking. Thechickadee arranges in the bottom of the cavity a little mat of alight, felt-like substance, which looks as if it came from thehatter's, but which is probably the work of numerous worms orcaterpillars. On this soft lining the female deposits six white eggs. 

I recently discovered one of these nests in a most interestingsituation. The tree containing it, a variety of the wild cherry, stoodupon the brink of the bald summit of a high mountain. Gray, time-wornrocks lay piled loosely about, or overtoppled the just visible by-waysof the red fox. The trees had a half-scared look, and thatindescribable wildness which lurks about the tops of all remotemountains possessed the place. Standing there, I looked down upon theback of the red-tailed hawk as he flew out over the earth beneath me. Following him, my eye also took in farms, and settlements, andvillages, and other mountain ranges that grew blue in the distance. 

The parent birds attracted my attention by appearing with food intheir beaks, and by seeming much put out. Yet so wary were they ofrevealing the locality of their brood, or even of the precise treethat held them, that I lurked around over an hour without gaining apoint on them. Finally a bright and curious boy who accompanied mesecreted himself under a low, projecting rock close to the tree inwhich we supposed the nest to be, while I moved off around themountain-side. It was not long before the youth had their secret. Thetree, which was low and wide branching, and overrun with lichens, appeared at a cursory glance to contain not one dry or decayed limb. Yet there was one a few feet long, in which, when my eyes were pilotedthither, I detected a small round orifice. 

As my weight began to shake the branches, the consternation of bothold and young was great. The stump of a limb that held the nest wasabout three inches thick, and at the bottom of the tunnel wasexcavated quite to the bark. With my thumb I broke in the thin wall, and the young, which were full-fledged, looked out upon the world forthe first time. Presently one of them, with a significant chirp, asmuch as to say, "It is time we were out of this, " began to climb uptoward the proper entrance. Placing himself in the hole, he lookedaround without manifesting any surprise at the grand scene that layspread out before him. He was taking his bearings and determining howfar he could trust the power of his untried wings to take him out ofharm's way. After a moment's pause, with a loud chirrup, he launchedout, and made tolerable headway. The others rapidly followed. Eachone, as it started upward, from a sudden impulse, contemptuouslysaluted the abandoned nest with its excrement. 

[Illustration: BARN SWALLOW AND NEST. ]

Though generally regular in their habits and instincts, yet the birdssometimes seem as whimsical and capricious as superior beings. One isnot safe, for instance, in making any absolute assertion as to theirplace or mode of building. Ground builders often get up into a bush, and tree builders sometimes get upon the ground or into a tussock ofgrass. The song-sparrow, which is a ground builder, has been known tobuild in the knot-hole of a fence rail, and a chimney swallow once gottired of soot and smoke, and fastened its nest on a rafter in a haybarn. A friend tells me of a pair of barn swallows which, taking afanciful turn, saddled their nest in the loop of a rope that waspendent from a peg in the peak, and liked it so well that theyrepeated the experiment next year. I have known the social sparrow, or"hair bird, " to build under a shed, in a tuft of hay that hung down, through the loose flooring, from the mow above. It usually contentsitself with a half a dozen stalks of dry grass and a few long hairsfrom a cow's tail, loosely arranged on the branch of an apple-tree. The rough-winged swallow builds in the wall and in old stone heaps, and I have seen the robin build in similar localities. Others havefound its nest in old, abandoned wells. The house wren will build inanything that has an accessible cavity, from an old boot to abombshell. A pair of them once persisted in building their nest in thetop of a certain pump-tree, getting in through the opening above thehandle. The pump being in daily use, the nest was destroyed more thana score of times. This jealous little wretch has the wise forethought, when the box in which he builds contains two compartments, to fill upone of them, so as to avoid the risk of troublesome neighbors. 

The less skilful builders sometimes depart from their usual habit, andtake up with the abandoned nest of some other species. The blue-jaynow and then lays in an old crow's-nest or cuckoo's-nest. Thecrow-blackbird, seized with a fit of indolence, drops its eggs in thecavity of a decayed branch. I heard of a cuckoo that dispossessed arobin of its nest; of another that set a blue-jay adrift. Large, loosestructures, like the nests of the osprey and certain of the herons, have been found with half a dozen nests of the blackbird set in theouter edges, like so many parasites, or, as Audubon says, like theretainers about the rude court of a feudal baron. 

[Illustration: BALTIMORE ORIOLE AND NEST. ]

The same birds breeding in a southern climate construct far lesselaborate nests than when breeding in a northern climate. Certainspecies of water-fowl that abandon their eggs to the sand and the sunin the warmer zones, build a nest and sit in the usual way inLabrador. In Georgia, the Baltimore oriole places its nest upon thenorth side of the tree; in the Middle and Eastern States, it fixes itupon the south or east side, and makes it much thicker and Warner. Ihave seen one from the South that had some kind-of coarse reed orsedge woven into it, giving it an open-work appearance, like abasket. 

Very few species use the same material uniformly. I have seen the nestof the robin quite destitute of mud. In one instance, it was composedmainly of long, black horse-hairs, arranged in a circular manner, witha lining of fine yellow grass; the whole presenting quite a novelappearance. In another case, the nest was chiefly constructed of aspecies of rock moss. 

The nest for the second brood during the same season is often a meremake-shift. The haste of the female to deposit her eggs as the seasonadvances seems very great, and the structure is apt to be prematurelyfinished. I was recently reminded of this fact by happening, about thelast of July, to meet with several nests of the wood or bush sparrowin a remote blackberry field. The nests with eggs were far lesselaborate and compact than the earlier nests, from which the young hadflown. 

Day after day, as I go to a certain piece of woods, I observe a maleindigo-bird sitting on precisely the same part of a high branch, andsinging in his most vivacious style. As I approach, he ceases to sing, and, flirting his tail right and left with marked emphasis, chirpssharply. In a low bush near by, I come upon the object of hissolicitude, a thick, compact nest, composed largely of dry leaves andfine grass, in which a plain brown bird is sitting upon four pale blueeggs. 

The wonder is, that a bird will leave the apparent security of thetree-tops, to place its nest in the way of the many dangers that walkand crawl upon the ground. There, far out of reach, sings the bird;here, not three feet from the ground, are its eggs or helpless young. The truth is, birds are the greatest enemies of birds, and it is withreference to this fact that many of the smaller species build. 

[Illustration: INDIGO BIRD'S NEST. ]

Perhaps the greatest proportion of birds breed along highways. I haveknown the ruffed grouse to come out of a dense wood and make its nestat the root of a tree within ten paces of the road, where, no doubt, hawks and crows, as well as skunks and foxes, would be less liable tofind it out. Traversing remote mountain-roads through dense woods, Ihave repeatedly seen the veery, or Wilson's thrush, sitting upon hernest, so near me that I could almost take her from it by stretchingout my hand. Birds of prey show none of this confidence in man, and, when locating their nests, avoid rather than seek his haunts. 

In a certain locality in the interior of New York, I know, everyseason, where I am sure to find a nest or two of the slate-coloredsnow-bird. It is under the brink of a low, mossy bank, so near thehighway that it could be reached from a passing vehicle with a whip. Every horse or wagon or foot passenger disturbs the sitting bird. Sheawaits the near approach of a sound of feet or wheels, and then dartsquickly across the road, barely clearing the ground, and disappearsamid the bushes on the opposite side. 

In the trees that line one of the main streets and fashionable drivesleading out of Washington city, and less than half a mile from theboundary, I have counted the nests of five different species at onetime, and that without any very close scrutiny of the foliage, whilein many acres of woodland, half a mile off, I searched in vain for asingle nest. Among the five that interested me most was that of a bluegrossbeak. Here this bird, which, according to Audubon's observations, in Louisiana is shy and recluse, affecting remote marshes and theborders of large ponds of stagnant water, had placed its nest in thelowest twig of the lowest branch of a large sycamore, immediately overa great thoroughfare, and so near the ground that a person standing ina cart or sitting on a horse could have reached it with his hand. Thenest was composed mainly of fragments of newspaper and stalks ofgrass, and, though so low, was remarkably well concealed by one of thepeculiar clusters of twigs and leaves which characterize this tree. The nest contained young when I discovered it, and though the parentbirds were much annoyed by my loitering about beneath the tree, theypaid little attention to the stream of vehicles that was constantlypassing. It is a wonder to me when the birds could have built it, forthey are much shyer when building than at other times. No doubt theyworked mostly in the morning, having the early hours all tothemselves. 

Another pair of blue grossbeaks built in a graveyard within the citylimits. The nest was placed in a low bush, and the male continued tosing at intervals till the young were ready to fly. The song of thisbird is a rapid, intricate warble, like that of the indigo-bird, though stronger and louder. Indeed, these two birds so much resembleeach other in color, form, manner, voice, and general habits that, were it not for the difference in size, --the grossbeak being nearly aslarge again as the indigo-bird, --it would be a hard matter to tellthem apart. The females of both species are clad in the samereddish-brown suits. So are the young the first season. 

Of course in the deep, primitive woods also are nests, but how rarelywe find them! The simple art of the bird consists in choosing common, neutral-tinted material, as moss, dry leaves, twigs, and various oddsand ends, and placing the structure on a convenient branch, where itblends in color with its surroundings; but how consummate is this art, and how skilfully is the nest concealed! We occasionally light uponit, but who, unaided by the movements of the bird, could find it out?During the present season, I went to the woods nearly every day for afortnight, without making any discoveries of this kind, till one day, paying them a farewell visit, I chanced to come upon several nests. Ablack and white creeping warbler suddenly became much alarmed as Iapproached a crumbling old stump in a dense part of the forest. Healighted upon it, chirped sharply, ran up and down its sides, andfinally left it with much reluctance. The nest, which contained threeyoung birds nearly fledged, was placed upon the ground, at the foot ofthe stump, and in such a position that the color of the youngharmonized perfectly with the bits of bark, sticks, etc. , lying about. My eye rested upon them for the second time before I made them out. They hugged the nest very closely, but as I put down my hand theyscampered off with loud cries for help, which caused the parent birdsto place themselves almost within my reach. The nest was merely alittle dry grass arranged in a thick bed of dry leaves. 

This was amid a thick undergrowth. Moving on into a passage of large, stately hemlocks, with only here and there a small beech or maplerising up into the perennial twilight, I paused to make out a notewhich was entirely new to me. It is still in my ear. Thoughunmistakably a bird note, it yet suggested the bleating of a tinylambkin. Presently the birds appeared, --a pair of the solitary vireo. They came flitting from point to point, alighting only for a moment ata time, the male silent, but the female uttering this strange, tendernote. It was a rendering into some new sylvan dialect of the humansentiment of maidenly love. It was really pathetic in its sweetnessand childlike confidence and joy. I soon discovered that the pair werebuilding a nest upon a low branch a few yards from me. The male flewcautiously to the spot, and adjusted something, and the twain movedon, the female calling to her mate at intervals, _love-e, love-e_, with a cadence and tenderness in the tone that rang in the ear longafterward. The nest was suspended to the fork of a small branch, as isusual with the vireos, plentifully lined with lichens, and bound andrebound with masses of coarse spider-webs. There was no attempt atconcealment except in the neutral tints, which made it look like anatural growth of the dim, gray woods. 

Continuing my random walk, I next paused in a low part of the woods, where the larger trees began to give place to a thick second growththat covered an old Bark-peeling. I was standing by a large maple, when a small bird darted quickly away from it, as if it might havecome out of a hole near its base. As the bird paused a few yards fromme, and began to chirp uneasily, my curiosity was at once excited. When I saw it was the female mourning ground warbler, and rememberedthat the nest of this bird had not yet been seen by anynaturalist, --that not even Dr. Brewer had ever seen the eggs, --I feltthat here was something worth looking for. So I carefully began thesearch, exploring inch by inch the ground, the base and roots of thetree, and the various shrubby growths about it, till, finding nothing, and fearing I might really put my foot in it, I bethought me towithdraw to a distance and after some delay return again, and, thusforewarned, note the exact point from which the bird flew. This I did, and, returning, had little difficulty in discovering the nest. It wasplaced but a few feet from the maple-tree, in a bunch of ferns, andabout six inches from the ground. It was quite a massive nest, composed entirely of the stalks and leaves of dry grass, with an innerlining of fine, dark-brown roots. The eggs, three in number, were oflight flesh color, uniformly specked with fine brown specks. Thecavity of the nest was so deep that the back of sitting bird sankbelow the edge. 

In the top of a tall tree, a short distance farther on, I saw the nestof the red-tailed hawk, --a large mass of twigs and dry sticks. Theyoung had flown, but still lingered in the vicinity, and, as Iapproached, the mother bird flew about over me, squealing in a veryangry, savage manner. Tufts of the hair and other indigestiblematerial of the common meadow mouse lay around on the ground beneaththe nest. 

[Illustration: NEST OF RED-EYED VIREO. ]

As I was about leaving the woods, my hat almost brushed the nest ofthe red-eyed vireo, which hung basket-like on the end of a low, drooping branch of the beech. I should never have seen it had the birdkept her place. It contained three eggs of the bird's own, and one ofthe cow-bunting. The strange egg was only just perceptibly larger thanthe others, yet three days after, when I looked into the nest againand found all but one egg hatched, the young interloper was at leastfour times as large as either of the others, and with such asuperabundance of bowels as to almost smother his bedfellows beneaththem. That the intruder should fare the same as the rightfuloccupants, and thrive with them, was more than ordinary potluck; butthat it alone should thrive, devouring, as it were, all the rest, isone of those freaks of Nature in which she would seem to discouragethe homely virtues of prudence and honesty. Weeds and parasites havethe odds greatly against them, yet they wage a very successful warnevertheless. 

The woods hold not such another gem as the nest of the humming-bird. The finding of one is an event to date from. It is the next best thingto finding an eagle's nest. I have met with but two, both by chance. One was placed on the horizontal branch of a chestnut-tree, with asolitary green leaf, forming a complete canopy, about an inch and ahalf above it. The repeated spiteful dartings of the bird past myears, as I stood under the tree, caused me to suspect that I wasintruding upon some one's privacy; and following it with my eye, Isoon saw the nest, which was in process of construction. Adopting myusual tactics of secreting myself near by, I had the satisfaction ofseeing the tiny artist at work. It was the female, unassisted by hermate. At intervals of two or three minutes she would appear with asmall tuft of some cottony substance in her beak, dart a few timesthrough and around the tree, and alighting quickly in the nest arrangethe material she had brought, using her breast as a model. 

The other nest I discovered in a dense forest on the side of amountain. The sitting bird was disturbed as I passed beneath her. Thewhirring of her wings arrested my attention, when, after a shortpause, I had the good luck to see, through an opening in the leaves, the bird return to her nest, which appeared like a mere wart orexcrescence on a small branch. The humming-bird, unlike all others, does not alight upon the nest, but flies into it. She enters it asquick as a flash, but as light as any feather. Two eggs are thecomplement. They are perfectly white, and so frail that only a woman'sfingers may touch them. Incubation lasts about ten days. In a week theyoung have flown. 

The only nest like the humming-bird's, and comparable to it inneatness and symmetry, is that of the blue-gray gnat-catcher. This isoften saddled upon the limb in the same manner, though it is generallymore or less pendent; it is deep and soft, composed mostly of somevegetable down, covered all over with delicate tree-lichens, and, except that it is much larger, appears almost identical with the nestof the humming-bird. 

But the nest of nests, the ideal nest, after we have left the deepwoods, is unquestionably that of the Baltimore oriole. It is the onlyperfectly pensile nest we have. The nest of the orchard oriole isindeed mainly so, but this bird generally builds lower and shallower, more after the manner of the vireos. 

The Baltimore oriole loves to attach its nest to the swaying branchesof the tallest elms, making no attempt at concealment, but satisfiedif the position be high and the branch pendent. This nest would seemto cost more time and skill than any other bird structure. A peculiarflax-like substance seems to be always sought after, and alwaysfound. The nest when completed assumes the form of a large, suspendedgourd. The walls are thin but firm, and proof against the most drivingrain. The mouth is hemmed or over-handed with horse-hair, and thesides are usually sewed through and through with the same. 

Not particular as to the matter of secrecy, the bird is not particularas to material, so that it be of the nature of strings or threads. Alady friend once told me that while working by an open window, one ofthese birds approached during her momentary absence, and, seizing askein of some kind of thread or yarn, made off with it to itshalf-finished nest. But the perverse yarn caught fast in the branches, and, in the bird's efforts to extricate it, got hopelessly tangled. She tugged away at it all day, but was finally obliged to contentherself with a few detached portions. The fluttering strings were aneye-sore to her ever after, and passing and repassing, she would givethem a spiteful jerk, as much as to say, "There is that confoundedyarn that gave me so much trouble. "

From Pennsylvania, Vincent Barnard (to whom I am indebted for othercurious facts) sent me this interesting story of an oriole. He says afriend of his, curious in such things, on observing the bird beginningto build, hung out near the prospective nest skeins of many-coloredzephyr-yarn, which the eager artist readily appropriated. He managedit so that the bird used nearly equal quantities of various high, bright colors. The nest was made unusually deep and capacious, and itmay be questioned if such a thing of beauty was ever before woven bythe cunning of a bird. 

Nuttall, by far the most genial of American ornithologists, relatesthe following:--

"A female (oriole), which I observed attentively, carried off to hernest a piece of lamp-wick ten or twelve feet long. This long stringand many other shorter ones were left hanging out for about a weekbefore both the ends were wattled into the sides of the nest. Someother little birds making use of similar materials, at times twitchedthese flowing ends, and generally brought out the busy Baltimore fromher occupation in great anger. 

"I may perhaps claim indulgence for adding a little more of thebiography of this particular bird, as a representative, also, ofthe instincts of her race. She completed the nest in about a week'stime, without any aid from her mate, who, indeed, appeared but seldomin her company, and was now become nearly silent. For fibrousmaterials she broke, hackled, and gathered the flax of the _asclepias_and _hibiscus_ stalks, tearing off long strings and flying with themto the scene of her labors. She appeared very eager and hasty in herpursuits, and collected her materials without fear or restraint, whilethree men were working in the neighboring walks, and many personsvisiting the garden. Her courage and perseverance were indeed trulyadmirable. If watched too narrowly, she saluted with her usualscolding, _tshrr, tshrr, tshrr_, seeing no reason, probably, why sheshould be interrupted in her indispensable occupation. 

"Though the males were now comparatively silent on the arrival oftheir busy mates, I could not help observing this female and a second, continually vociferating apparently in strife. At last she wasobserved to attack this second female very fiercely, who slylyintruded herself at times into the same tree where she was building. These contests were angry and often repeated. To account for thisanimosity, I now recollected that two fine males had been killed inour vicinity; and I therefore concluded the intruder to be leftwithout a mate; yet she had gained the affections of the consort ofthe busy female, and thus the cause of their jealous quarrel becameapparent. Having obtained the confidence of her faithless paramour, the second female began preparing to weave a nest in an adjoining elm, by tying together certain pendent twigs as a foundation. The male nowassociated chiefly with the intruder, whom he even assisted in herlabor, yet did not wholly forget his first partner, who called on himone evening in a low, affectionate tone, which was answered in thesame strain. While they were thus engaged in friendly whispers, suddenly appeared the rival, and a violent _rencontre_ ensued, so thatone of the females appeared to be greatly agitated, and fluttered withspreading wings as if considerably hurt. The male, though prudentlyneutral in the contest, showed his culpable partiality by flying offwith his paramour, and for the rest of the evening left the tree tohis pugnacious consort. Cares of another kind, more imperious andtender, at length reconciled, or at least terminated, these disputeswith the jealous females; and by the aid of the neighboring bachelors, who are never wanting among these and other birds, peace was at lengthcompletely restored, by the restitution of the quiet and happycondition of monogamy. "

Let me not forget to mention the nest under the mountain ledge, thenest of the common pewee, a modest mossy structure, with fourpearl-white eggs, looking out upon some wild scene and overhung bybeetling crags. After all has been said about the elaborate, high-hungstructures, few nests, perhaps, awaken more pleasant emotions in themind of the beholder than this of the pewee, --the gray, silent rocks, with caverns and dens where the fox and the wolf lurk, and just out oftheir reach, in a little niche, as if it grew there, the mossytenement!

Nearly every high projecting rock in my range has one of these nests. Following a trout stream up a wild mountain gorge, not long since, Icounted five in the distance of a mile, all within easy reach, butsafe from the minks and the skunks, and well housed from the storms. In my native town I know a pine and oak clad hill, round-topped, witha bold, precipitous front extending half-way around it. Near the top, and along this front or side, there crops out a ledge of rocksunusually high and cavernous. One immense layer projects many feet, allowing a person or many persons, standing upright, to move freelybeneath it. There is a delicious spring of water there, and plenty ofwild, cool air. The floor is of loose stone, now trod by sheep andfoxes, once by the Indian and the wolf. How I have delighted fromboyhood to spend a summer-day in this retreat or take refuge therefrom a sudden shower! Always the freshness and coolness, and alwaysthe delicate mossy nest of the phœbe-bird! The bird keeps her placetill you are within a few feet of her, when she flits to a nearbranch, and, with many oscillations of her tail, observes youanxiously. Since the country has become settled, this pewee has falleninto the strange practice of occasionally placing its nest under abridge, hay-shed, or other artificial structure, where it is subjectto all kinds of interruptions and annoyances. When placed thus, thenest is larger and coarser. I know a hayloft beneath which a pair hasregularly placed its nest for several successive seasons. Arrangedalong on a single pole, which sags down a few inches from the flooringit was intended to help support, are three of these structures, marking the number of years the birds have nested there. Thefoundation is of mud with a superstructure of moss, elaborately linedwith hair and feathers. Nothing can be more perfect and exquisite thanthe interior of one of these nests, yet a new one is built everyseason. Three broods, however, are frequently reared in it. 

[Illustration: NEST OF PHŒBE. ]

The pewees, as a class, are the best architects we have. The king-birdbuilds a nest altogether admirable, using various soft cotton andwoollen substances, and sparing neither time nor material to make itsubstantial and warm. The green-crested pewee builds its nest in manyinstances wholly of the blossoms of the white-oak. The wood peweebuilds a neat, compact socket-shaped nest of moss and lichens on ahorizontal branch. There is never a loose end or shred about it. Thesitting bird is largely visible above the rim. She moves her headfreely about, and seems entirely at her ease, --a circumstance which Ihave never observed in any other species. The nest of thegreat-crested flycatcher is seldom free from snake skins, three orfour being sometimes woven into it. 

About the thinnest, shallowest nest, for its situation, that can befound is that of the turtle-dove. A few sticks and straws arecarelessly thrown together, hardly sufficient to prevent the eggs fromfalling through or rolling off. The nest of the passenger pigeon isequally hasty and insufficient, and the squabs often fall to theground and perish. The other extreme among our common birds isfurnished by the ferruginous thrush, which collects together a mass ofmaterial that would fill a half-bushel measure; or by the fish-hawk, which adds to and repairs its nest year after year, till the wholewould make a cart-load. 

The rarest of all nests is that of the eagle, because the eagle is therarest of all birds. Indeed, so seldom is the eagle seen, that itspresence always seems accidental. It appears as if merely pausing onthe way, while bound for some distant unknown region. One September, while a youth, I saw the ring-tailed eagle, an immense, dusky bird, the sight of which filled me with awe. It lingered about the hills fortwo days. Some young cattle, a two year-old colt, and half a dozensheep were at pasture on a high ridge that led up to the mountain, and in plain view of the house. On the second day, this dusky monarchwas seen flying about above them. Presently he began to hover overthem, after the manner of a hawk watching for mice. He then withextended legs let himself slowly down upon them, actually grapplingthe backs of the young cattle, and frightening the creatures so thatthey rushed about the field in great consternation; and finally, as hegrew bolder and more frequent in his descents, the whole herd brokeover the fence, and came tearing down to the house "like mad. " It didnot seem to be an assault with intent to kill, but was, perhaps, astratagem resorted to in order to separate the herd and expose thelambs, which hugged the cattle very closely. When he occasionallyalighted upon the oaks that stood near, the branch _could_ be seen tosway and bend beneath him. Finally, as a rifleman started out inpursuit of him, he launched into the air, set his wings, and sailedaway southward. A few years afterward, in January, another eaglepassed through the same locality, alighting in a field near some deadanimal, but tarried briefly. 

[Illustration: EAGLE. ]

So much by way of identification. The bird is common to the northernparts of both hemispheres, and places its eyrie on high, precipitousrocks. A pair built on an inaccessible shelf of rock along the Hudsonfor eight successive years. A squad of Revolutionary soldiers alsofound a nest along this river, and had an adventure with the bird thatcame near costing one of their number his life. His comrades let himdown by a rope to secure the eggs or young, when he was attacked bythe female eagle with such fury that he was obliged to defend himselfwith his knife. In doing so, by a mis-stroke, he nearly severed therope that held him, and was drawn up by a single strand from hisperilous position. Audubon, from whom this anecdote is taken, figuresand describes this bird as the golden eagle, though I have littledoubt that Wilson was right, and that the golden eagle is a distinctspecies. 

The sea-eagle also builds on high rocks, according to Audubon, thoughWilson describes the nest of one which he saw near Great Egg Harbor, in the top of a large yellow pine. It was a vast pile of sticks, sods, sedge, grass, reeds, etc. , five or six feet high by four broad, andwith little or no concavity. It had been used for many years, and hewas told that the eagles made it a sort of home or lodging-place inall seasons. This agrees with the description which Audubon gives ofthe nest of the bald eagle. There is evidently a little confusion onboth sides. 

The eagle in all cases uses one nest, with more or less repair, forseveral years. Many of our common birds do the same. The birds may bedivided, with respect to this and kindred points, into five generalclasses. First, those that repair and appropriate the last year'snest, as the wren, swallow, blue-bird, great-crested flycatcher, owls, eagles, fish-hawk, and a few others. Secondly, those that build aneweach season, though frequently rearing more than one brood in the samenest. Of these, the phœbe-bird is a well-known example. Thirdly, thosethat build a new nest for each brood, which includes by far thegreatest number of species. Fourthly, a limited number that make nonest of their own, but appropriate the abandoned nests of other birds. Finally, those who use no nest at all, but deposit their eggs in thesand, which is the case with a large number of aquatic fowls. Thus thecommon gull breeds in vast numbers on the sand bars or sand islandsoff the south coast of Long Island. A little dent is made in the sand, the eggs are dropped, and the old birds go their way. In due time theeggs are hatched by the warmth of the sun, and the little creaturesshift for themselves. In July countless numbers of them, of differentages and sizes, swarm upon these sandy wastes. As the waves roll out, they rush down the beach, picking up a kind of sea gluten, and thenhasten back to avoid the next breaker. 

[Illustration]

BIRDS IN THEIR RELATION TO AGRICULTURE

(FROM THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE NEBRASKA ORNITHOLOGISTS' UNION JANUARY, 1901. )[4]

BY LAURENCE BRUNER. 

[4] By permission. 

[Illustration]

When civilized man takes possession of new regions and beginscultivating the soil and establishes his sovereignty there, theequilibrium as it existed upon his arrival is very quickly disturbed. One or more of the many forms of life--plant and animal--that werepreviously held within certain limits gain ascendency. Theintroduction of new crops that furnish an abundance of the proper foodfor some insect, enables this form to increase out of all proportionsand harm soon results. The killing off of certain other forms of lifethat naturally keep still others in check also assists in disturbingthe equilibrium further. The cutting down and clearing away of forestsremoves the shelter and homes of others, as does also the turningunder of prairie grasses. Then, too, many of the natural residents ofprimeval forests and virgin prairies shun the sight of man, hence theygradually withdraw from the region, and their influence for good orevil goes with them. Since the majority of such forms are timid andinoffensive creatures, their withdrawal only adds that much more tothe already overbalanced conditions. Year by year the gap which atfirst was scarcely noticeable becomes widened, so that frequentinroads are made and harm results. Instead of trying to ascertain thetrue cause for all this trouble perhaps exactly the wrong thing isdone by the settlers. This of course only has the effect of furtherwidening the gap between safety and danger. Since an insect or otheranimal becomes noticeably harmful only when present in alarmingnumbers, it stands to reason that anything which favors such anabnormal increase is a factor in disturbing nature and should bequickly rectified where possible. In order that these disturbancesshould be looked after the all-wise God of the universe created birdsand gave them the power of flight that they might the more readilymove about rapidly from place to place, where their services might beneeded in balancing affairs. Hence birds have naturally and rightfullybeen called the "balancers" in nature. This being true, let us seejust what their relations are to agriculture. 

The farmer sows in order that he may reap an increased measure of whathe has sown. In doing this he must first turn over the soil. Thisdestroys many existing plants as well as animals that depend upon themfor food. The plants thus turned down cannot regain their positionand must of necessity die. Not so with many of the animals, however, which soon work their way to the surface. Some of these attack thegrowing plants which have been made to occupy the place of thosedestroyed by the plough. Others take wing and seek suitable food inadjoining districts where they add to the numbers already drawing uponthe vegetation up to the point of possible continued supply. Here, then, the scales begin to vibrate. In the field the new and tendercrop entices the ever-shifting individuals of myriads of forms thathave been crowded out elsewhere. The result here too is, or would be, very disastrous were it not for the timely visit of flocks of birdslikewise in search of food. 

It is during the period of first settlement of a country, when thefields are small, few and widely separated, that injury may andfrequently does result from birds. It is then a problem that needscareful consideration, not only for the time being, but also for thefuture welfare of that country. If animal life is destroyedindiscriminately and without intelligent forethought, calamitiesunforeseen are sure to follow in the not distant future. 

Birds can be useful to man in many ways. They can benefit him bycarrying the seeds of various plants from place to place so as toassist him in establishing new groves in which to find shelter fromthe cold in winter and refuge from the heat of the noonday sun insummer. They plant various shrubs by the wayside that spring up andlater are laden with luscious fruit. They also carry the spawn offishes and small crustaceans among their feathers into new waters, andfeed upon the countless seeds of weeds that are scattered broadcastover the face of the earth. Some kinds live almost exclusively uponinsects, while others hunt out the small rodents that would, if leftto themselves, destroy great quantities of grain and other vegetation. Still other birds benefit mankind by acting as scavengers in theremoval of putrid and other offensive matter which would endanger ourhealth. In addition to all these varied direct benefits which arebrought about by the presence of birds, man is further indebted tothese creatures for the cheer which their gay music, bright plumageand pleasant manners bring to him. The birds form a carefullyorganized army of police which is engaged in keeping affairs balancedin nature. 

But we can go even further summing up the benefits that men may derivefrom the birds. A great many kinds make excellent food, while othersfurnish sport and pleasure to a large number of men and boys who seemto require a certain kind of entertainment while accompanied with dogand gun. Dead birds when embalmed as mummies and attached to thehead-gear worn by some girls and women are also claimed to cause muchhappiness. 

_Birds as Enemies. _--It would be ridiculous for me to assert here thatno injury ever results from the presence of birds on the farm or inthe orchard. Quite a number of different species are continuallystepping over to the wrong side of the "ledger" as it were, andcommitting depredations of various kinds which if considered alonewould render the perpetrators liable to severe punishment--in somecases even unto death. Some of the crimes that can be charged to thefeathered tribe are cherry and berry-stealing, grape-puncturing, apple-pecking, corn-pulling, grain-eating, the unintentional carryingfrom place to place of some kinds of scale insects that happen tocrawl on their legs and feet, the possible spreading of hog cholera bycrows and buzzards, the robbing of the poultry yard, and lastly somebirds are accused of making noises that awaken us from our slumbers inthe morning. 

Some of these crimes are genuine and are to be deplored, while othersare more imaginary than real. A few of them could be prevented in partor altogether, while others might be diminished if we were inclined totake the trouble to do it. 

After all that can be said pro and con concerning the usefulness ofbirds in general there remains no doubt, in the minds of thinkingpeople at least, as to the value of these creatures. It is only thevicious, biased, and thoughtless persons who continue ruthlessly todestroy birds indiscriminately without first pausing to considerwhether or not it is a proper thing to do, whether it is right orwrong. 

_Food habits. _--So varied is this task of evening up in nature that ifattended to properly the workers must be numerous in individuals andpossess widely different habits. That such is the case can readily beseen by the following brief account of the various groups of ourNebraska birds, along with brief statements of their food habits. 

The Grebes and Loons feed chiefly upon snails and other aquaticanimals such as are found about their haunts. They also capture manygrasshoppers and similar insects that happen in their way. Theycannot, therefore, be classed among the especially beneficial birds, neither can they be termed injurious on account of what they eat. 

The Gulls, provided as they are with long wings and great powers forflight, are not confined to the seacoast, hence they reach far inlandin their migrations, feeding extensively upon insects like locusts, June-beetles, crickets, etc. , large numbers of which they destroyannually. Several kinds of these birds are known to follow the ploughand pick up the white grubs and other insects that are turned up andlaid bare. In early days, when grasshoppers did much harm in thisstate, numerous flocks of these birds were seen to feed upon theseinsects. 

The Cormorants and Pelicans are chiefly destroyers of fishes andfrogs, hence can hardly be classed among the most beneficial forms;but whether or not they do any more than to maintain the necessaryequilibrium in that particular part of the vast field of nature it isdifficult to judge without time for investigation. 

The various Ducks and Geese which are also nearly as aquatic in theirhabits as some of the foregoing, frequently leave their haunts andmake excursions into the surrounding country where in summer they feedupon locusts, beetles, and other injurious insects. They also partakeof considerable quantities of vegetable food, as grains, weed seeds, grasses, and other herbage. While not included among the insectivorousforms these birds do much towards diminishing the ever increasinghorde of creeping and jumping things. Ducks and geese on the otherhand are largely utilized by us as food: while their feathers makecomfortable pillows and coverlets. 

The Herons, Cranes, and Rails are frequenters of marshes and themargins of streams and bodies of water, where they assist in keepingthe various forms among the animal life balanced. Fishes, frogs, snails, insects, and crustaceans are alike devoured by them. 

The Snipe, Sandpipers, Plovers, Phalaropes, Curlews, etc. , are greatdestroyers of insects. Moving as many of them do in great flocks andspreading out over the meadows, pastures, and hillsides, as well asamong the cultivated fields, they do a large amount of careful policeservice in arresting the culprits among insects. They even pry themout of burrows and crevices in the earth where these creatures lurkduring daytime only to come forth after nightfall to destroyvegetation. The large flocks of Eskimo Curlews that formerly passedthrough eastern Nebraska did magnificent work during years when theRocky Mountain Locust was with us, as did also the equally largeflocks of Golden Plovers. The Bartramian Sandpiper even now is a greatfactor each summer in checking the increasing locusts on our prairies. 

The various members of the Grouse family, while belonging to agrain-eating group, are certainly quite prominent as insectdestroyers. Especially is this so with respect to the Quail, PrairieHen, Sharptailed Grouse, and Wild Turkey, all of which are occupiedmost of the summer months in capturing and destroying vast numbers ofsuch insects as are found on the prairies. Grasshoppers, locusts, crickets, caterpillars, and similar insects comprise the bulk of theirinsect food--forms that are all among the most numerous as well asdestructive species. In writing about these birds as insectdestroyers Prof. Samuel Aughey writes: "I happened to be in theRepublican Valley, in south-western Nebraska, in August, 1874, whenthe locust invaded that region. Prairie chickens and quails, thatprevious to their coming had a large number of seeds in theirstomachs, when dissected, seemed now for a time to abandon all otherkinds of food. At least from this onward for a month little else thanlocusts were found in their stomachs. All the birds seemed now to livesolely on locusts for a while. " In winter and at other times of theyear when insect life is scarce and difficult to obtain, these birdsfeed more or less extensively upon seeds and other kinds ofvegetation. Some even enter cultivated grounds and seek food thatbelongs to the farmer, thereby doing more or less direct injury. Theextent of such injury, of course, depends upon the number of birdsengaged in the depredations, and also on the time over which it isallowed to extend. If corn and other grain is harvested at the propertime, but little damage ensues; but if allowed to remain in the fieldthroughout winter, much of the crop is liable to be taken by thebirds. 

[Illustration: QUAIL. ]

Perhaps no other bird that frequents the farm pays higher prices forthe grain it eats than does the Quail. Living about the hedgerows, groves, and ravines, where insect enemies gather and lurk during thegreater part of the year, this bird not only seizes large numbers ofthese enemies daily during the summer months when they are "abroad inthe land, " but all winter through it scratches among the fallen leavesand other rubbish that accumulates about its haunts seeking forhibernating insects of various kinds. Being a timid little creature, the Quail seldom leaves cover to feed openly in the fields, andtherefore does but little actual harm in the way of destroying grain. In fact it only takes stray kernels that otherwise might be lost. Thisbird is one of the few that feeds upon that unsavory insect, thechinch-bug; and the number of this pest that occasionally aredestroyed by it is really astonishing. No farmer or fruit-growershould ever kill a quail himself nor allow anyone else to hunt it onhis premises. 

Our domestic fowls, save ducks and geese, from which so much directincome is derived throughout the year, belong here. It would be follyon my part to assert that they are useless to the farmer. Besidesfurnishing eggs and meat for the table, they are great aids in keepingdown a variety of noxious insects during spring, summer, and fall. 

The various species of Doves or Pigeons are not, as a rule, thought ofas being especially harmful, yet repeated examinations of theirstomach contents would indicate that their food seldom, if ever, consists of anything but grains and various kinds of seeds along withother particles of vegetation. The good done by these birds asdestroyers of weed seeds more than pays for the harm done by them asgrain-eaters. 

Recent careful study with reference to the food habits of Hawks andOwls carried on by the United States Department of Agriculture go toshow that these birds, with but few exceptions, are the farmer'sfriends rather than his enemies. It appears that the good which theyaccomplish in the way of destroying mice, gophers, rabbits and othersmall mammals along with great quantities of noxious insects farexceeds the possible harm they do by the occasional destruction ofpoultry and other birds. A critical examination of the actual contentsof about twenty-seven hundred stomachs of these birds showed that onlysix of the seventy-three species found in the United States areinjurious. Three of these are so rare that they need not beconsidered. Of the remaining three the Fish Hawk is only indirectlyinjurious: hence but two remain to be considered, viz. , theSharp-shinned and Cooper's Hawks. "Omitting the six species that feedlargely on poultry and game, 2, 212 stomachs were examined, of which56 per cent contained mice and other small mammals, 27 per cent insects, and only 3½ per cent poultry and game birds. "

The food habits of both the Turkey Vulture and Carrion Crow, or BlackVulture, are of such a nature that the destruction of these birdsshould be prohibited. In fact, in many of the states this is done bylaw. They live almost exclusively upon carrion or decomposing animalmatter, and in this manner aid in the prevention of diseases thatmight result from the presence of such filth. They may, however, bethe cause of indirectly spreading hog cholera where animals that havedied from this disease are left unburied or unburned. 

The Cuckoos are among the few birds that habitually feed upon hairycaterpillars, such as the various "tent-making" species. They alsodestroy large numbers of other caterpillars, and do not object tobeetles and other insects which they find among the foliage of trees. Although shy birds they are frequently seen in cities, where they dotheir share in protecting the shade trees from the ravages of insectdefoliators. 

[Illustration: WOODPECKER. ]

Taking the Woodpeckers as a family, there are few persons but who willreadily admit that these birds comprise a very useful group. Feeding, in fact, as most of them do, upon the larvæ of wood-boring insects, they can readily do much greater good for the actual number of insectsdestroyed than if they destroyed only those that feed upon the foliageof trees. Not unfrequently will a single borer kill an entire tree ifleft to itself, while hundreds of foliage-feeding caterpillars of thesame size have but little effect upon the appearance, to say nothingof the health, of the same tree. 

Mr. M.  L. Beal, assistant in the Division of Ornithology and Mammalogyof the United States Department of Agriculture, in summing up theresults obtained from the examination of six hundred and seventy-ninestomachs of these birds, writes as follows:

"In reviewing the results of these investigations and comparing onespecies with another, without losing sight of the fact thatcomparative good is not necessarily positive good, it appears that ofseven species considered the Downy Woodpecker is the most beneficial. "He then goes on to give the food habits based on contents of thestomachs of our most common species. "Judged by the stomachexaminations of the Downy and Hairy Woodpecker and Flicker it would behard to find three other species of our common birds with fewerharmful qualities. "

The Flicker is one of our most common woodpeckers in Nebraska and doesmuch towards keeping down a number of different kinds of insects. Itis very fond of ants as a diet, in fact is partial to them, and thiselement forms almost half of its entire food-supply during the year. It also occasionally feeds upon the chinch-bug, as can be attested bythe fact that the stomach of a specimen killed near Lincoln containedin the vicinity of one thousand of these bugs. It is also afruit-eater to the extent of about one-quarter of its entire bill offare, but nature, not man, furnishes the supply. It takes the wildkinds in preference to those that are cultivated. 

The Whippoorwill, Night Hawk, and Swifts feed entirely on insects, and must consequently be classed among the beneficial birds. They allcapture their prey while upon the wing, and naturally destroy largenumbers of troublesome kinds. 

The various species of Flycatchers, as the name implies, destroyinsects which they capture for the most part while on the wing. Fliesand allied insects are quite prominent on their bill of fare; butthese by no means are the only kinds of insects destroyed by them. Many a luckless locust, butterfly, moth or even beetle is snapped upand devoured by the different species of the family. The Bee-bird, orKingbird as it is more frequently called, sometimes even catches bees. These latter, however, consist largely of drones, hence comparativelylittle harm is done. 

One should be unprejudiced in order to write a fair biography of evena bird, or group of birds. To say that I am without such prejudicewith reference to some of the members of the family of birds now to beconsidered, would be a falsehood. Still, I shall endeavor to give asunbiased testimony as possible with reference to their food-habits atleast, and let the reader judge for himself as to what would be theproper treatment for these birds. Taking the family as a whole thatwhich is made up of birds like the Crows, Ravens, Magpies, Jays, Nut-crackers, "Camp-robbers, " etc. , though some of them haveunenviable names and reputations at least, are not at all as bad as weare sometimes requested to believe them to be. 

The Crows, Ravens, Magpies, and immediate relatives are what might betermed "omnivorous" in food-habits, eating everything that comes theirway. Crows, however, have been shown to feed largely on insects, which in great measure at least, offsets the harm done in otherdirections. They also feed on various substances, the removal of whichis for the general good. 

The Raven is too rare a bird in this state to be taken intoconsideration in respect to food-habits, and the Magpie certainly canbe put out of the question of doing any possible harm for the samereason. This leaves then to be considered, the Jays, of which we seemto have six or seven distinct kinds; but only two of these are at allcommon. The Blue Jay is found over the entire state, and is familiarto everybody. The second species is found only in the western andnorth-western portions among the pine forests, and is known as thePinon Jay or "Camp-robber"--the latter name not very flattering to thebird I must confess. 

The Blue Jay does much of the mischief that is laid at the door of theRobin, orioles, thrushes, and other birds, and then sneaks awayunobserved. He also destroys large numbers of insects and robs thenest of some small birds. 

In the Bobolink, Meadowlark, Orioles, and Black-birds, we have some ofthe most important insect destroyers among the feathered tribes. TheBobolink is with us only during the summer months when it is entirelyinsectivorous; and the same can be said of the Cowbird, although thelatter has the bad habit of compelling other birds to rear its young. 

In the Red-winged Blackbird we have a friend that we little dream ofwhen we see the large flocks gathering about our corn-fields duringlate summer, and early fall. During the balance of the year it isengaged most of the time in waging war on various insect pests, including such forms as the "grub-worms, " cut-worms, grasshoppers, army worm, beet caterpillar, etc. Even when it visits our corn-fieldsit more than pays for the corn it eats by the destruction of the wormsthat lurk under the husks of a large per cent of the ears in everyfield. 

[Illustration: BOBOLINK. ]

Several years ago the beet fields in the vicinity of Grand Island werethreatened great injury by a certain caterpillar that had nearlydefoliated all the beets growing in many of them. At about this timelarge flocks of this bird appeared and after a week's sojourn thecaterpillar plague had vanished, it having been converted into birdtissues. Numerous other records of the efficiency of their labor asdestroyers of insect pests might be quoted in favor of this bird, butI do not believe this to be necessary, although considerable evidencehas been recorded of its destroying both fruits and grains. 

The Baltimore Oriole has received such a bad reputation here inNebraska as a grape thief during the past few years that I feelinclined to give extra time and space in endeavoring to "clear him"of such an unenviable charge. This, however, I hardly think necessarywhen the facts in the case are known. As insect destroyers both thisbird and the Orchard Oriole have had an undisputed reputation for manyyears: and the kinds of insects destroyed by both are of such a classas to count greatly in their favor. Caterpillars and beetles belongingto injurious species comprising ninety-six per cent of the food ofthree specimens killed is the record we have in their favor. On theother hand, grapes have been punctured only "presumably by this bird, since he has so frequently been found in the vineyard and must be theculprit. " Now I myself have seen the Oriole in apple orchards undercompromising circumstances, and have heard pretty strong evidence tothe effect that it will occasionally puncture ripe apples. It alsobelongs in the same family with some generally accepted "rascals"hence I will admit that possibly some of the charges with which he iscredited may be true; but I still believe that most of the injuriesto grapes in this and other states must be laid to the EnglishSparrow. 

[Illustration: RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD. ]

If we take pains to water our birds during the dry seasons they willbe much less apt to seek this supply from the juices of fruits thatare so temptingly near at hand. Place little pans of water in theorchard and vineyard where the birds can visit them without fear ofbeing seized by the house cat or knocked over by a missile from thealert "small boy, " and I am sure that the injury to fruit, to a greatextent at least, will cease. 

Recent investigations tend to prove that the Grackle or Crow-Blackbirddoes more good than harm and should be protected. 

Our Sparrows and their allies, taken together, form a very extensivefamily of very beautiful as well as useful birds. Like the warblers, they occupy themselves with searching for and destroying insects allsummer long; but this is not all they do that is good. In fall, winter, and early spring, when Mother Earth has lost her brilliantgreen and rests in sombre browns or beneath ice and snow, thelongspurs, Snow Bunting, Snowbird, and some of the sparrows that haveremained with us are busily engaged in gathering for themselves aliving. They hop and fly about from place to place searching for andpicking up little seeds of grass, grain and weeds, of shrubs andtrees, and appropriating the same to their use, chirping merrily asthey work away. The European House Sparrow, or the English Sparrow asit is more commonly called, has the worst reputation of the entirefamily. But even this bird has some redeeming traits. 

The Tanagers are insect destroyers, feeding for the most part on suchforms as attack the foliage of trees. 

All of our Swallows are insect destroyers, capturing such forms asgnats, flies, etc. , which they seize while on the wing. The largecolonies of different species of these birds that breed within thestate, as well as those that pass through during their migrations, destroy great numbers of these insects. They should be protected. 

The Waxwings, both the Cedar Bird and Bohemian Waxwing, feedprincipally upon berries, etc. , which they find throughout the year. Still, in his studies of the food contents of the stomachs of avariety of birds taken in a certain orchard that was overrun withcanker worms, Professor Forbes found that the seven specimens of theCeder Waxwing had eaten nothing but canker-worms and a few dungbeetles, the latter in such small numbers as to scarcely count. Thenumber of caterpillars eaten by each bird ranged from 70 to 101. 

The Shrikes or "Butcher Birds" are known as veritable "brigands" or"pirates" when it comes to the destruction of other forms of life. They are true to their name, and "butcher" for pastime large numbersof insects, mice, lizards, small snakes, and even a few birds. Theythen fly to some thorn bush or barbed-wire fence and impale theluckless victim and leave it for future use, or to dry up and finallyblow away. The good they do will outweigh the harm. 

The food of the various Greenlets or Vireos is made up almost entirelyof insects, of which a large per cent are caterpillars, such asinfest shade trees and the larger shrubs. They should be protected andencouraged, about the orchard in particular. 

In the words of that pleasing writer, Dr. Elliott Coues, [5] "TheWarblers have we always with us, all in their own good time; they comeout of the south, pass on, return, and are away again, theirappearance and withdrawal scarcely less than a mystery; many stay withus all summer long, and some brave the winters in our midst. Some ofthese slight creatures, guided by unerring instinct, travel true tothe meridian in the hours of darkness, slipping past like a 'thiefin the night, ' stopping at daybreak from their lofty nights to restand recruit for the next stage of the journey. Others pass moreleisurely from tree to tree, in a ceaseless tide of migration, gleaning as they go; the hardier males, in full song and plumage, leadthe way for the weaker females and yearlings. With tireless industrydo the warblers befriend the human race; their unconscious zeal playsdue part in the nice adjustment of nature's forces, helping to bringabout the balance of vegetable and insect life without whichagriculture would be in vain. They visit the orchard when the appleand pear, the peach, plum, and cherry are in bloom, seeming to revelcarelessly amid the sweet-scented and delicately-tinted blossoms, butnever faltering in their good work. They peer into the crevices of thebark, scrutinize each leaf, and explore the very heart of the buds, todetect, drag forth, and destroy those tiny creatures, singlyinsignificant, collectively a scourge, which prey upon the hopes ofthe fruit-grower, and which, if undisturbed, would bring his care tonaught. Some warblers flit incessantly in the terminal foliage of thetallest trees; others hug close to the scored trunks and gnarledboughs of the forest kings; some peep from the thicket, coppice, theimpenetrable mantle of shrubbery that decks tiny water-courses, playing at hide-and-seek with all comers; others more humble still, descend to the ground, where they glide with pretty mincing steps andaffected turning of the head this way and that, their delicateflesh-tinted feet just stirring the layer of withered leaves withwhich a past season carpeted the ground. We may seek warblerseverywhere in the season; we shall find them a continued surprise; allmood and circumstance is theirs. "

[5] Key to North American Birds, p. 288. 

Much could be written concerning the food-habits of the variousmembers of the group of Thrushes, Mocking-birds and Wrens. Three ofthe species at least are known to be more or less destructive tofruits, viz. , Catbird, Brown Thrasher, and Mocking-bird. Still, if wetake into account what these birds eat during the entire time spentwithin the state, the balance sheet stands in favor of the birds asinsect destroyers. The wrens are pre-eminently insect destroyers, andthe others are not much behind them in this respect. 

The members of the family of Nuthatches and Tits feed for the mostpart on insects. But we lack very definite figures regarding the kindsand numbers of insects that each destroys. We can be sure, however, that any favors shown them will not be thrown away. 

The Thrushes, Solitaires, Bluebirds, etc. , are all beneficial asinsect destroyers, and might be well compared with the Robin, which isdescribed quite fully beyond, only they are even less liable to commitinjuries to fruits. 

The Robin has certainly been accused often enough of being afirst-class rascal to warrant the belief that there must be at leastsome grounds for such accusations being made. In his examination ofone hundred and fourteen stomachs of this bird, taken during tenmonths of the year, Professor Forbes, of Illinois, found the contentsto consist of sixty-five per cent insects and thirty-four per cent offruits and seeds. In the estimates of these food percentages taken bythe Robin, as well as by other birds, bulk for bulk is taken, i. E. , aquart of caterpillars or other insects is equivalent to a quart ofcherries or a quart of berries. Professor Forbes asks this question:"Will the destruction of seventeen quarts of average caterpillars, including at least eight quarts of cut-worms, pay for twenty-fourquarts of cherries, blackberries, currents, and grapes?" and thenanswers it in these words: "To this question I, for my own part, canonly reply that I do not believe that the horticulturist can sell hissmall fruits anywhere in the ordinary markets of the world at so higha price as to the Robin, provided that he uses proper diligence thatthe little huckster doesn't overreach him in the bargain. "

Much more might be said in favor of the Robin had I the time and spaceat my command. 

After having carefully scanned the foregoing notes concerning thefood-habits of our birds we cannot afford to continue indifferent toour treatment of them, nor can we even allow our neighbors to killthem though we ourselves have decided to reform in this respect. Wemust work for a change of heart in our neighbors also. 

THE SCISSOR BEAK

(FROM A JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES, ETC. )

BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

[Illustration]

It has short legs, web feet, extremely long--pointed wings, and isabout the size of a tern. The beak is flattened laterally, that is, ina plane at right angles to that of a spoonbill or duck. It is as flatand elastic as an ivory paper-cutter, and the lower mandible, differently from every other bird, is an inch and a half longer thanthe upper. In a lake near Maldonado, from which the water had beennearly drained, and which, in consequence, swarmed with small fry, Isaw several of these birds, generally in small flocks, flying rapidlybackwards and forwards close to the surface of the lake. They kepttheir bills wide open, and the lower mandible half buried in thewater. Thus skimming the surface, they ploughed it in their course;the water was quite smooth, and it formed a most curious spectacle tobehold a flock, each bird leaving its narrow wake on the mirror-likesurface. In their flight they frequently twist about with extremequickness, and dexterously manage with their projecting lower mandibleto plough up small fish, which are secured by the upper and shorterhalf of their scissor-like bills. This fact I repeatedly saw, as, likeswallows, they continued to fly backwards and forwards close beforeme. Occasionally when leaving the surface of the water their flightwas wild, irregular and rapid; then they uttered loud harsh cries. When these birds are fishing, the advantage of the long primaryfeathers of their wings, in keeping them dry, is very evident. Whenthus employed, their forms resemble the symbol by which many artistsrepresent marine birds. Their tails are much used in steering theirirregular course. 

These birds are common far inland along the course of the Rio Parana;it is said that they remain here during the whole year, and breed inthe marshes. During the day they rest in flocks on the grassy plains, at some distance from the water. Being at anchor, as I have said, inone of the deep creeks between the islands of Parana, as the eveningdrew to a close, one of these scissor-beaks suddenly appeared. Thewater was quite still, and many little fish were rising. The birdcontinued for a long time to skim the surface, flying in its wild andirregular manner up and down the narrow canal, now dark with thegrowing night and the shadows of the overhanging trees. At Montevideo, I observed that some large flocks during the day remained on themud-banks at the head of the harbor, in the same manner as on thegrassy plains near the Parana; and every evening they took flightseaward. From these facts I suspect that the Rhynchops generallyfishes by night, at which time many of the lower animals come mostabundantly to the surface. M. Lesson states that he has seen thesebirds opening the shells of the mactrae buried in the sandbanks on thecoast of Chile; from their weak bills, with the lower mandible so muchprojecting, their short legs and long wings, it is very improbablethat this can be a general habit. 

[Illustration]

THE CONDOR

(FROM A JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES, ETC. )

BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

[Illustration]

This day I shot a condor. It measured from tip to tip of the wingseight and a half feet, and from beak to tail, four feet. This bird isknown to have a wide geographical range, being found on the west coastof South America, from the Strait of Magellan along the Cordillera asfar as eight degrees north of the equator. The steep cliff near themouth of the Rio Negro is its northern limit on the Patagonian coast;and they have there wandered about four hundred miles from the greatcentral line of their habitation in the Andes. Further south, amongthe bold precipices at the head of Port Desire, the condor is notuncommon; yet only a few stragglers occasionally visit the seacoast. Aline of cliff near the mouth of the Santa Cruz is frequented by thesebirds, and about eighty miles up the river, where the sides of thevalley are formed by steep basaltic precipices, the condor reappears. From these facts, it seems that the condors require perpendicularcliffs. In Chile, they haunt, during the greater part of the year, thelower country near the shores of the Pacific, and at night severalroost together in one tree; but in the early part of summer, theyretire to the most inaccessible parts of the inner Cordilleras, thereto breed in peace. 

With respect to their propagation, I was told by the country people inChile, that the condor makes no sort of nest, but in the months ofNovember and December lays two large white eggs on a shelf of barerock. It is said that the young condors cannot fly for an entire year;and long after they are able, they continue to roost by night, andhunt with their parents. The old birds generally live in pairs; butamong the inland basaltic cliffs of the Santa Cruz, I found a spot, where scores must usually haunt. On coming suddenly to the brow of theprecipice, it was a grand spectacle to see between twenty and thirtyof these birds start heavily from their resting-place, and wheel awayin majestic circles. From the quantity of dung on the rocks, they mustlong have frequented this place for roosting and breeding. Havinggorged themselves with carrion on the plains below, they retire tothese favorite ledges to digest their food. From these facts, thecondor, like the gallinazo, must to a certain degree be considered asa gregarious bird. In this part of the country they live altogether onthe guanacos which have died a natural death, or, as more commonlyhappens, have been killed by the pumas. I believe, from what I saw inPatagonia, they do not on ordinary occasions extend their dailyexcursions to any great distance from their regular sleeping-places. 

The condors may oftentimes be seen at a great height, soaring over acertain spot in the most graceful circles. On some occasions I am surethat they do this only for pleasure, but on others, the Chilenocountryman tells you that they are watching a dying animal, or thepuma devouring its prey. If the condors glide down, and then suddenlyall rise together, the Chileno knows that it is the puma which, watching the carcass, has sprung out to drive away the robbers. Besides feeding on carrion, the condors frequently attack young goatsand lambs; and the shepherd dogs are trained, whenever they pass over, to run out, and looking upwards to bark violently. The Chilenosdestroy and catch numbers. Two methods are used; one is to place acarcass on a level piece of ground within an enclosure of sticks withan opening, and when the condors are gorged, to gallop up on horsebackto the entrance, and thus enclose them; for when this bird has notspace to run, it cannot give its body sufficient momentum to rise fromthe ground. The second method is to mark the trees in which, frequently to the number of five or six together, they roost, and thenat night to climb up and noose them. They are such heavy sleepers, asI have myself witnessed, that this is not a difficult task. AtValpariso, I have seen a living condor sold for sixpence, but thecommon price is eight or ten shillings. One which I saw brought in hadbeen tied with rope, and was much injured; yet, the moment the linewas cut by which its bill was secured, although surrounded by people, it began ravenously to tear a piece of carrion. In a garden at thesame place, between twenty and thirty were kept alive. They were fedonly once a week, but they appeared in pretty good health. The Chilenocountrymen assert that the condor will live, and retain its vigor, between five and six weeks without eating; I cannot answer for thetruth of this, but it is a cruel experiment, which very likely hasbeen tried. 

When an animal is killed in the country, it is well known that thecondors, like other carrion-vultures, soon gain intelligence of it, and congregate in an inexplicable manner. In most cases it must not beoverlooked, that the birds have discovered their prey, and have pickedthe skeleton clean, before the flesh is in the least degree tainted. Remembering the experiments of M. Audubon, on the little smellingpowers of carrion-hawks, I tried in the above-mentioned garden thefollowing experiment: the condors were tied, each by a rope, in a longrow at the bottom of a wall; and having folded up a piece of meat inwhite paper, I walked backwards and forwards, carrying it in my handat the distance of about three yards from them, but no notice whateverwas taken. I then threw it on the ground, within one yard of an oldmale bird; he looked at it for a moment with attention, but thenregarded it no more. With a stick I pushed it closer and closer, untilat last he touched it with his beak; the paper was then instantly tornoff with fury, and at the same moment, every bird in the long rowbegan struggling and flapping its wings. Under the same circumstances, it would have been quite impossible to have deceived a dog. Theevidence in favor of and against the acute smelling powers ofcarrion-vultures is singularly balanced. Professor Owen hasdemonstrated that the olfactory nerves of the turkey-buzzard(_Cathartes aura_) are highly developed; and on the evening when Mr. Owen's paper was read at the Zoölogical Society, it was mentioned by agentleman that he had seen the carrion-hawks in the West Indies on twooccasions collect on the roof of a house, when a corpse had becomeoffensive from not having been buried: in this case, the intelligencecould hardly have been acquired by sight. On the other hand, besidesthe experiments of Audubon and that one by myself, Mr. Bachman hastried in the United States many varied plans, showing that neither theturkey-buzzard (the species dissected by Professor Owen) nor thegallinazo find their food by smell. He covered portions of highlyoffensive offal with a thin canvas cloth, and strewed pieces of meaton it; these the carrion-vultures ate up, and then remained quietlystanding, with their beaks within the eighth of an inch of the putridmass, without discovering it. A small rent was made in the canvas, andthe offal was immediately discovered; the canvas was replaced by afresh piece, and meat again put on it, and was again devoured by thevultures without their discovering the hidden mass on which they weretrampling. These facts are attested by the signatures of sixgentlemen, besides that of Mr. Bachman. 

Often when lying down to rest on the open plains, on looking upwards, I have seen carrion-hawks sailing through the air at a great height. When the country is level I do not believe a space of the heavens, ofmore than fifteen degrees above the horizon, is commonly viewed withany attention by a person either walking or on horseback. If such bethe case, and the vulture is on the wing at a height of between threeor four thousand feet, before it could come within the range ofvision, its distance in a straight line from the beholder's eye, wouldbe rather more than two British miles. Might it not thus readily beoverlooked? When an animal is killed by the sportsman in a lonelyvalley, may he not all the while be watched from above by thesharp-sighted bird? And will not the manner of its descent proclaimthroughout the district to the whole family of carrion feeders, thattheir prey is at hand?

When the condors are wheeling in a flock round and round any spot, their flight is beautiful. Except when rising from the ground, I donot recollect ever having seen one of these birds flap its wings. NearLima, I watched several for nearly half an hour, without once takingoff my eyes; they moved in large curves, sweeping in circles, descending and ascending without giving a single flap. As they glidedclose over my head, I intently watched from an oblique position, theoutlines of the separate and great terminal feathers of each wing; andthese separate feathers, if there had been the least vibratorymovement, would have appeared as if blended together; for they wereseen distinct against the blue sky. The head and neck were movedfrequently, and apparently with force; and the extended wings seemedto form the fulcrum on which the movements of the neck, body, and tailacted. If the bird wished to descend, the wings were for a momentcollapsed; and when again expanded with an altered inclination, themomentum gained by the rapid descent seemed to urge the bird upwardswith the even and steady movement of a paper kite. In the case of anybird _soaring_, its motion must be sufficiently rapid, so that theaction of the inclined surface of its body on the atmosphere maycounterbalance its gravity. The force to keep up the momentum of abody moving in a horizontal plane in the air (in which there is solittle friction) cannot be great, and this force is all that iswanted. The movement of the neck and body of the condor, we mustsuppose, is sufficient for this. However this may be, it is trulywonderful and beautiful to see so great a horde, hour after hour, without any apparent exertion, wheeling and gliding over mountain andriver. 

[Illustration]

THE UMBRELLA BIRD

(FROM TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON. )

BY SIR A.  R. WALLACE. 

[Illustration]

This singular bird is about the size of a raven, and is of a similarcolor, but its feathers have a more scaly appearance, from beingmargined with a different shade of glossy blue. It is also allied tothe crows in its structure, being very similar to them in its feet andbill. On its head it bears a crest, different from that of any otherbird. It is formed of feathers more than two inches long, very thicklyset, and with hairy plumes curving over at the end. These can be laidback so as to be hardly visible, or can be erected and spread out onevery side, forming a hemi-spherical, or rather a hemi-ellipsoidaldome, completely covering the head, and even reaching beyond the pointof the beak: the individual feathers then stand out something like thedown-bearing seeds of the dandelion. Besides this, there is anotherornamental appendage on the breast, formed by a fleshy tubercle, asthick as a quill and an inch and a half long, which hangs down fromthe neck, and is thickly covered with glossy feathers, forming a largependant plume or tassel. This also the bird can either press to itsbreast, so as to be scarcely visible, or can swell out, so as almostto conceal the forepart of its body. In the female the crest and theneck-plume are less developed, and she is altogether a smaller andmuch less handsome bird. It inhabits the flooded islands of the RioNegro and the Solimoes, never appearing on the mainland. It feeds onfruits, and utters a loud, hoarse cry, like some deep musicalinstrument; whence its Indian name, _Uera-mimbe_, "trumpet-bird. " Thewhole of the neck, where the plume of feathers springs from, iscovered internally with a thick coat of hard, muscular fat, verydifficult to be cleaned away, --which in preparing the skins, must bedone, as it would putrefy, and cause the feathers to drop off. Thebirds are tolerably abundant, but are shy, and perch on the highesttrees, and, being very muscular, will not fall unless severelywounded. 

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE UMBRELLA BIRD. ]

HUMMING BIRDS

(FROM THE NATURALIST IN NICARAGUA. )

BY THOMAS G. BELT, F. G. S. 

[Illustration]

Soon after crossing the muddy Artigua below Pavon, a beautifully clearand sparkling brook is reached, coming down to join its pure waterswith the soiled river below. In the evening this was a favorite resortof many birds that came to drink at the pellucid stream, or catchinsects playing above the water. Amongst the last was the beautifulblue, green and white humming-bird; the head and neck deepmetallic-blue, bordered on the back by a pure white collar over theshoulders, followed by deep metallic-green; on the underside the blueneck is succeeded by green, the green from the centre of the breast tothe end of the tail by pure white; the tail can be expanded to a halfcircle, and each feather widening towards the end makes the semicirclecomplete around the edge. When catching the ephemeridæ that play abovethe water, the tail is not expanded: it is reserved for times ofcourtship. I have seen the female sitting quietly on a branch, andtwo males displaying their charms in front of her. One would shoot uplike a rocket, than suddenly expanding the snow-white tail like aninverted parachute, slowly descend in front of her, turning roundgradually to show off both back and front. The effect was heightenedby the wings being invisible from a distance of a few yards, both fromtheir great velocity of movement and from not having the metalliclustre of the rest of the body. The expanded white tail covered morespace than all the rest of the bird, and was evidently the grandfeature in the performance. Whilst one was descending, the other wouldshoot up and come slowly down expanded. The entertainment would end ina fight between the two performers; but whether the most beautiful orthe most pugnacious was the accepted suitor, I know not. Another finehumming-bird seen about this brook was the long-billed, fire-throated_Heliomaster pallidiceps_, Gould, generally seen probing long, narrow-throated red flowers, forming, with their attractive nectar, complete traps for the small insects on which the humming-birds feed, the bird returning the favor by carrying the pollen of one flower toanother. A third species, also seen at this brook, _Petasophoradelphinae_, Less. , is of a dull brown color, with brilliantear-feathers and metallic-green throat. Both it and the _Florisugamellivora_ are short billed, generally catching flying insects, and donot frequent flowers so much as other humming-birds. I have seen the_Petasophora_ fly into the centre of a dancing column of midges andrapidly darting first at one end then at another secure half a dozenof the tiny flies before the column was broken up; then retire to abranch and wait until it was re-formed, when it made another suddendescent on them. . . . I have no doubt many humming-birds suck the honeyfrom flowers, as I have seen it exude from their bills when shot; butothers do not frequent them; and the principal food of all is smallinsects. I have examined scores of them, and never without findinginsects in their crops. Their generally long bills have been spoken ofby some naturalists as tubes into which they suck the honey by apiston-like movement of the tongue; but suction in the usual way wouldbe just as effective; and I am satisfied that this is not the primaryuse of the tongue, nor of the mechanism which enables it to be exertedto a great length beyond the end of the bill. The tongue, for one-halfof its length, is semi-horny and cleft in two, the two halves are laidflat against each other when at rest, but can be separated at the willof the bird and form a delicate pliable pair of forceps, mostadmirably adapted for picking out minute insects from amongst thestamens of the flowers. 

[Illustration]

THE FOUNDATIONS OF A WONDERFUL CITY

(FROM THE LIFE OF THE BEES. )

BY MAURICE MAETERLINCK. 

(TRANSLATED BY MARIE JOSEPHINE WELSH. )

[Illustration]

Here in their new home there is nothing--not a drop of honey nor asingle landmark in the shape of a piece of wax. The bee has no dataand no starting-point; he has nothing but the desolate nakedness ofthe walls and the roof of an immense building. The walls are round andsmooth, but all is dark within. . . . The bee does not understand uselessregrets, or if he does, he does not encumber himself with them. Farfrom being discouraged by the conditions which now confront him, he ismore determined than ever. The hive is no sooner set up in its properplace than the disorder of the crowd begins to diminish, and one seesin the swarming multitude clear and definite divisions which takeshape in a most unexpected manner. The larger part of the bees, actingprecisely like an army which is obeying the definite orders of itsofficer, at once begins to form thick columns along the whole lengthof the vertical partitions of the hive. The first to arrive at the tophang on to the arch by the claws of their hind legs, those who comeafter attach themselves to the first, and so on till long chains areformed which serve as bridges for the ever mounting crowd to passover. Little by little these chains are multiplied with indefinitere-enforcements and interlacing each other become garlands, which, owing to the enormous and uninterrupted mounting of the bees uponthem, are transformed into a thick triangular curtain, or rather intoa sort of compact reversed cone, the point of which is attached to thetop of the hive; the base of which is about two-thirds of the totalheight of the hive. Then the last bee, which would appear to besummoned by some interior voice to join this group, mounts thiscurtain, which is hung in the darkness, and little by little everymovement among the vast crowd ceases, and this strange reversed coneremains for many hours in a silence which might be called religious, and in a statuesqueness which in such a mass of life is almoststartling, waiting for the arrival of the mystery of the wax. 

[Illustration: CLUSTER OF BEES. ]

[Illustration: A BEE HIVE. ]

While this is going on, without taking any notice of the wonderfulcurtain from out of whose folds so magic a gift will come, withouteven appearing to be tempted to attach themselves to it, the rest ofthe bees, that is all those who are on the floor of the hive, begin toexamine the building and to undertake the work which is necessary tobe done. The floor is carefully swept, dead leaves, twigs, grains ofsand are transferred to a considerable distance one by one, for beeshave an absolute mania for cleanliness; so much is this the case thatin the winter, when the extremely cold weather prevents them fromtaking what bee lovers know as their "flight of cleanliness, " ratherthan soil the interior of the hive they perish in enormous numbers, victims of a disease of the stomach. 

After this cleaning up is done these same bees set themselves to workto carefully close up every opening which is round about the lowerpart of the hive. Finally when every crack has been carefully lookedover, filled up and covered with propolis, they begin to varnish thewhole of the interior sides. By this time guardians are placed at theentrance of the hive, and very soon a number of the working bees starton their first trip to the fields and begin to come back laden withnectar and pollen. . . . 

Let us now lift up, so far as we may, one of the folds of thisgarlanded curtain in the midst of which the swarm is beginning toproduce that strange exudation which is almost as white as snow, andis lighter than the down on a bird's breast. The wax which is nowbeing made does not resemble at all that with which we are acquainted. It is colorless, and may be said to be imponderable. It is the verysoul of the honey, which in its turn is the very spirit of theflowers, evolved by the bees in a species of silent and motionlessincantation. . . . 

 * * * * *

It is very difficult to follow the various phases of the secretion andof the manner in which the wax is evolved by the swarm which is justbeginning to build. The operation takes place in the midst of a densecrowd which becomes constantly more and more dense, thus producing atemperature favorable to the exudation of the wax in its first stage. 

Huber, who was the first to study these operations with marvellouspatience, and sometimes not without personal danger, has written morethan fifty pages on the subject, but they are very confused. Formyself, as I am not writing a scientific book, I shall confine myselfto describing what anybody can see if he will watch the movements of aswarm in a glass hive. At the same time I shall not fail to availmyself of Huber's studies whenever they may prove to be of service. Wemust admit at the very outset that the process by which the honey istransformed into wax in the bodies of this mysterious curtain of beesis still hidden in mystery. All that we know is that after abouteighteen or twenty-four hours in a temperature so high that one mightalmost imagine there was a fire in the hive, small, white, transparentscales appear at the opening of the four little pockets which are tobe found on each side of the abdomen of the bee. When the larger partof those who form the reversed cone have their abdomens decorated withthese little ivory plates, one of them may be seen, as if under theinfluence of a sudden inspiration, to detach itself from the crowd andclimb over the backs of its passive brethren until it reaches the apexof the cupola of the hive; attaching herself firmly to the top, sheimmediately sets to work to brush away those of her neighbors who mayinterfere with her movements. Then she seizes with her mouth one ofthe eight scales on the side of her abdomen and chews it, clips it, draws it out, steeps it in saliva, kneads it, crushes it, and makes itagain into shape as dexterously as a carpenter would handle a piece ofveneering. Then when the substance has been treated so as to bring itto the desired size and to the desired consistency, it is affixed tothe very summit of the interior of the dome, and thus the first stoneis laid of the new city, or rather the key-stone of the new city isplaced in the arch, for we are considering a city turned upside down, which descends from the sky and which does not arise from the bosom ofthe earth as do terrestrial cities. Then she proceeds to apply to thiskey-stone more of the wax which she takes from her body, and havinggiven to the whole of her part of the work one last finishing stroke, she retires as quickly as she came and is lost in the crowd; anotherreplaces her and immediately takes up the work where she has left itoff, adds her own to it, puts that right which appears to her to benot in conformity with the general plan, and disappears in her turn, while a third and a fourth and a fifth succeed her in a series ofsudden and inspired apparitions, not one of whom finishes a piece ofwork, but all bring to it their common share. 

Now there hangs from the top of the vault a small block of wax whichis yet without form. As soon as it appears to be thick enough therecomes out of the group another bee bearing an entirely differentaspect from that of those which have preceded it. One may well believeon seeing the certainty, the determination, with which he goes abouthis work and the manner in which those who stand round about him lookon, that he is an expert engineer who has come to construct in spacethe place which the first cell shall occupy, the cell from which mustmathematically depend everything which is afterwards constructed. Whatever he may be, this bee belongs to a class of the sculpturing, ofchisel working bees who produce no wax and whose function seems to beto employ the materials with which the others furnish them. This beethen chooses the place of the first cell. She digs for a moment in theblock of wax which has already been placed in position, and builds upthe side of the cell with the wax that she picks from the cavity. Thenin exactly the same way as her predecessors have done, she suddenlyleaves the work she has designed; another impatient worker replacesher and carries it on another step, which is finished by a third one. In the meantime others are working round about her according to thesame method of division of labor until the outer sides of each wall isfinished. 

It would almost seem that an essential law of the hive was that everyworker should take a pride in its work, and that all the work shouldbe done in common, and so to speak, unanimously, in order that thefraternal spirit should not be disturbed by a sense of jealousy. 

Very soon the outline of the comb may be seen. In form it is stilllenticular, for the little prismatic tubes of which it is composed areunequally prolonged, and they diminish as they get away from thecentre towards the extremities. At this moment it might be compared, both in form and in thickness, to a human tongue hanging down from twoof the sides of the hexagonal cells which are placed back to back. 

As soon as the first cells are constructed, the workers add a roof tothe second and so on to the third and to the fourth. These sets ofcells are divided by irregular intervals, and they are calculated insuch a manner that when they are made to receive their fullcomplement, the bees always have room enough to move about between theparallel walls of the honeycombs. 

It follows then that in making their original plan the differentthicknesses of every honeycomb must be fixed upon, and at the sametime the alley-ways which separate each must be different in turn, and this width must be twice the height of a bee since they have topass each other between the upright combs. 

But even the bees are not infallible, and they do not always work withexact mechanical certainty. When they find themselves in a difficultplace they sometimes make very great blunders. One often finds thatthey leave too much, and often too little, space between thehoneycombs, and they remedy these faults as well as theycan--sometimes in finishing the comb which is too near another in anoblique line, or sometimes when they have left too much space theyinterpose a smaller comb between it. 

Réamur, on this subject, says:--"Since bees sometimes make mistakesand rectify them, this must be a proof that they possess the power ofreason. "

[Illustration: QUEEN BEE. ]

It is known that bees make four different kinds of cells. There arefirst the "royal cells" which are exceptional and are of acorn shape. Then there are the large cells in which the male bees are reared, andin which provisions are stored when the flowers furnish forth of theirabundance. Then there are the little cells which may be called the"cradles of the working bees, " which are also employed as ordinarystore-rooms. These generally occupy about eight-tenth's of thetotal surface of the combs in a hive; and finally there are a certainnumber of what may be called transition cells. Although these latterare inevitably irregular, the dimensions of the second or third typeare so well calculated that when the decimal system was firstestablished, and people were seeking an incontestable standard ofmeasurement, it was the cell of the bee which was proposed first ofall by Réamur. Each one of these cells is an hexagonal tube placedupon a pyramid form, and each honeycomb is formed of two strata ofthese tubes, base to base, in such a way that the three lozenges whichmake the pyramid-like base of one cell form at the same time thepyramid-like bases of the three cells on the other side. 

[Illustration: WORKER. ] [Illustration: DRONE. ]

In these prismatic tubes the honey is stored away--and so that thehoney shall not trickle out as it would be likely to do if they werebuilt strictly horizontal--they are tilted up at the outer edge of anangle of four or five degrees. 

"Besides the saving in wax, " says Réamur, speaking of this marvellousbuilding, "which is effected by this arrangement of thecells, --besides the fact that by this plan the comb may be filledwithout a single gap, there are other advantages in the way of thesolidity thus given. . . . Every possible advantage in the way of thesolidity of each cell is brought about by the manner of itsconstruction, and by its place with reference to the rest of the cellsin the comb. "

"Students of geometry know, " says Dr. Reid, "that there are only threeshapes that can be employed to divide a surface into, uniform spaces, that shall be regular in shape, and without interstices. 

[Illustration: SECTION OF CELLS CONSTRUCTED BY BEES. ]

"They are the equilateral triangle, the square, and the regularhexagon, which latter, in the matter of cell construction, is superiorto the two first both from the point of view of strength and utility, and it is just this form that the bees have adopted, precisely asthough its advantages were familiar to them. 

"Furthermore, the bottoms of the cells form three planes meeting atone point, and it has been demonstrated that both in economy of laborand material this system of construction is the best--again, the angleof the inclination of the planes affects this question of economy:this problem has been solved by the bees and confirmed by Maclaurin byabstruse mathematical calculations published in the "Transactions ofthe Royal Society of London. ""

Of course I do not suppose for a moment that the bees themselves havemade these calculations, but on the other hand I do not believe thatchance, or accidental circumstance has brought about, these results. The wasps, for instance, have built hexagonal cells, but they have notdisplayed such ingenuity as the bees have done. Their combs have onlyone course of cells, and they have not the foundation which serves thebees for their double rows. Hence there is less strength, moreirregularity, and a loss of time, of material, and of room, whichreally means that a quarter of the labor employed and a third of thespace occupied is lost. We also find certain other domesticated bees, not so far progressed in civilization, which only build one row ofcells for rearing their young, and which support horizontal combs oneabove another on costly columns of wax. Their food store-cells, arelike a row of round pots, and the bees make but a clumsy use of thespaces between them. Indeed, when we compare their City with theWonderful City of the bees of which we are speaking, it is likecomparing a row of huts with a modern laid out city. If the result isnot charming, it is severely logical, and demonstrates the genius ofthe race which is forever fighting to get the most out of matter, space, and time. 

Buffon had a theory which has been revived once more, that the beesdid not intend to make hexagonal cells, but rather round ones, andthat owing to the crowding of the workers all around, the round onesbecame hexagonal. It is said also that crystals, fish-scales ofcertain kinds, soap-bubbles, etc. , follow the same law, and Buffonadvances this experiment to prove it. "Take a vessel and fill it fullwith peas or any other round grains, pour as much water upon them aswill fill the spaces between them, close the vessel tightly, and boilthe water. It will be found that the round peas have become six-sided. One sees clearly that this must be so from purely mechanical causes;each one of the round grains tends in the course of swelling as itboils to fill up the utmost space that it can, and by the extensionand pressure of all alike they become hexagonal. Each bee wishes tooccupy as much room as possible in its allotted space, therefore asthe bodies of the bees are round or cylindrical, their cells becomehexagonal because of the extension and pressure of all alike. "

Here then we see reciprocal obstacles working a wonder, somewhat inthe same way perhaps as the vices of men bring about a general virtue, so that the race odious, often so far as individuals are concerned, istolerable in the mass. Broughman, Kirby, and Spence and others claimthat the observations of soap-bubbles and peas prove nothing in thisconnection, for the effect of compression is only to produce irregularhexagonal forms, and does not explain the earlier form of the base ofthe cells. 

To this one might rejoin that there are more ways than one of dealingwith the blind law of necessity, for the wasp and the bumble-bee andmany other species in similar circumstances and with the same end inview, arrive at very different, and manifestly inferior, results. Indeed it might be said further that even if the bee-cells did conformto the laws of crystallization as in the case of snow, or Buffon'ssoap-bubbles, or boiled peas, they show also in their generalsymmetry, in their well-determined angle of inclination, etc. , thatthere are many other laws not followed by inert matter to which theyalso conform. 

In order to assure myself that the hexagonal form of the cell was theoutcome of the bee-brain, I cut out from the centre of a honey-comb around piece not quite so large as a silver dollar, containing bothbrood-cells and honey-cells. I cut into this disc, at the point wherethe pyramidal bases of the cells were joined, and I fixed on the baseof the section thus exposed a piece of tin of the same size, and sostout that the bees could not bend or twist it. Then I replaced thedisc of comb, with the piece of tin as described. One side of the combshowed, of course, nothing extraordinary, but on the other side was tobe seen a hole at the bottom of which was a round piece of tinoccupying the place of about thirty cells. At first the bees weredisconcerted, and came in crowds to examine and study this wonderfulabyss; for some days they wandered about it in agitation withoutcoming to any decision. But as I fed them well every evening, the timesoon came when they needed more cells in which to store theirprovisions. Then most likely the famous engineers, the sculptors, andthe waxmakers, were summoned to show the way to fill up this uselesschasm. 

A heavy curtain, or garland, of the wax-making bees covered the spotso as to develop the necessary heat; others went down into the holeand began the work of solidly fixing the metal in place by means oflittle claws of wax around its entire circumference, attaching them tothe walls of the cells which surrounded it. Then they set to work tomake three or four cells in the upper part of the disc, attaching themto these waxen claws. Each of these new cells was more or lessunfinished at the top, so as to leave material wherewith to fasten itto the next cell, but below on the piece of tin was always three veryclear, and precise angles from which would grow the three uprightlines which regularly marked the outline of the first half of the nextcell. After about forty-eight hours, although three or four bees atmost could work at the same time in the opening, the whole surface ofthe piece of tin was covered with the outlines of the new cells. Theywere certainly somewhat less regular than those in an ordinarycomb. . . . But they were all perfectly hexagonal; not a line was bent, not an angle out of shape; nevertheless all the ordinary conditions ofbee-life were changed. The cells were not dug out of a block of wax asHuber described, nor were they made according to Darwin, circular atfirst, and then made into hexagons by the pressure of their neighbors. Here was no question of reciprocal obstacles, seeing that the cellswere made one by one, and these first outlines were sketched on a kindof table. It would appear therefore that the hexagonal form is not theresult of any mechanical necessity, but that it forms the planresulting from the experience, the intelligence, and the will of thebee. Another curious thing which I accidentally noticed was that thecells built upon the tin were not provided with any other floor thanthe tin itself. The engineers of the working party evidently reasonedthat the tin was sufficient to retain the liquid honey, and that itwas not necessary, therefore, to line it with wax. But a little whileafter, when some honey was placed in the cell, they probably foundthat the metal effected some change in it, for upon taking counseltogether they covered the surface of the tin with a kind of diaphanousvarnish. 

If we wish to throw light on all the secrets of this geometricalarchitecture, we shall find many more interesting questions toexamine--for example, that of the form of the first cells, which areattached to the roof of the hive--a form which is modified so that thecells can fit its curve and touch the roof at the greatest possiblenumber of points. 

It would be necessary to notice also, not only the direction in whichthe main streets of the hive run, but the alley-ways and passageswhich run in and out and around the comb, as much for the circulationof the air as for the traffic; and it should be remarked that theseare planned so as to avoid long detours or confusion in thetraffic. . . . 

Before we leave this subject let us, only for a minute, stop toconsider the wonderful and mysterious way in which the bees make theirplans and work together when they are occupied in carving out theircells, on both sides of the comb, where neither can see the other. Look through one of these transparent combs, and you will see clearlyand sharply cut out in this diaphanous wax a network of prismsarranged in so perfectly fitting a manner that one might think theywere stamped out of steel. 

Those who have never seen the inside of a hive can have little idea ofthe appearance of these honeycombs. Let us take a countryman's hive inwhich the bee has been left free to work as he pleases. Thisbell-like shape is divided from top to bottom by five, six, eight, andsometimes ten, slices of wax, so to speak, perfectly parallel witheach other, which take the exact shape of the curve of the walls ofthe hive. Between each one of these slices is a space of about half aninch in which the bees move about. When they begin to build one ofthese slices at the top of the hive, the wall of wax is quite thick, and hides entirely the fifty or sixty bees who are working on one sidefrom the fifty or sixty at work on the other. Unless they have a sightwhich can pierce the most opaque bodies, neither can see what is doingon the other side. Nevertheless, a bee on one side does not dig a holeor add a fragment of wax which does not correspond exactly with aprotuberance or a cavity on the other side. How do they contrive to dothis? How does it happen that one does not dig too far, and the othernot far enough?

How is it that every angle coincides in such magnificent perfection?Who tells the bee to begin here and to end there? Once again we mustbe satisfied with the reply that does not answer: "It is one of themysteries of the hive. " Huber has tried to explain it by saying thatat certain intervals, by the pressure of their feet or their teeth, they produce a slight projection of the wax on the other side of thecomb, or that they can determine the thickness of the block of wax byits flexibility, its elasticity, or some other physical property whichit may possess; or, again, that their antennæ are able to serve ascompasses in enabling them to examine what is going on in the darknessof the other side; or, last of all, he suggests that all the cellsmathematically derive their shape and dimensions from those of thefirst row, which is built without the need of further concert on thepart of the workers. But one can easily see that these explanationsare not sufficient; the first are guesses which cannot be verified;the others simply change but do not remove the mystery. But if it isgood to change a mystery as often as possible, it is never good toflatter one's self that to change it means to remove it!

WASPS

(FROM THE NATURALIST IN NICARAGUA. )

BY THOMAS G. BELT, F. G. S. 

[Illustration]

I one day saw a small black and yellow banded wasp hunting forspiders; it approached a web where a spider was stationed in thecentre, made a dart towards it--apparently a feint to frighten thespider clear of its web; at any rate it had that effect, for it fellto the ground, and was immediately seized by the wasp, who stung it, then ran quickly backwards, dragging the spider after it, up a branchreaching to the ground until it got high enough, when it flew heavilyoff with it. It was so small, and the spider so heavy, that itprobably could not have raised it from the ground by flight. All overthe world there are wasps that store their nests with the bodies ofspiders for their young to feed on. In Australia, I often witnessed awasp combating with a large flat spider that is found on the bark oftrees. It would fall to the ground, and lie on its back, so as to beable to grapple with its opponent; but the wasp was always the victorin the encounters I saw, although it was not always allowed to carryoff its prey in peace. One day, sitting on the sandbanks on the coastof Hobson's Bay, I saw one dragging along a large spider. Three orfour inches above it hovered two minute flies, keeping a littlebehind, and advancing with it. The wasp seemed much disturbed by thepresence of the tiny flies, and twice left its prey to fly up towardsthem, but they darted away with it. As soon as the wasp returned tothe spider, there they were hovering over and following it again. Atlast, unable to drive away its small tormentors, the wasp reached itsburrow and took down the spider, and the two flies stationedthemselves one on each side the entrance, and would, doubtless, whenthe wasp went away to seek another victim, descend and lay their owneggs in the nest. 

[Illustration: WASPS' NEST. ]

[Illustration: THE SAND-WASP. ]

The variety of wasps, as of all other insects, was very great aroundSanto Domingo. Many made papery nests, hanging from the undersides oflarge leaves. Others hung their open cells underneath verandahs andeaves of houses. One large black one was particularly abundant abouthouses, and many people got stung by them. They also built theirpendent nests in the orange and lime trees, and it is not always safeto gather the fruit. Fortunately they are heavy flyers, and can oftenbe struck down or evaded in their attacks. They do good where thereare gardens, as they feed their young on caterpillars, and arecontinually hunting for them. Another species, banded brown and yellow(_Polistes carnifex_), has similar habits but is not so common. Bates, in his account of the habits of the sand-wasps at Santarem, onthe Amazon, gives an interesting account of the way in which they tooka few turns in the air around the hole they had made in the sandbefore leaving to seek for flies in the forest, apparently to markwell the position of the burrow, so that on their return they mightfind it without difficulty. He remarks that this precaution would besaid to be instinctive, but that the instinct is no mysterious andunintelligible agent, but a mental process in each individualdiffering from the same in man only by its unerring certainty. I hadan opportunity of confirming his account of the proceedings of waspswhen quitting a locality to which they wished to return, in all buttheir unerring certainty. I could not help noting how similar theywere to the way in which a man would act who wished to return to somespot not easily found out, and with which he was not previouslyacquainted. A specimen of the _Polistes carnifex_ was hunting aboutfor caterpillars in my garden. I found one about an inch long, andheld it out towards it on the point of a stick. It seized itimmediately, and commenced biting it from head to tail, soon reducingthe soft body to a mass of pulp. It rolled up about one-half of itinto a ball, and prepared to carry it off. Being at the time amidst athick mass of a fine-leaved climbing plant, before flying away, hetook note of the place where it was leaving the other half. To dothis, it hovered in front of it for a few seconds, then took smallcircles in front of it, then larger ones round the whole plant. Ithought it had gone, but it returned again, and had another look atthe opening in the dense foliage down which the other half of thecaterpillar lay. It then flew away, but must have left its burden fordistribution with its comrades at the nest, for it returned in lessthan two minutes, and making one circle around the bush, descended tothe opening, alighted on a leaf, and ran inside. The green remnant ofthe caterpillar was lying on another leaf inside, but not connectedwith the one on which the wasp alighted, so that in running in itmissed it, and soon got hopelessly lost in the thick foliage. Comingout again, it took another circle, and pounced down on the same spotagain, as soon as it came opposite to it. Three small seed-pods, whichhere grew close together, formed the marks that I had myself taken tonote the place, and these the wasp seemed also to have taken as itsguide, for it flew directly down to them, and ran inside; but thesmall leaf on which the fragment of caterpillar lay, not beingdirectly connected with any on the outside, it again missed it, andagain got far away from the object of its search. It then flew outagain, and the same process was repeated again and again. Always whenin circling round it came in sight of the seed-pods down it pounced, alighted near them, and recommenced its quest on foot. I was surprisedat its perseverance, and thought it would have given up the search;but not so, it returned at least half a dozen times, and seemed to getangry, hurrying about with buzzing wings. At last it stumbled acrossits prey, seized it eagerly, and as there was nothing more to comeback for, flew straight off to its nest, without taking any furthernote of the locality. Such an action is not the result of blindinstinct, but of a thinking mind: and it is wonderful to see an insectso differently constructed using a mental process similar to that ofman. It is suggestive of the probability of many of the actions ofinsects that we ascribe to instinct being the result of the possessionof reasoning powers. 

[Illustration: WASP AND HOLE IN THE SAND. ]

A WASP AND ITS PREY

(FROM THE INSTINCTS AND HABITS OF THE SOLITARY WASPS. )[6]

BY G.  W. AND E.  G. PECKHAM. 

[6] Reprinted by permission from Bulletin No.  2, Series I, of TheWisconsin Geological and Natural History Survey, 1898. 

[Illustration]

Most graceful and attractive of all the wasps--as Fabre describesthem, the Ammophiles, of all the inhabitants of the garden, hold thefirst place in our affections. Not so beautiful as the blue_Pelopaeus_ nor so industrious as the little red-girdled _Trypoxylon_, their intelligence, their distinct individuality, and their obligingtolerance of our society make them an unfailing source of interest. They are, moreover, the most remarkable of all genera in theirstinging habits, and few things have given us deeper pleasure thanour success in following the activities and penetrating the secrets oftheir lives. In our neighborhood we have but two species of_Ammophila_, _urnaria_ Cresson and _gracilis_ Cresson, both of thembeing very slender bodied wasps of about an inch in length, _gracilis_all black, and _urnaria_ with a red band around the front end of theabdomen. With two exceptions our observations relate to _urnaria_. 

During the earlier part of the summer we had often seen these waspsfeeding upon the nectar of flowers, especially upon that of the sorrelof which they are particularly fond, but at that time we gave them butpassing notice. One bright morning in the middle of July, however, wecame upon one that was so evidently hunting, and hunting in earnest, that we gave up everything else to follow her. The ground was covered, more or less thickly, with patches of purslane, and it was under theseweeds that our _Ammophila_ was eagerly searching for her prey. Afterthoroughly investigating one plant she would pass to another, runningthree or four steps and then bounding as though she were made ofthistledown and were too light to remain upon the ground. We followedher easily, and as she was in full view nearly all of the time we hadevery hope of witnessing the capture, but in this we were destined todisappointment. We had been in attendance on her for about a quarterof an hour when, after disappearing for a few moments under the thickpurslane leaves, she came out with a green caterpillar. We had missedthe wonderful sight of the paralyzer at work, but we had no time tobemoan our loss for she was making off at so rapid a pace that we werewell occupied in keeping up with her. She hurried along with the samemotion as before, unembarrassed by the weight of her victim. Twice shedropped it and circled over it a moment before taking it again. Forsixty feet she kept to open ground, passing between two rows ofbushes, but at the end of this division of the garden, she plunged, very much to our dismay, into a field of standing corn. Here we hadgreat difficulty in following her, since far from keeping to herformer orderly course, she zigzagged among the plants in the mostbewildering fashion, although keeping a general direction ofnortheast. It seemed quite impossible that she could know where shewas going. The corn rose to a height of six feet all around us; theground was uniform in appearance, and, to our eyes, each group of cornstalks was just like every other group, and yet, without pause orhesitation, the little creature passed quickly along, as we mightthrough the familiar streets of our native town. 

[Illustration: "She Hurried along, Unembarrassed by the Weight of HerVictim. "]

At last she paused and laid her burden down. Ah! the power that hasled her is not a blind, mechanically perfect instinct, for she hastravelled a little too far. She must go back one row into the openspace that she has already crossed, although not just at this point. Nothing like a nest is visible to us. The surface of the ground looksall alike, and it is with exclamations of wonder that we see ourlittle guide lift two pellets of earth which have served as a coveringto a small opening running down into the ground. 

The way being thus prepared she hurries back with her wings quiveringand her whole manner betokening joyful triumph at the completion ofher task. We, in the meantime, have become as much excited over thematter as she is herself. She picks up the caterpillar, brings it tothe mouth of the burrow and lays it down. Then, backing in herself, she catches it in her mandibles and drags it out of sight, leaving usfull of admiration and delight. 

How clear and accurate must be the observing powers of these wonderfullittle creatures! Every patch of ground must, for them, have its owncharacter; a pebble here, a larger stone there, a trifling tuft ofgrass--these must be their landmarks. And the wonder of it is thattheir interest in each nest is so temporary. A burrow is dug, provisioned and closed up, all in two or three days, and then anotheris made in a new place with everything to learn over again. 

From this time (July thirteenth) on to the first of September ourgarden was full of these wasps, and they never lost their fascinationfor us, although owing to a decided difference between their taste andours as to what constituted pleasant weather all our knowledge of themwas gained by the sweat of our brows. When we wished to utilize thecool hours of the morning or of the late afternoon in studying them, or thought to take advantage of a cloud which cast a grateful shadeover the sun at noonday, where were our Ammophiles? Out of sightentirely, or at best only to be seen idling about on the flowers ofthe onion or sorrel. At such a time they seemed to have no mission inlife and no idea of duty. But when the air was clear and bright andthe mercury rose higher and higher, all was changed. Their favoriteworking hours were from eleven in the morning to three in theafternoon, and when they did work they threw their whole souls intoit. It was well that it was so, for they certainly needed all theenthusiasm and perseverance that they could muster for such wearisomeand disappointing labor. Hour after hour was passed in search, andoften there was nothing to show at the end of it, for, since thecaterpillars that they wanted were nocturnal species, most of themwere under ground in the day-time. The species observed by Fabre knew, by some subtle instinct, where to find the worm, and unearthed it fromits burrow. _Urnaria_, on the contrary, never dug for her prey, buthunted on bare ground, on the purslane, and most of all on thebean-plants. These were examined carefully, the wasp going up and downthe stems and looking under every leaf, but the search was sofrequently unsuccessful that in estimating their work we are inclinedto think that they can scarcely average one caterpillar a day. Whenthey were hunting over bare ground they often paused and seemed tolisten, and in the beginning we expected to see them burrow down anddrag a victim from under the soil, but this never happened. 

In this species, as in every one that we have studied, we have a mostinteresting variation among the different individuals, not only inmethods but in character and intellect. While one was beguiled fromher hunting by every sorrel blossom she passed, another stuck to herwork with indefatigable perseverance. While one stung her caterpillarso carelessly and made her nest in so shiftless a way that her youngcould only survive through some lucky chance, another devoted herselfto these duties, not only with conscientious thoroughness, but with anapparent craving after artistic perfection that was touching to see. 

The method employed by the _Ammophilæ_ in stinging their prey is morecomplex than that of any other predatory wasp. The larvæ with whichthey provision their nests are made up of thirteen segments, and eachof these has its own nervous centre or ganglion. Hence if thecaterpillar is to be reduced to a state of immobility, or to state sonearly approaching immobility that the egg may be safely laid upon it, a single sting, such as is given by some of the _Pompilidæ_ to theircaptured spiders, will be scarcely sufficient. All this we knew fromFabre's "Souvenirs, " and yet we were not at all prepared to believethat any plain American wasp could supply us with such a thrillingperformance as that of the Gallic _hirsuta_, which he so dramaticallydescribes. We were, however, most anxious to be present at theall-important moment that we might see for ourselves just how andwhere _Ammophila urnaria_ stings her victim. 

For a whole week of scorching summer weather we lived in the beanpatch, scorning fatigue. We quoted to each other the example ofFabre's daughter Claire, whose determination to solve the problem of_Odynerus_ led to a sun-stroke. We followed scores of wasps as theyhunted; we ran, we threw ourselves upon the ground, we scrambled alongon our hands and knees in our desperate endeavors to keep them inview, and yet they escaped us. After we had kept one in sight for anhour or more some sudden flight would carry her far away and all ourlabor was lost. 

At last, however, our day came. We were doing a little hunting on ourown account, hoping to find some larvæ which we could drop in view ofthe wasps and thus lead them to display their powers, when we saw an_urnaria_ fly up from the ground to the underside of a bean leaf andknock down a small green caterpillar. Breathless with an excitementwhich will be understood by those who have tasted the joy of such amoment, we hung over the actors in our little drama. The ground wasbare, we were close by and could see every motion distinctly. Nothingmore perfect could have been desired. 

The wasp attacked at once but was rudely repulsed, the caterpillarrolling and unrolling itself rapidly and with the most violentcontortions of the whole body. Again and again its adversary descendedbut failed to gain a hold. The caterpillar in its struggles, flungitself here and there over the ground, and had there been any grass orother covering near by it might have reached a place of partialsafety, but there was no shelter within reach, and at the fifth attackthe wasp succeeded in alighting over it, near the anterior end, and ingrasping its body firmly in her mandibles. Standing high on her longlegs and disregarding the continued struggles of her victim, shelifted it from the ground, curved her abdomen under its body, anddarted her sting between the third and fourth segments. From thisinstant there was a complete cessation of movement on the part of theunfortunate caterpillar. Limp and helpless, it could offer no furtheropposition to the will of its conqueror. For some moments the waspremained motionless, and then, withdrawing her sting, she plunged itsuccessively between the third and the second, and between the secondand the first segments. 

[Illustration: WASP PLUNGING HER STING INTO THE CATERPILLAR. ]

The caterpillar was now left lying on the ground. For a moment thewasp circled above it and then, descending, seized it again, furtherback this time, and with great deliberation and nicety of action gaveit four more stings, beginning between the ninth and tenth segmentsand progressing backward. 

_Urnaria_, probably feeling--as we certainly did--reaction from thestrain of the last few minutes, and a relief at the completion of hertask, now rested from her labors. Standing on the ground close by sheproceeded to smooth her body with her long hind legs, standing in themeantime, almost on her head, with her abdomen directed upward. Shethen gave her face a thorough washing and rubbing with her firstlegs, and not until she had made a complete and satisfactory toiletdid she return to the caterpillar. 

We saw _Ammophila_ capture her prey only three times during the wholesummer, but from these observations and from the condition of hercaterpillars taken at various times from nests, her method seems to bewonderfully close to that of _hirsuta_, with just about the sameamount of variation in different individuals. 

Thus in our second example, she stung the first three segments in theregular order, the third, the second, and lastly (and mostpersistently) the first. She then went on, without a pause, to stingthe fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh, stopping at this point andleaving the posterior segments untouched. In our first example, itwill be remembered, the middle segments were spared. The sting beingcompleted, she proceeded to the process known as _malaxation_, whichconsists in repeatedly squeezing the neck of the caterpillar, or othervictim, between the mandibles, the subject of the treatment beingturned around and around so that all sides may be equally affected. 

In our third case a caterpillar which we had caught was placed infront of a wasp just after she had carried the second larva into hernest. She seemed rather indifferent to it, passing it once or twice asshe ran about, but finally picked it up and gave it one prolongedsting between the third and fourth segments. She then spent a longtime in squeezing the neck, pinching it again and again. It was thenleft on the ground, and as she showed no further interest in it wecarried it home for further study. 

In the three captures, then, that came under our observation, all thecaterpillars being of the same species and almost exactly of the samesize, three different methods were employed. In the first, sevenstings were given at the extremities, the middle segments being leftuntouched, and no malaxation was practised. In the second, sevenstings again but given in the anterior and middle segments, followedby slight malaxation. In the third, only one sting was given but themalaxation was prolonged and severe. 

[Illustration]

LEAF-CUTTING ANTS

(FROM THE NATURALIST IN NICARAGUA. )

BY THOMAS G. BELT, F. G. S. 

[Illustration]

Nearly all travellers in tropical America have described the ravagesof the leaf-cutting ants (_Œcodoma_); their crowded, well-worn pathsthrough the forests, their ceaseless pertinacity in the spoliation ofthe trees--more particularly of introduced species--which are leftbare and ragged, with the mid-ribs and a few jagged points of theleaves only left. Many a young plantation of orange, mango, and lemontrees has been destroyed by them. Again and again have I been told inNicaragua, when inquiring why no fruit-trees were grown at particularplaces, "It is no use planting them; the ants eat them up. " The firstacquaintance a stranger generally makes with them is on encounteringtheir paths on the outskirts of the forest crowded with the ants; onelot carrying off the pieces of leaves, each piece about the size of asixpence, and held up vertically between the jaws of the ant; anotherlot hurrying along in an opposite direction empty handed, but eager toget loaded with their leafy burdens. If he follows this last division, it will lead him to some young trees or shrubs, up which the antsmount; and where each one, stationing itself on the edge of a leaf, commences to make a circular cut, with its scissor-like jaws, from theedge, its hinder-feet being the centre on which it turns. When thepiece is nearly cut off, it is still stationed upon it, and it looksas though it would fall to the ground with it; but, on being finallydetached, the ant is generally found to have hold of the leaf with onefoot, and soon righting itself, and arranging its burden to itssatisfaction, it sets off at once on its return. Following it again, it is seen to join a throng of others, each laden like itself, and, without a moment's delay, it hurries along the well-worn path. As itproceeds, other paths, each thronged with busy workers, come in fromthe sides, until the main road often gets to be seven or eight inchesbroad, and more thronged than the streets of the city of London. 

[Illustration: SETS OFF AT ONCE ON ITS RETURN. ]

After travelling for some hundreds of yards, often for more than halfa mile, the formicarium is reached. It consists of low, wide mounds ofbrown, clayey-looking earth, above and immediately around which thebushes have been killed by their buds and leaves having beenpersistently bitten off as they attempted to grow after their firstdefoliation. Under high trees in the thick forest the ants do not maketheir nests, because, I believe, the ventilation of their undergroundgalleries, about which they are very particular, would be interferedwith, and perhaps to avoid the drip from the trees. It is on theoutskirts of the forest, or around clearings, or near wide roads thatlet in the sun, that these formicariums are generally found. Numerousround tunnels, varying from half an inch to seven or eight inches indiameter, lead down through the mounds of earth; and many more, fromsome distance around, also lead underneath them. At some of the holeson the mounds ants will be seen busily at work, bringing up littlepellets of earth from below, and casting them down on theever-increasing mounds, so that its surface is nearly always fresh andnew-looking. 

Standing near the mounds, one sees from every point of the compassant-paths leading to them, all thronged with the busy workers carryingtheir leafy burdens. As far as the eye can distinguish their tinyforms, troops upon troops of leaves are moving up towards the centralpoint, and disappearing down the numerous tunnelled passages. Theoutgoing, empty-handed hosts are partly concealed amongst the bulkyburdens of the incomers, and can only be distinguished by lookingclosely amongst them. The ceaseless, toiling hosts impress one withtheir power, and one asks--What forests can stand before suchinvaders? How is it that vegetation is not eaten off the face of theearth? Surely nowhere but in the tropics, where the recuperativepowers of nature are immense and ever active, could such devastationbe withstood. 

Further acquaintance with the subject will teach the inquirer that, just as many insects are preserved by being distasteful toinsectivorous birds, so very many of the forest trees are protectedfrom the ravages of the ants by their leaves either being distastefulto them, or unfitted for the purpose for which they are required, whilst some have special means of defence against their attacks. 

These ants do not confine themselves to leaves, but also carry off anyvegetable substance that they find suitable for growing the fungus on. They are very partial to the inside white rind of oranges, and I havealso seen them cutting up and carrying off the flowers of certainshrubs, the leaves of which they neglected. They are very particularabout the ventilation of their underground chambers, and have numerousholes leading up to the surface from them. These they open out orclose up, apparently to keep up a regular degree of temperature below. The great care they take that the pieces of leaves they carry into thenest should be neither too dry nor too damp, is also consistent withthe idea that the object is the growth of a fungus that requiresparticular conditions of temperature and moisture to ensure itsvigorous growth. If a sudden shower should come on, the ants do notcarry the wet pieces into the burrows, but throw them down near theentrances. Should the weather clear up again, these pieces are pickedup when nearly dried, and taken inside; should the rain, however, continue, they get sodden down into the ground, and are left there. Onthe contrary, in dry and hot weather, when the leaves would get driedup before they could be conveyed to the nest, the ants, when inexposed situations, do not go out at all during the hot hours, butbring in their leafy burdens in the cool of the day and during thenight. As soon as the pieces of leaves are carried in they must be cutup by the small class of workers into little pieces. I have never seenthe smallest class of ants carrying in leaves! their duties appear tobe inside, cutting them up into smaller fragments, and nursing theimmature ants. I have, however, seen them running out along the pathswith the others; but instead of helping to carry in the burdens, theyclimb on the top of the pieces which are being carried along by themiddle-sized workers, and so get a ride home again. It is veryprobable that they take a run out merely for air and exercise. Thelargest class of what are called workers are, I believe, the directorsand protectors of the others. They are never seen out of the nest, excepting on particular occasions, such as the migrations of the ants, and when one of the working columns or nests is attacked, they thencome stalking up, and attack the enemy with their strong jaws. Sometimes, when digging into the burrows, one of these giants hasunperceived climbed up my dress, and the first intimation of hispresence has been the burying of his jaws in my neck, from which hewould not fail to draw blood. The stately observant way in which theystalk about, and their great size, compared with the others, alwaysimpressed me with the idea that in their bulky heads lay the brainsthat directed the community in their various duties. Many of theiractions, such as that I have mentioned of two relays of workmencarrying out the ant food, can scarcely be blind instinct. Some of theants make mistakes, and carry in unsuitable leaves. Thus grass isalways rejected by them, but I have seen some ants, perhaps youngones, carrying leaves of grass; but after a while these pieces arealways brought out again and thrown away. I can imagine a young antgetting a severe ear-wigging from one of the major-domos for itsstupidity. 

[Illustration: SECTION THROUGH LEAF-CUTTING ANT'S NEST. ]

I shall conclude this long account of the leaf-cutting ants with onemore instance of their reasoning powers. 

A nest was made near one of our tramways, and to get to the trees theants had to cross the rails, over which the wagons were continuallypassing and repassing. Every time they came along a number of antswere crushed to death. They persevered in crossing for some time, butat last set to work and tunnelled underneath each rail. One day, whenthe wagons were not running, I stopped up the tunnels with stones; butalthough great numbers carrying leaves were thus cut off from thenest, they would not cross the rails, but set to work making freshtunnels underneath them. Apparently an order had gone forth, or ageneral understanding been come to, that the rails were not to becrossed. 

[Illustration]

SOME WONDERFUL SPIDERS

(FROM A JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES, ETC. )

BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

[Illustration]

The number of spiders, in proportion to other insects, is herecompared with England very much larger; perhaps more so than with anyother division of the articulate animals. The variety of species amongthe jumping spiders appears almost infinite. The genus, or ratherfamily of Epeira, is here characterized by many singular forms; somespecies have pointed coriaceous shells, others enlarged and spinytibiæ. Every path in the forest is barricaded with the strong yellowweb of a species belonging to the same division with the Epeiraclavipes of Fabricius, which was formerly said by Sloane to make, inthe West Indies, webs so strong as to catch birds. A small and prettykind of spider, with very long forelegs, and which appears to belongto an undescribed genus, lives as a parasite on almost every one ofthese webs. I suppose it is too insignificant to be noticed by thegreat Epeira, and is therefore allowed to prey on the minute insects, which, adhering to the lines, would, otherwise be wasted. Whenfrightened, this little spider either feigns death by extending itsfront legs, or suddenly drops from the web. A large Epeira of the samedivision with Epeira tuberculata and conica is extremely common, especially in dry situations. Its web, which is generally placed amongthe great leaves of the common agave, is sometimes strengthened nearthe centre by a pair or even four zigzag ribbons, which connect twoadjoining rays. When any large insect, as a grasshopper or wasp, iscaught, the spider by a dexterous movement, makes it revolve veryrapidly, and at the same time emitting a band of threads from itsspinners, soon envelops its prey in a case like the cocoon of a silkworm. The spider now examines the powerless victim, and gives thefatal bite on the hinder part of its thorax; then retreating, patiently waits till the poison has taken effect. The virulence ofthis poison may be judged from the fact that in half a minute I openedthe mesh, and found a large wasp quite lifeless. This Epeira alwaysstands with its head downwards near the centre of the web. Whendisturbed, it acts differently according to circumstances: if there isa thicket below, it suddenly falls down; and I have distinctly seenthe thread from the spinners lengthened by the animal while yetstationary, as preparatory to its fall. If the ground is clearbeneath, the Epeira seldom falls, but moves quickly through a centralpassage from one side to the other. When still further disturbed, itpractises a most curious manœuvre: Standing in the middle, itviolently jerks the web, which is attached to elastic twigs, till atlast the whole acquires such a rapid vibratory movement, that even theoutline of the spider's body becomes indistinct. 

[Illustration: FOUR DIFFERENT SPIDERS. ]

It is well known that most of the British spiders, when a large insectis caught in their webs, endeavor to cut the lines and liberate theirprey, to save their nests from being entirely spoiled. I once, however, saw in a hot-house in Shropshire a large female wasp caughtin the irregular web of a quite small spider; and this spider, insteadof cutting the web, most perseveringly continued to entangle the body, and especially the wings, of its prey. The wasp at first aimed in vainrepeated thrusts with its sting at its little antagonist. Pitying thewasp, after allowing it to struggle for more than an hour, I killed itand put it back into the web. The spider soon returned; and an hourafterwards I was much surprised to find it with its jaws buried in theorifice, through which the sting is protruded by the living wasp. Idrove the spider away two or three times, but for the next twenty-fourhours I always found it again sucking at the same place. The spiderbecame much distended by the juices of its prey, which was many timeslarger than itself. 

I may here just mention, that I found near St. Fe Bajada, many largeblack spiders, with ruby-colored marks on their backs, havinggregarious habits. The webs were placed vertically, as is invariablythe case with the genus Epeira; they were separated from each other bya space of about two feet, but were all attached to certain commonlines, which were of great length, and extended to all parts of thecommunity. In this manner the tops of some large bushes wereencompassed by the united nets. Azara has described a gregariousspider in Paraguay, which Walckenaer thinks must be a Theridion, butprobably it is an Epeira, and perhaps even the same species with mine. I cannot, however, recollect seeing a central nest as large as a hat, in which, during autumn, when the spiders die, Azara says the eggs aredeposited. As all the spiders which I saw were of the same size, theymust have been nearly of the same age. This gregarious habit, in sotypical a genus as Epeira, among insects, which are so bloodthirstyand solitary that even the two sexes attack each other, is a verysingular fact. 

[Illustration: JUMPING SPIDER. ]

WHAT I SAW IN AN ANT'S NEST

(FROM FACTS AND FICTIONS OF ZOÖLOGY. )

BY ANDREW WILSON. 

[Illustration: NEST OF TERMITES. ]

Amongst those spectacles and incidents in human existence which remainfixed on the memory of the spectator from their sad or unwontednature, that of a panic-stricken crowd, gathered by the report of somenational disaster, stands pre-eminent. Still more terrible in itsdetails is the history of some catastrophe which has laid a city inruins and wrought death and desolation to thousands of theinhabitants. A deadly epidemic, or fatal plague, searing a nation withits dread, mysterious power, is a calamity appalling enough; but thespectacle of a city overthrown at one fell swoop by the earthquakeshock may perhaps rank foremost amongst the untoward incidents whichenviron the sphere of man. A certain event, occurring during a recentholiday by the sea, tended forcibly to impress upon the mind that thegreat catastrophes of life are not limited to humanity's specialsphere, and that in lower life panic and alarm seem to exercise nosmall influence, as in man's estate; whilst the incident referred toalso afforded food for reflection on topics not far removed from someweighty matters in the history of man's own nature and constitution. In this latter view, it is especially hoped the observations of abrief period of leisure-time may not be without their due meed ofinterest. 

The chance removal from its secure site, of a large stone placed inclose proximity to the sea-beach, where the bliss of idleness wasbeing fully exemplified by a small party of holiday-makers, proved, onclose examination, to be the cause of a literal revolution in lowerlife. Imagine a city to be totally unroofed, try to conceive of thesudden downfall of houses and buildings, and the consequent panic ofthe inhabitants, and you may obtain an idea of the disturbance onsimple procedure effected in the peaceable, well-ordered colony ofants which had located themselves securely beneath the friendlyshelter of the stone. The scene presented to view was one of the mostcurious and interesting which could engage the attention of anobserver in any field of inquiry, and the occurrence certainlybanished the idle mood of the time, and lent a zest to the subsequenthours of our holiday. Running hither and thither in wild confusionwere the denizens of this underground colony; their six little legscarrying their curious globular bodies backward and forward over thedisturbed area from which the stone had been removed. At first themovements of the ants were extremely erratic and purposeless. Panicand alarm appeared to be the order of the day during the few minuteswhich elapsed after removal of the stone. But soon the eye coulddiscern movements of purposive kind on the part of the alarmedresidents. There was "racing and chasing" in all directions: but theants which had at first radiated from the centre of disturbance, as ifon some definite quest, soon returned thereunto, and continued toadvance and retire from the field of action with tolerable regularity. Not less than sixty or seventy ants appeared to be engaged in thislabor of scouring the country around. The object of their repeatedjourneys in all directions was soon discovered. They were theself-appointed scouts, engaged in the work of reconnoitring. Such atleast is a fair interpretation of the acts of the ants, and such alsois the conclusion borne out by the subsequent course of events. For, after the scouts had spent a considerable time in their rapid journeysto the environments of the nest, a new set of ants appeared upon thescene, destined to perform a highly important series of labors. 

The scouts continued their journeyings, and gave one the idea of a setof fussy individuals who were superintending, or even bullying, theirnew neighbors, who appeared from amongst the ruins and débris of theant city, carrying in their mouths certain oval bodies of adirty-white color, and measuring each about one-third of an inch inlength. Each of these bodies closely resembled a grain of corn inshape, size, and appearance. The spectacle of these small insectscarrying off these bodies in their powerful jaws impressed oneforcibly with the idea that, relatively to its size, an ant is anherculean insect. 

Occasionally there might be seen certain rather ludicrous incidentsconnected with the removal of the objects in question. One ant mightbe witnessed in the endeavor to hoist the oval body it was carrying inits mouth over some obstacle lying in the path, and the staggeringgait of the insect seemed very accurately to mimic the similardisposition of a human porter struggling under a burdensome load. Another ant, carrying the oval body before it, would arrive at a steepincline formed of loose sand, and presenting a treacherous surfaceeven to the light feet of the insect. The efforts of the ant to carrythe body upward being found to be fruitless, the insect might be seento whirl about with great rapidity of action, and ascend the hillbackward, pulling the body after it, instead of pushing it as before. 

Another instance might be witnessed in which an ant which hadliterally come to grief with its burden would be assisted by a kindlyneighbor; but it was no uncommon sight to behold in the excessiveeagerness of the insects an actual means of defeating the object theyhad in view, since two ants would in some cases seize the same burden, and then came the tug of war. One pulled one way whilst the othertugged in the opposite direction; and the observer could almost havesupposed that the burden itself might have been parted in twain by thetreatment to which it was subjected--the incident affording a newapplication of the remark that a surfeit of zeal is destructive of thebest intentions. The nature of the bodies which the ants seemed soexcessively anxious to preserve from injury was readily determined. The oval bodies, resembling grains of corn, were the _pupæ_ or_chrysalides_ of the ants--the sleeping babies and young hopefuls, onwhom the hopes of the colony were, and I may say, are, founded. It isnoteworthy, however, that upon some mistaken notions regarding thenature of these bodies many of the ideas concerning the frugal care ofthese insects were founded. Solomon's advice that the sluggard should"go to the ant, " with the view of considering her ways and gainingwisdom as a result of the study, was in days of old thought to beapproved by the observation that the ants husbanded their stores offood in the shape of the grains of corn they had gained from theautumnal store. There can be little doubt that some species of ants dostore food; but their praiseworthy actions in this direction have beengreatly exaggerated, and there appears, indeed, to be some danger ofidle persons being prepared with the retort to the wise man, that theant is by no means the model creature he thought her to be. If, however, the supposed corn-grains turn out to be the rising generationof ants in their chrysalis-state, it may be said that what the antsmay have lost in the way of fame in this direction has been amplycompensated for by the discovery of more wonderful traits of characterthan Solomon could possibly have dreamt of. 

The work of removing the developing population thus appeared in ourant's nest to absorb the entire energies of the alarmed denizens. Pupaafter pupa was carried out from amongst the débris and taken for aconsiderable distance--certainly fifteen inches--to a place ofsecurity, beneath a small sloping stone of flat shape, which roofedover a hollow in the ground. So far as I could observe, the scoutsmust have discovered this place of refuge, and have communicated theintelligence to their neighbors. The regularity with which theslumbering innocents were conveyed to the same spot would appear topoint to concerted work and to a definite idea, if one may so term it, having animated the laborers. I was careful to ascertain at an earlystage of the proceedings that the place of refuge had nocommunications with the nest. It was, in point of fact, an entirelynew habitation, and, as far as human judgment might venture upon anopinion, the new residence appeared to give promise of being a safeand convenient domicile. Now and then an ant would emerge from theruins of the nest carrying a younger hopeful in the larva orcaterpillar stage. This latter was a little white grub, whichcorresponds in its development to the grub or caterpillar of thebutterfly or fly; the ants thus exemplifying insects which undergo acomplete "metamorphosis. " It was rather a difficult matter toascertain clearly if the ants were actually excavating the chrysalidesfrom amongst the débris. Bearing in mind what Sir John Lubbock hastold us concerning the apparent inability of ants to discover thewhereabouts of companions buried under earth, I rather lean to thebelief that my ants simply conveyed to a place of safety thosechrysalides which were at hand and readily obtainable. The latter factI could not ascertain, since I feared to disturb the ants at theirinteresting labors; but a simple experiment served to show thefeasibility of the idea that the chrysalides were probably withineasy reach of the ants. 

Taking possession of one chrysalis which was being conveyed to the newdomicile, I buried it about half an inch deep in the sand, directly inthe track over which the ants were journeying to their new residence, and a second chrysalis I placed at a little distance from this track, but in a spot over which numerous ants were running apparently withoutany definite aim. The second pupa ant was not buried in any sense, andwas covered merely with a sprinkling of sand. The result in both caseswas negative. No attempt was made to disinter the chrysalis from thebeaten track, although numberless ants walked directly over it; and Iextricated the chrysalis five hours after its interment, and when thebusy scene of the morning had been replaced by a dull prospect, overwhich only a single ant now and then hurried in a rapid fashion. Theother chrysalis was also unnoticed, despite its proximity to thesurface of the sand. Whether or not ants want a sense of smell orother means of guiding them to the whereabouts of their neighbors orchildren, is a subject difficult of determination either toward apositive or negative result. And I am the more inclined to wonder atthe incapacity of the insects to discover their buried companions, since they appear to be perfectly capable of detecting them at aconsiderable distance above ground. When a chrysalis was placed in aspot remote from the nest, and an ant placed within a foot or so ofthe chrysalis, the insect would occasionally seem to be attracted tothe neighborhood of the object. I frequently observed that if an anthappened to crawl within two or three inches of the chrysalis as itlay on the ground, it appeared to become conscious of the object, although at the same time it seemed ignorant of its precise locality. In such a case the insect would proceed hither and thither in anerratic fashion, but would continue to hover or rotate around thechrysalis until it seized the object and bore it off in triumph in itsjaws. Relatively to the size of the ant, we must consider this latterincident by no means a slight tribute to its acuteness. 

The busy scene resulting from the disturbance of the nest proceededactively during at least two hours. The nest appeared to be by nomeans a large one. At the end of two hours, however, the ants werestill rushing hither and thither, bent on errands unknown to theirobservers, although the work of conveying the chrysalides had at thelapse of the period just mentioned entirely ceased. Five and a halfhours after the nest had been alarmed, not an ant was visible over thedisturbed area, and our next task was that of investigating the mannerin which the insects had dispersed themselves and their belongings intheir new habitation by carefully removing the flat sloping stonealready mentioned as that beneath which the main stream of the antshad disappeared. Not an insect was to be seen after this operation wasperformed, and it was only after the removal of several small stoneswhich lay below the flat stone that the colony in its new sphere wasbrought into view. Our investigation once again excited the restlessbeings. Then ensued, for the second time, the seizure of thechrysalides, which, however, were to be seen packed together in asecure position and already partly covered with particles of earthand sand. To have reached the position in which we found them, theinsects must have descended at least three inches after entering belowthe stone, and the labor of the continual ascent in search of freshchrysalides must therefore have been of no light kind. We saw enoughto convince us that the ants had already settled down in a neworganization, which, with an undisturbed history, might repeat thepeaceful state of their former life; and we also had the thoughtpresented, that in the exercise of their duties under the pressure ofan unwonted exigency, the insect behaved and acted with no smalldegree of intelligence, and apparently in harmonious concert to thedesired end. 

But the thoughts suggested by the brief observation of the disturbedant's nest hardly end thus. We may very naturally proceed to inquireinto the regular organization and constitution of the ant colony, andalso, as far as fact and theory may together lead, into theanalogies--if analogies there be--which exist between the socialinstincts of ants and the ways of the higher animals, man included. 

[Illustration: FIG. 1. 1, Winged termite; 2, wingless termite; 3, soldier; 4, worker; 5, female swollen with eggs. ]

The common ants and their neighbors belong to the order of insectsknown as the _Hymenoptera_, a group represented by other insects of"social" habits, such as bees, wasps, and hornets. The termites, orwhite ants of the tropics, are the only "ants" foreign to this orderof insects, the white ants being near relations of the dragonflies, may-flies, etc. The family history of the latter, as told by Mr. Bates, may serve to introduce us agreeably to ant society at large. The nests of the termites may attain a height of five feet, andpresent the appearance of conical hillocks, formed of earth particles"worked, " says Mr. Bates, "with a material as hard as stone. " In theneighborhood of the nests, narrow covered galleries or undergroundways are everywhere to be seen, these latter being the passages alongwhich the materials used for building the nests are conveyed. Thetermites are small soft-bodied animals of a pale color, but resemblethe common or true ants in that they live in colonies, composed, likethose of bees, of three chief grades of individuals. These grades areknown as males, females, and blind "neuters, " the latter forming atonce the largest bulk of the population, and including in theirnumbers the true "working classes" of this curious community. In thecommon ants, the "neuters" are regarded as being Undeveloped femaleinsects. These neuters exhibit in the termites a further division intoordinary "workers" (Figs. 1, 4), which perform the multifarious dutiesconnected with the ordinary life of the colony, and "soldiers" (3), which perfectly exemplify the laws of military organization in higherlife, in that they have no part in the common labor, but devotethemselves entirely to the defence of the colony and to the

 "Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war. "

The workers appear to perform a never-ending round of duties. Theybuild the nests, make the roads, attend to the wants of the young, train up the latter in the ways of ant existence, wait on thesovereigns of the nest, and like diplomatic courtiers, duly arrangefor the royal marriages of the future. As Mr. Bates remarks, "Thewonderful part in the history of the termites is, that not only isthere a rigid division of labor, but nature has given to each class astructure of body adapting it to the kind of labor it has to perform. The males and females form a class apart; they do no kind of work, butin the course of growth acquire wings to enable them to issue forthand disseminate their kind. The workers and soldiers are wingless, anddiffer solely in the shape and armature of the head. This member inthe laborers is smooth and rounded, the mouth being adapted for theworking of the materials in building the hive. In the soldier the headis of very large size, and is provided in almost every kind withspecial organs of offence and defence in the form of horny processesresembling pikes, tridents, and so forth. . . . The course of humanevents in our day seems, unhappily, to make it more than evernecessary for the citizens of civilized and industrious communities toset apart a numerous armed class for the protection of the rest; inthis, nations only do what nature has of old done for the termites. The soldier termite, however, has not only the fighting instinct andfunction; he is constructed as a soldier, and carries his weapons notin his hand but growing out of his body. " When a colony of termites isdisturbed, the ordinary citizens disappear and the military are calledout. "The soldiers mounted the breach, " says Mr. Bates, "to cover theretreat of the workers, " when a hole was made in the archway of oneof their covered roads, and with military precision the rearmen fallinto the vacant places in the front ranks as the latter are emptied bythe misfortune of war. 

[Illustration: FIG. 2. THE QUEEN ANT; AND THE WORKERS CARRYING AWAYTHE EGGS. ]

In a termite colony there is but one king and queen, the royal couplebeing the true parents of the colony. The state-apartments aresituated in the centre of the hive, and are strictly guarded byworkers. Both king and queen are wingless, and are of larger size thantheir subjects. The queen engages in a continual round of maternalduties, the eggs deposited by the sovereign-mother being at onceseized by the workers and conveyed to special or "nursery cells, "where the young are duly tended and brought up. Once a year, at thebeginning of the rainy season, winged termites appear in the hive asdevelopments of certain of the eggs laid by the queen-termite. Theselatter are winged males and females (Fig.  1, 1), the two sexes beingpresent in equal numbers. Some of these, after shedding their wings, become the founders--kings and queens--of new communities, theprivilege of sex being thus associated with the important andself-denying work of perpetuating the species or race in time. Sooneror later--a termite family takes about a year to grow--a veritableexodus of the young winged termites takes place; and just before thisemigration movement occurs, a hive may be seen to be stocked with"termites" of all castes and in all stages of development. The workersnever exhibit a change of form during their growth; the soldiers beginto differ from the workers in the possession of larger heads and jaws;whilst the young which are destined to become the winged males andfemales are distinguished by the early possession of the germs ofwings which become larger as the skin is successively moulted. Amongstthe bees, blind Huber supposed that an ordinary or neuter egg developsinto a queen bee if the larva is fed upon a special kind offood--"royal food, " as it is called. Although some entomologicalauthorities differ from Huber with regard to the exact means by whichthe queen bee is reared and specialized from other larvæ, yet theopinion thus expressed possesses a large amount of probability. Whatever may be the exact method or causes through or by which thequeen bee is developed, Mr. Bates strongly asserts that thedifferences between the soldiers and worker termites are distinctlymarked from the egg. This latter observer maintains that thedifference is not due to variations in food or treatment during theirearly existence, but is fixed and apparent from the beginning ofdevelopment. This fact is worthy of note, for it argues in favor ofthe view that if, as is most likely, the differences between thegrades of termites may have originally been produced by naturalselection or other causes, these differences have now become part andparcel of the constitution of these insects, and are propagated by theordinary law of heredity. Thus acquired conditions have become in timethe natural "way of life" of these animals. 

Mr. Bates has also placed on record the noteworthy fact that a speciesof termites exists in which the members of the soldier class did notdiffer at all from the workers "except in the fighting instinct. " Thisobservation, if it may be used at all in elucidation of the origin ofthe curious family life of these insects, points not to suddencreation, but to gradual acquirement and modification as having beenthe method of development of the specialized classes and castes intermite society. Firstly, we may thus regard the beginnings of thefurther development of a colony to appear in a nest in which workersand soldiers are alike, as stated by Mr. Bates. Then, through thepractice of the fighting instinct, we may conceive that naturalselection would be competent to adapt the soldiers more perfectly fortheir duties militant, by developing the head and jaws as offensiveweapons. Possibly, were our knowledge of the termites at all complete, we should meet with all stages in the development and specializationof the various grades of society amongst these insects--at least thepresent state of our knowledge would seem to lead to such a conclusionas being much more feasible than the theory of special or suddencreation of the peculiarities of the race. It is admitted that thetermites are in many respects inferior in structure to the bees andwasps, whilst the white ants themselves are the superiors of their ownorder--that of the _Neuroptera_. That the termites preceded the beesand their neighbors, the common ants, in the order of development ofsocial instincts, is a conclusion supported by the fact that the_Neuroptera_ form the first group of insects which are preserved to usin the "records of the rocks. " Fossil _Neuroptera_ occur in theDevonian rocks of North America; the first traces of insects allied tothe bees and wasps being geologically more recent, and appearing inthe oolitic strata. The occurrence of high social instincts in anancient group of insects renders the repetition of these instincts ina later and higher group the less remarkable. The observation, however, does not of necessity carry with it any actual or impliedconnection between the termites and their higher neighbors, although, indeed, the likeness between the social life of the two orders ofinsects might warrant such a supposition. 

[Illustration: FIG. 3. RED, OR HORSE-ANT (_Formica rufa_. ) a, male; b, female, winged; c, worker. ]

The common ants (Fig.  3), the study of which in their native haunts isa matter of no great difficulty, and one which will fully reward theseeking mind, like the termites, possess three grades of individuals. In a single ant's nest more than One female may be found, the antsdiffering from the bees in this respect; and in the nests of somespecies of ants there are apparently "soldiers" resembling themilitary termites in the possession of large heads and well-developedjaws. Very amazing differences are to be perceived amongst the variousspecies of ants. Differences in size are of common occurrence, butnaturalists have actually succeeded in classifying ants in a generalway, by differences in manner and disposition. We know, for example, that the horse-ant (_Formica rufa_, Fig.  3) has little _individual_intelligence, but is extremely socialistic, and moves and acts _enmasse_ with precision and tact. Another species (_F. Fusca_) is timidand retiring. _F. Pratensis_ is a revengeful creature, since it"worries" its fallen foes; _F. Cinerea_ is bold and audacious; othersare termed "thieves" and "cowards"; some are phlegmatic; and tocomplete the list of failings and traits which are human enough incharacter, one species is said to present an invariable greediness asits prevailing characteristic. The common ants resemble the termitesin the general details of their life. We see in an ant's nest the samerestless activity of the workers, the same earnest attention paid tothe young and pupæ, the same instinct in shielding the young fromdanger, and much the same general routine of development. Certainrather special, and it may be said extraordinary, habits of ants may, however, demand notice before we attempt a brief survey of theirinstincts at large. Few readers are unacquainted with the _Aphides_, or plant-lice, those little wingless insects which infest our plantsand herbs in myriads in summer. It is a fact now well known tonaturalists, and first placed on record by Huber, that between theants and plant-lice, relations of a very friendly and, as far as theants are concerned, advantageous character have become established. Ants have been observed to stroke the tips of the bodies of theplant-lice with their antennæ, this act causing the plant-lice toexude drops of a clear, sweet fluid, of which the ants are extremelyenamoured. The ants would thus appear to habitually "milk" theirinsect-neighbors, and, as far as observation goes, some ants seem notmerely to keep the plant-lice in their nests so as to form a veritabledairy establishment, but also to make provision in the future bysecuring the eggs of the aphides, and bringing up the young as we rearcalves. 

[Illustration: FIG 4. APPLE APHIS (_Eriosoma Mali_). ]

That the relation between the ants and plant-lice are of very stablekind is proved by the interesting remarks of Mr. Darwin, who "removedall the ants from a group of about a dozen aphides on a dock-plant, and prevented their attendance during several hours. " Careful watchingshowed that the plant-lice after this interval did not excrete thesweet fluid. Mr. Darwin then stroked the plant-lice with a hair, endeavoring thus to imitate the action of the ant's feelers, but not asingle plant-louse seemed disposed to emit the secretion. Thereafter asingle ant was admitted to their company, the insect, in Mr. Darwin'swords, appearing, "by its eager way of running about, to be well awarewhat a rich flock it had discovered. " The ant first stroked one aphisand then another, each insect excreting a drop of the sweet juice "assoon as it felt the antennæ;" and "even the quite young aphidesbehaved in this manner, showing that the action was instinctive, andnot the result of experience. " If, as Mr. Darwin remarks, it is aconvenience for the aphides to have the sweet secretion removed, andthat "they do not excrete solely for the food of the ants, " theobservation does not in any degree lessen the curious nature of therelationship which has become established between the ants and theirneighbors, or the interesting features in ant life which haveinaugurated and perpetuated the habit. 

Not less remarkable are the "slave-making" instincts of certainspecies of ants. It may be safely maintained that the slave-makinghabit forms a subject of more than ordinary interest not merely tonaturalists but to metaphysicians given to speculate on the origin andacquirement of the practices of human existence. Pierre Huber, son ofthe famous entomologist, was the first to describe the slave-makinginstincts in a species (_Polyergus rufescens_) noted for itspredaceous instincts, and subsequent observations have shown thatother species participate in these habits. _Polyergus_ is thoroughlydependent on slaves. Without these bonds-men it is difficult to seehow the ants could exist. Huber tells us that the workers of thisspecies perform no work save that of capturing slaves. Use and wont, and the habit of depending entirely on their servitors, have producedsuch changes in the structure of the ants that they are unable to helpthemselves. The jaws of these ants are not adapted for work; they arecarried by their slaves from an old nest to a new one; and, moreextraordinary still, they require to be fed by their slaves, even withplenty of food close at hand. Out of thirty of these ants placed byHuber in a box, with some of their larvæ and pupæ, and a store ofhoney, fifteen died in less than two days of hunger and of sheerinability to help themselves. When, however, one of their slaves wasintroduced, the willing servitor "established order, formed a chamberin the earth, gathered together the larvæ, extricated several youngants that were ready to quit the condition of pupæ, and preserved thelife of the remaining Amazons. " It must be noted that there are veryvarying degrees in the dependence of the ant-masters on their slaves. In the recognition of this graduated scale of relationship anddependence, indeed, will be found the clue to the acquirement of thisinstinct. The horse-ant (_Formica rufa_) will carry off the larvæ andpupæ of other ants _for food_, and it sometimes happens that some ofthese captives, spared by their cannibal neighbors, will grow up inthe nest of their captor. A well-known ant, the _Formica sanguinea_, found in the South of England, is however, a true slave-makingspecies, but exhibits no such utter dependence on its servitors asdoes _Polyergus_. The slave-making habit is not only typicallydeveloped in the _Sanguineas_, but the bearing of the captives totheir masters indicate a degree of relationship and organization suchas could hardly be conceived to exist outside human experience. The_Sanguineas_ make periodical excursions, and, like a powerfulpredatory clan, carry off the pupæ or chrysalides of a neighboringspecies, _F. Fusca_. Thus the children of the latter race are bornwithin the nest of their captors in an enslaved condition. As slaves"born and bred, " so to speak, they fall at once into the routine oftheir duties, assist their masters in the work of the nest, and tendand nurse the young of the family. The slaves, curiously enough inthis instance, are black in color, whilst the masters are twice thesize of the servitors, and are red in color, and that the slaves aretrue importations is proved by the fact that males and females of theslave species are never developed within the nest of the masters, butonly within those of their own colonies. The slaves in this instancerarely leave the nest, the masters foraging for food, and employingtheir captives in household work, as it were; whilst, when the work ofemigration occurs, the masters carry the slaves in their mouths likehousehold goods and chattels, instead of being carried by them, as inthe case of _Polyergus_. 

Mr. Darwin gives an interesting account of the different attitudesexhibited by the _Sanguineas_ toward species of ants other than theblack race from which their slaves are usually drawn. A few pupæ ofthe yellow ant (_F. Flava_), a courageous and pugnacious littlespecies, were placed within the reach of the slave-making_Sanguineas_. A like chance presented with the pupæ of their slaverace was eagerly seized, and the chrysalides carried off. The pupæ ofthe yellow ants, however, were not merely left untouched, but theslave-makers exhibited every system of terror and alarm at the sightof the chrysalides of their yellow neighbors. Such an instancedemonstrates the existence not merely of perception but also of thememory of past experience, probably of not over agreeable kind, ofencounters with the yellow ants. When, on the contrary, a nest of theslaves is attacked, the _Sanguineas_ are both bold and wary. Mr. Darwin traced a long file of _Sanguineas_ for forty yards backward toa clump of heath, whence he perceived the last of the invadersmarching homeward with a slave pupa in its mouth. Two or threeindividuals of the attacked and desolate nest were rushing about inwild despair, and "one, " adds Mr. Darwin, "was perched motionless, with its own pupa in its mouth, on the top of a spray of heath, animage of despair over its ravaged home. " The picture thus drawn is notthe less eloquent because its subject is drawn from lower existence;although the pains and sorrows of ant life may not legitimately bejudged by the standard of human woe. 

The explanation of the slave-making instinct in ants begins with therecognition of the fact that many ants, not slave-makers, store uppupæ of other species for food. If we suppose that some of the pupæ, originally acquired through a cannibal-like instinct, came to maturitywithin the nest of their captors, and in virtue of their own inheritedinstincts engaged in the work of the hive, we may conceive of arational beginning of the slave-making instinct. If, further, thecaptors learned to appreciate the labors of their captives, aslightening their own work, the habit of collecting pupæ as slavesmight succeed and supersede that of collecting them for food. In anycase, we should require to postulate on the part of the slave-makers adegree of instinct altogether unusual in insects, or, indeed, inhigher animals; but that such instinct is developed in ants other thanslave-makers admits of no dispute. The strengthening, throughrepetition, of a habit useful to the species may thus be credited withthe beginning of the practice of slavery amongst ants; whilst specialcircumstances--such as the number of the slaves as compared with thenumber of masters--would tend to develop a greater or less degree ofdependence of the captors or their servitors. 

Huber, for instance, informs us that the _Fusca_-slaves of the_Sanguineas_ of Switzerland work with their masters in building thenest; they close and open the doors of the hive; but their chiefoffice appears to be that of hunting for plant-lice. In England, onthe contrary, the slaves are strictly household servants, rarelyventuring out of doors. Such differences depend most probably on thefact that a greater number of slaves occur in Swiss than in Englishnests, and they may therefore be employed in a wider range of dutieson the Continent than at home. A fewer number of slaves, a greateraptitude on the part of the slaves for their duties, the inability ofthe masters to perform the duties of the slaves--each or all of thesecauses combined would serve to increase the value of the servitors, and at the same time to reduce the independence of the masters. 

This increase of the value of the slaves as active factors in the antcommunity might at length proceed to such extremes as we seeexemplified in the _Polyergus_, already referred to--a race which hasbecome literally unable to feed itself, and to discharge the simplestduties of ant existence, and whose actual life is entirely spent inmarauding expeditions on the nests of its neighbors. 

The subject of the general intelligence of ants, and of their abilityto adapt themselves to awkward and unusual circumstances, may bebriefly touched upon by way of conclusion. 

Between the reason and intelligence of higher animals and the"instinct" of ants there is unquestionably a great gulf fixed. I makethis statement unhesitatingly, notwithstanding that I should no morewillingly attempt to define "instinct" than to give an exactdefinition of "insanity. " In the latter case one may make thedefinition so limited as practically to exclude all save one class ofcases, or so wide as to include even the judge on the bench. In thecase of instinct, the rigid definition of one authority might cause usto regard it as the exclusive property of lower forms and as having norelationship whatever with the mental powers of higher beings; or, onthe other hand, as being but a modified form of, or in some respectsidentical with, these very powers. We know too little respecting theso-called "automatic" powers and ways, even of higher animals, todogmatize regarding the acts of lower animals, but we may safelyassume that one apparent ground or distinction between instinct andreason may be found in the common incompetence of instinct to move outof the beaten track of existence, and in the adaptation of reason, through the teachings of experience, to new and unwontedcircumstances. Let Dr. Carpenter speak as an authority on such asubject. "The whole nervous system of invertebrated animals, then, maybe regarded as ministering entirely to _automatic_ action; and itshighest development, as in the class of insects, is coincident withthe highest manifestations of the 'instinctive' powers, which, whencarefully examined, are found to consist entirely in movements of theexcito-motor and sensori-motor kinds. (The terms '_excito-motor_' and'_sensori-motor_' are applied to nervous actions resulting inmovements of varying kinds, and produced by impressions made onnervous centres, but without any necessary emotion, reason, orconsciousness. ) When we attentively consider the habits of theseanimals, we find that their actions, though evidently adapted to theattainment of certain ends, are very far from evincing a _designed_adaptation on the part of the beings that perform them. . . . For, in thefirst place, these actions are invariably performed in the same mannerby all the individuals of a species, when the conditions are the same;and thus are obviously to be attributed rather to a uniform impulsethan to a free choice, the most remarkable example of this beingfurnished by the economy of bees, wasps, and other 'social' insects, in which every individual of the community performs its appropriatedpart with the exactitude and method of a perfect machine. The veryperfection of the adaptation, again, is often of itself a sufficientevidence of the unreasoning character of the beings which perform thework; for if we attribute it to their own intelligence, we must admitthat this intelligence frequently equals, if it does not surpass, thatof the most accomplished Human Reasoner. "

Appealing to the most recent observations on ants, we may findevidence of the truth of Dr. Carpenter's statements, whilst at thesame time we may also detect instances of the development of higherpowers which are hardly to be classed as "automatic, " and which, incertain species (as in the _Ecitons_, charmingly described by Mr. Beltin "The Naturalist in Nicaragua"), may be said to be elevated abovethe common instincts of the race. Dr. Henry Maudsley has also wellsummed up the relationship of the acts of these insects to the acts ofhigher forms, and to new adaptations when he says: "I do not say thatthe ant and the bee are entirely destitute of any power of adaptationto new experiences in their lives--that they are, in fact, purelyorganized machines, acting always with unvarying regularity; it wouldappear, indeed, from close observation, that these creatures dosometimes discover in their actions traces of a sensibility to strangeexperiences, and of corresponding adaptations of movements. We cannot, moreover, conceive how the remarkable instincts which they manifestcan have been acquired originally, except by virtue of some suchpower. But the power in them now is evidently of a rudimentary kind, and must remain so while they have not those higher nerve-centres inwhich the sensations are combined into ideas, and perceptions of therelations of things are acquired. Granting, however, that the bee orant has these traces of adaptive action, it must be allowed that theyare truly rudiments of functions, which in the supreme nerve-centreswe designate as reason and volition. Such a confession might be atrouble to a metaphysical physiologist, who would thereupon find itnecessary to place a metaphysical entity behind the so-calledinstincts of the bee, but can be no trouble to the inductivephysiologist--he simply recognizes an illustration of a physiologicaldiffusion of properties, and of the physical conditions of primitivevolition, and traces in the evolution of mind and its organs, as inthe evolution of other functions and their organs, a progressivespecialization and increasing complexity. "

The recently published experiments of Sir John Lubbock show that antsunder certain circumstances are both stupid and devoid of anyintelligent comprehension in the way of surmounting difficulties; butthis distinguished observer has also shown that as regardscommunication between ants, and in the regulation of the ordinarycircumstances of their lives, these insects evince a high degree ofintelligence, and exhibit instincts of a very highly developed kind. Still, making every allowance for the development of extraordinarymental power in some species of ants, there can be little doubt of thepurely automatic beginnings and nature of most, if not all, of theacts of ordinary ant existence. The young ant, wasp, or bee, willbegin its labors and discharge them as perfectly at the beginning ofits existence as a perfect insect, as at the close of life. Here thereis no experience, no tuition, no consciousness, no reason, and nopowers save such as have been transferred to the insect as a merematter of heredity and derivation from its ancestors, who lived by anunconscious rule of thumb, so to speak. It is very hard at first toconvince one's self, when watching an ant's nest, that intelligenceand consciousness play little or no part in the apparently intelligentoperation of these insects. But to assume the contrary would be tomaintain that the insect stands on an equal footing to man himself, and for such a supposition there is neither lawful ground norsympathy. The marvellous instinct of lower life stands on a platformof its own, has its own phases of development, and probably its ownunconscious way of progress. The higher reason and intellect ofhumanity similarly possesses its own peculiar standard, rate, andmethod of culture. A man may seek and find in the ways of lowerexistence not merely a lesson in the ordering of his existence, butsome comfort, also, in the thought that the progress of lower natureis not unknown in the domain of human hopes and aspirations. 

[Illustration: RETURN OF ANTS AFTER A BATTLE. ]

THE WILD LLAMA

(FROM A JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES, ETC. )

BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

[Illustration: HEAD OF GUANACO. ]

The guanaco, or wild Llama, is the characteristic quadruped of theplains of Patagonia; it is the South American representative of thecamel in the East. It is an elegant animal in a state of nature, witha long slender neck and fine legs. It is very common over the whole ofthe temperate parts of the continent, as far south as the islands nearCape Horn. It generally lives in small herds of from half a dozen tothirty in each; but on the banks of the St. Cruz we saw one herd whichmust have contained at least five hundred. 

They are generally wild and extremely wary. Mr. Stokes told me, thathe one day saw through a glass a herd of these animals which evidentlyhad been frightened, and were running away at full speed, althoughtheir distance was so great that he could not distinguish them withhis naked eye. The sportsman frequently receives the first notice oftheir presence, by hearing from a long distance their peculiar shrillneighing note of alarm. If he then looks attentively, he will probablysee the herd standing in a line on the side of some distant hill. Onapproaching nearer, a few more squeals are given, and off they set atan apparently slow, but really quick canter, along some narrow beatentrack to a neighboring hill. If, however, by chance, he abruptly meetsa single animal, or several together, they will generally standmotionless and intently gaze at him; then perhaps move on a few yards, turn round, and look again. What is the cause of this difference intheir shyness? Do they mistake a man in the distance for their chiefenemy the puma? Or does curiosity overcome their timidity? That theyare curious is certain; for if a person lies on the ground, and playsstrange antics, such as throwing up his feet in the air, they willalmost always approach by degrees to reconnoitre him. It was anartifice that was repeatedly practised by our sportsmen with success, and it had moreover the advantage of allowing several shots to befired, which were all taken as parts of the performance. On themountains of the Tierra del Fuego, I have more than once seen aguanaco, on being approached, not only neigh and squeal, but pranceand leap about in the most ridiculous manner, apparently in defianceas a challenge. These animals are very easily domesticated, and I haveseen some thus kept in northern Patagonia near a house, though notunder any restraint. They are in this state very bold, and readilyattack a man by striking him from behind with both knees. It isasserted that the motive for these attacks is jealousy on account oftheir females. The wild guanacos, however, have no idea of defence;even a single dog will secure one of these large animals, till thehuntsman can come up. In many of their habits they are like sheep in aflock. Thus when they see men approaching in several directions onhorseback, they soon become bewildered, and know not which way to run. This greatly facilitates the Indian method of hunting, for they arethus easily driven to a central point, and are encompassed. 

[Illustration: THE GUANACO. ]

The guanacos readily take to the water: several times at Port Valdesthey were seen swimming from island to island. Byron, in his voyage, sayshe saw them drinking salt water. Some of our officers likewise saw aherd apparently drinking the briny fluid from a salina near Cape Blanco. I imagine in several parts of the country, if they do not drink saltwater, they drink none at all. In the middle of the day they frequentlyroll in the dust, in saucer-shaped hollows. The males fight together;two one day passed quite close to me, squealing and trying to bite eachother; and several were shot with their hides deeply scarred. Herdssometimes appear to set out on exploring parties; at Bahia Blanca, where, within thirty miles of the coast, these animals are extremelyunfrequent, I one day saw the tracks of thirty or forty, which had comein a direct line to a muddy salt-water creek. They then must haveperceived that they were approaching the sea, for they had wheeled withthe regularity of cavalry, and had returned back in as straight a lineas they had advanced. The guanacos have one singular habit, which isto me quite inexplicable; namely, that on successive days they droptheir dung in the same defined heap. I saw one of these heaps whichwas eight feet in diameter, and was composed of a large quantity. Thishabit, according to M.  A. D'Orbigny, is common to all the species ofthe genus; it is very useful to the Peruvian Indians, who use the dungfor fuel, and are thus saved the trouble of collecting it. 

The guanacos appear to have favorite spots for lying down to die. Onthe banks of the St. Cruz, in certain circumscribed spaces, which weregenerally bushy and all near the river, the ground was actually whitewith bones. On one such spot I counted between ten and twenty heads. Iparticularly examined the bones; they did not appear, as somescattered ones which I have seen, gnawed or broken, as if draggedtogether by beasts of prey. The animals in most cases must havecrawled, before dying, beneath and amongst the bushes. Mr. Byroninforms me that during a former voyage he observed the samecircumstances on the banks of the Rio Gallegos. I do not at allunderstand the reason of this, but I may observe, that the woundedguanacos at the St. Cruz invariably walked towards the river. At St. Jago in the Cape de Verd islands, I remember having seen in a ravine aretired corner covered with bones of the goat; we at the timeexclaimed that it was the burial-ground of all the goats in theisland. 

BATS

(FROM STUDIES OF ANIMATED NATURE. )

BY W.  S. DALLAS, F. L. S. 

[Illustration: SLEEPING BAT. ]

Among the sounds which greet the ear of the wayfarer as the shades ofevening deepen into night, one of the commonest is a rather faintchirping noise which comes mysteriously from overhead. On looking upin search of the source of this peculiar sound, we may see a small, dark, shadow-like creature sweeping to and fro with great rapidity. Itis one of the curious groups of animals called Bats, representativesof which are to be met with in in all countries, always active atnight or in the twilight, and presenting a remarkable generalsimilarity of structure, although in some respects they may differconsiderably in habits. In the British Islands some fourteen specieshave been distinguished. 

Like the owls, with which they share the dominion of the evening air, the Bats have a perfectly noiseless flight; their activity is chieflyduring the twilight, although some species are later, and in fact seemto keep up throughout the whole night. As they rest during the day, concealed usually in the most inaccessible places they can find, andare seen only upon the wing, their power of flight is their moststriking peculiarity in the popular mind, and it is perhaps no greatwonder that by many people, both in ancient and modern times they havebeen regarded as birds. Nevertheless, their hairy bodies and leatherywings are so unlike anything that we ordinarily understand aspertaining to a bird, that opinion was apparently always divided, asto the true nature of these creatures--"a mouse with wings, " asGoldsmith called it once, according to James Boswell, is certainly acurious animal, and very difficult to classify so long as the would-besystematist has no particularly definite ideas to guide him. Thelikeness of the Bat to a winged mouse has made itself felt in the namegiven to the creature in many languages, such as the "Chauvesouris" ofthe French and the "Flitter-mouse" of some parts of England, thelatter being reproduced almost literally in German, Dutch, andSwedish, while the Danes called the Bat a "Flogenmues, " which hasabout the same meaning, and the Swedes have a second name, "Lädermus, "evidently referring to the texture of the wings, as well as to themouse-like character of the body. 

But so soon as we have definite characters to appeal to inclassification, we find no difficulty in assigning these puzzlingcreatures to their proper place in the system. Bats produce theiryoung alive, and suckle them; the milk being produced by specialglands. Now, these are characters which are peculiar among all animalsto the vertebrate class Mammalia. They possess also other charactersthat are unmistakably mammalian. Leaving out of consideration thestructure of the internal organs, they have teeth implanted in socketsin the jaws, four limbs, and a hairy covering to the skin, so thatthey possess more decidedly mammalian characters than some othermembers of the class, such as the marine whales and dolphins(_Cetacea_) and manatees (_Sirenia_), which are still often spoken ofas fishes. In point of fact, although organized for flight, the Batmay, without any violence to language, be spoken of as a _quadruped_, for its fore-limbs contain all the parts found in those of othermammals fully developed, and they come into use when the creature iswalking on the ground. 

Perhaps the special characteristics of the Bats will be brought outmost distinctly by a comparison of their structure with that of abird, seeing that the modification of the fore-limbs into wings istheir most striking distinction from other Mammalia; for, althoughsome other members of the class are spoken of as "flying, " such as theFlying Squirrels, Flying Lemurs, and Flying Phalangers, thesecreatures do not really fly, but merely glide through the air toconsiderable distances by the action of a broad fold of skin whichruns down each side of the body, and which, when stretched betweenthe extended limbs, buoys the creatures up in the air after thefashion of a parachute. 

Most of us must have had occasion to pick the bones of a bird's wing, a piece of practical anatomy which may serve us in good stead atpresent. They consist of a long bone, which may be called the arm-bone(_humerus_), jointed to the shoulder-bones (the so-called "side-bones"of a fowl or turkey), followed by a pair of parallel bonesconstituting the fore-arm, at the end of which we find two or threesmall bones, then two parallel bones united at their extremities, andsome smaller joints terminating the whole. 

We need say nothing about the arm-bone and the two bones of thefore-arm, the peculiarity of bird-structure lying chiefly in theterminal portion of the limb, or the hand. Here we find, after twolittle bones forming the wrist, a pair of long bones as abovedescribed, firmly united both at base and apex, and on the outside ofthe base of these, close to the wrist, a small bone, which may beeither free or soldered to the others, and which represents the thumbin the human hand. At the other end of the piece formed by the twounited bones, the limb is continued by two joints, forming a secondfinger, inside of which there is usually a single small bone, representing a third finger. But all these parts are stiffly attachedto one another, admitting of very little motion, so that the wholehand forms as it were a single piece. The bony structure of the bird'swing is in point of fact a rod hinged in two places, at the elbow andthe wrist, for the convenience of being folded into a small compass. The flight of the bird is effected by the agency of a number of stifffeathers implanted in the skin covering the bones and muscles of thearm and hand; these fold together like the sticks of a fan when thewing is folded, and are spread into an elastic instrument for strikingthe air when the different sections of the bony framework are extendedby the action of their respective muscles. 

In the Bat the structure is very different. Of course, as in theVertebrata generally, we find in the Bat's fore-limb the same threemain sections as in birds; and as the function of the limb is thesame, and a certain stiffness is necessary in the extended organ, themovements of the joints at the elbow and wrists are hinge-like. Butthe bones of the arm and fore-arm are longer and more slender, especially the latter; and in this part, in place of the two parallelbones of the bird's wing, we find in the Bat only a single long bonerepresenting the smaller bone of the bird, the larger one beingusually reduced to very small dimensions, and firmly united with theother into a single piece, although it still forms the elbow-joint. Atthe other end of this long fore-arm we find some small wrist-bones andto these the fingers are articulated. In birds, as we have seen, onlytwo or three fingers are represented, and these are more or lessreduced in size, and the most important of them soldered together;Bats, on the contrary, show the whole five fingers as distinctly as inthe hand of man or any other mammals. The first of them, or the_thumb_, is short, slender, and flexible, and composed of threejoints; the other four are very long and slender, but chieflycomposed of the metacarpal bones, corresponding to those of the palmof the human hand. The first, or index finger, indeed, in many Bats, consists of this bone alone; but in the others it is followed by twoor three slender joints, gradually tapering to the extremity, thesecond finger, corresponding to our middle finger, being always thelongest of all. 

Just as is the bird's wing, these various parts can be folded togetheror extended by the action of the muscles, but in the Bat the longfingers become separated when the wing is stretched out, and by thisaction they at the same time stretch a thin leathery double membranein which they are enclosed, which is thus converted into a broadsurface for striking the air in flight. This membrane is continuedfrom the fingers to the sides of the body, and even to the hind limbs, which are often included in it to the ankle-joints; while in the greatmajority of Bats there is even a further portion of membrane betweenthe hind legs, enclosing the whole or a portion of the tail. There isusually also a narrow strip of the same membrane in front of each arm, so that the skin of the animal is extended as much as possible, inorder to give it support in its aërial evolution. It is to be notedthat the long second finger extends to the extreme point of the wingand that the first finger runs close beside it and thus assists instiffening that part of the organ. The thumb is left free, and isfurnished with a rather strong hooked claw. 

Supported by the action of these great leathery wings, the Bat fliesabout almost incessantly during the twilight, and often late into thenight. In full career its flight is swift, though perfectlynoiseless, and it has the power of executing rapid turns and changesof direction with the greatest facility, as required for the captureof its prey, which, in the great majority of cases, consists of theinsects of various kinds that in most places fly by night. In pursuitof these, the Bats flit rapidly about trees, houses, and otherbuildings, now and then resting by clinging for a moment to the roughsurfaces of the walls or the trunks and branches of trees. Old countrychurch-yards, which are usually full of trees, are naturally favoritehaunts of these nocturnal insect-hunters, offering them an excellentfield for the chase of their prey, while at the same time, the churchitself, with its architectural peculiarities, usually affords them asafe retirement during the day in the dark and secluded corners of itsstructure. Hence in the popular mind the Bat has long been associatedwith the church-yard, that spot so dreaded that few can pass throughit after nightfall without experiencing certain peculiar feelings, sothat it is no great wonder if a portion of the superstitious fear thusengendered has transferred itself to these frail and harmlesscreatures, and given them and their companions, the owls, something ofan evil reputation. And it must be confessed that when seen againstthe light, flitting silently overhead, there is something weird in theBat's form, and this is no doubt the reason why, while angels of allkinds are represented with birds' wings, those of Bats have, byuniversal consent, always been conferred upon demons, dragons, andsimilar uncanny creatures. 

When it descends from its flight upon the ground or any solid body, the Bat becomes to all intents and purposes a genuine quadruped. Thefingers being drawn together, with the membranes of the wings throwninto folds between them, the whole hand of the creature is brought upparallel to the fore-arm, and so got out of the way, and the animalcan then walk more or less easily, its hind legs, though short andrather feeble, being perfectly formed, and the fore limbs, from whichthe thumbs with their sharp claws now project freely, becomingavailable for terrestrial progression. Nevertheless, this progressionis generally rather clumsy, as indeed might be expected from creaturesso curiously constructed. 

While on the wing, our Bats are constantly engaged in the pursuit ofthe numerous insects of various kinds which, like themselves, areactive in the evening and after dark, and of these they must destroyimmense quantities. The swarms of delicate gnats and midges whichdisport themselves in the most complicated aërial dances, moths of allkinds, and even the hard-shelled beetles, many of which fly about inthe evening or at night, fall a prey to these leathern-winged roversof the night air, and weak as the latter would seem to be, some ofthem are able to seize and devour beetles which appear to be farbeyond their powers. Thus, the largest of our British species, theGreat Bat, or Noctule (_Scotophilus noctula_), which, however, is onlyabout three inches in length, preys freely upon such large andhard-shelled insects as cockchafers; these, in fact, appear to be itsfavorite food, and for their consumption its broad and comparativelystrong jaws would seem to be specially fitted, while its large andpowerful wings, measuring fourteen or fifteen inches from tip to tipwhen expanded, enable it to fly with the rapidity necessary for thepursuit and capture of such powerful prey. When thus engaged, theNoctule haunts the neighborhood of trees, and generally flies at aconsiderable elevation, from which, however, his shrill cry easilyreaches the ear of the passer-by. His addiction to large prey givesrise to a curious movement, thus noticed by Professor Bell in hisvaluable book on "British Quadrupeds. " "An observer will not watch hismovements long, " says the Professor, "without noticing a manœuvrewhich at first looks--like the falling of a tumbler-pigeon, but oncloser examination proves to be simply a closing of the wings, and aconsequent drop of about a foot. Sometimes, this is repeated every fewyards, as long as in sight. It is occasioned by some large andintractable insect having been captured, and the anterior joint of thewing, with its well-armed thumb, is required in retaining it untilmasticated. " Notwithstanding this little difficulty, however, theNoctule is pretty rapid in disposing even of his most recusant prey, as he has been known to consume as many as thirteen cockchafers oneafter another. 

The foregoing statements apply to all our British Bats, and indeed, inthe matter of food and general habits, to the great majority of thespecies of the order, in whatever country they may occur. But in thetropical and sub-tropical regions of the eastern hemisphere, we find agreat and important group of Bats, which, although agreeing in generalstructure and habits with our European species, differ from themaltogether in their diet. These Bats, distinguished generally, amongother things, by their larger size and more robust construction, andby certain characters of the molar teeth (grinders), from the ordinaryBats, are almost exclusively confined to a fruit diet, in search ofwhich they fly vigorously, often in flocks, like birds, at thecommencement of the night. From this peculiarity of their food theyare commonly known as Fruit Bats, while the larger species, such asthe Indian Fruit Bat and the Kalong of the Eastern Archipelago, whichare respectively eleven and fourteen inches in length, are sometimescalled Flying Foxes, in allusion to the prevalence of a reddish tintin their fur, and their more or less lengthened and dog-like muzzles. In many parts of the Eastern world, in India, the Malayan Archipelago, Australia, Africa, and even in outlying islands at some distance fromtheir main range, these Fruit Bats occur in great numbers. Swarms ofthem roost together during the day, hanging from the branches of thetrees which they select as their regular resting-place, and takingwing at sunset, fly off frequently to great distances in search oftheir favorite articles of food; for they by no means devourindiscriminately any kind of fruit, but show a distinct preference forparticular sorts, generally selecting such as are also prized by theirhuman competitors. Hence they often do considerable damage inplantations of fruit trees, as when they meet with articles that suittaste, they seem, like some human gourmands, not to know when to leaveoff eating. Of one of the smaller Indian species, the Margined FruitBat, Mr. Dobson obtained a living specimen in Calcutta, and he givesthe following account of its voracious appetite:--He gave it "a ripebanana, which, with the skin removed, weighed exactly two ounces. Theanimal immediately, as if famished with hunger, fell upon the fruit, seized it between the thumbs and the index fingers, and took largemouthfuls out of it, opening the mouth to the fullest extent withextreme voracity. In the space of three hours the whole fruit wasconsumed. Next morning the Bat was killed, and found to weigh oneounce, half the weight of the food eaten in three hours! Indeed, theanimal when eating seemed to be a kind of living mill"--socontinuously does its food pass through it. 

From the statements of some writers, it would appear that althoughthese Bats live chiefly upon fruits, they occasionally, like manyother frugivorous animals, diversify their diet with animal food, devouring insects of various kinds, caterpillars, birds' eggs, andeven young birds, while there seems to be some reason to believe thatone species even feeds upon shell-fish which it picks up upon theseashore. 

The fruit-eating Bats of this group are not found in the warmer partsof America, but some American Bats feed chiefly upon fruits, whilemany of the large essentially insectivorous species which occur therevary their diet more or less with fruits, and also occasionally attackand devour other vertebrate animals. Some of them--but it is stillvery doubtful how many--have another habit connected with theirfeeding, which renders them very decidedly objectionable, namely, thatof inflicting wounds upon birds and mammals, even including manhimself, and sucking up the blood that flows from them. This chargehas been brought against many Bats of South and Central America, some of which have been commonly named Vampires in consequence, afterthe ghostly blood-suckers, which were formerly the objects of so muchsuperstitious terror in Hungary and other parts of Eastern Europe; butso far as can be made out from a consideration of the evidence, averdict of "not proven, " at all events, must be arrived at in the caseof all but two species, which constitute a little group distinguishedby what is apparently a special organization adapting them to thispeculiar diet. These wretched little beasts, which only measure twoand a half or three inches in length, are furnished in the upper jawwith a single pair of incisor or front teeth, but these are of greatsize and strength, triangular in form, and so excessively sharp thatwhen the creatures are seized they can draw blood from the hand oftheir captor by what seems a mere touch. This extreme sharpness oftheir weapons enables them, when attacking sleeping men or animals, toslice off a small portion of skin almost without causing any pain, andthe little oval wounds thus produced, like the similar surface-cutswhich a careless shaver sometimes inflicts upon his chin, bleed withparticular freedom. The Desmodonts, as these true Vampires are called, will attack horses, mules, and cattle, which they generally wound onthe back, near the spine, often in the region of the withers; and theyalso bite the combs of domestic fowls, and any part of the human bodythat they can get at. In the case of man, however, according to mostauthorities, the extremity of the great toe is the favorite part; andsome writers, perhaps possessed of a strong poetical vein, have givenwonderful descriptions of the artfulness with which these littleblood-suckers make their approaches, and keep their victim comfortablyasleep during the operation by fanning him with their wings. In fact, the Vampire Bats had so bad a reputation from the accounts given bytravellers, that they seemed to be veritable scourges of the countriesin which they live, but so far as can be made out from the mosttrustworthy reports, the mischief they cause may be summed up undertwo heads, namely, weakness produced by loss of blood, which continuesto flow from the wounds long after the Bats have drunk their fill andgone quietly home to rest, and inflammatory affections, caused eitherby the irritation of the bite in the case of people of a bad habit ofbody, or by the friction of the saddle or collar upon the part bittenin the case of horses and mules, or of the shoe in the human patient. That the Desmodonts do really feed on blood is proved by evidence ofvarious kinds. They have been captured in the act of blood-sucking, when their stomachs, which are peculiarly constructed and very long, are found filled with a black paste, which is evidently half-digestedblood; and their teeth, which are in part so well adapted forproducing the necessary wounds in other animals, are totally unfit forthe mastication of an insect prey, such as constitutes the diet oftheir nearest allies. 

[Illustration: THE VAMPIRE BAT. ]

After all this feeding, Bats, whatever the nature of their diet, notunnaturally find themselves inclined for repose, and as they areactive during the night or in the twilight, of course their rest hasto be taken in the daytime. To pass the period of repose in securitythey seek shelter of various kinds, not only for protection againstthe weather, but also for the sake of concealment from otherpredaceous animals, some of which would no doubt be perfectly willingto make a meal of them. The great Eastern Fruit Bats, trusting perhapsto their size and strength, are content to resort to the branches oftrees, from which, after the manner of Bats in general, they suspendthemselves by the hind feet with the head downwards. From thestatements of various writers it appears that after being out allnight in search of food, the Flying Foxes and other allied Bats flyback to their regular resting-places, where they begin to arrive aboutor soon after dawn. The number resorting to the same retreat isusually so great that the whole of the branches are loaded with them, and in fact they are so crowded together that the settling down of theflock into their repose is preceded by a scene of squabbling andquarrelling of the most noisy description. Mr. Tickell, speaking ofthe common Indian Flying Fox, says:--"From the arrival of the firstcomer, until the sun is high above the horizon, a scene of incessantwrangling and contention is enacted among them, as each endeavors tosecure a higher and better place, or to eject a neighbor from tooclose vicinage. In these struggles the Bats hook themselves along thebranches, scrambling about hand over hand with some speed, biting eachother severely, striking out with the long claw of the thumb, shrieking and cackling without intermission. Each new arrival iscompelled to fly several times round the tree, being threatened fromall points; and when he eventually hooks on, he has to go through aseries of combats, and be probably ejected two or three times, beforehe makes good his tenure. " This scene of selfish contention over, theFruit Bats pass some hours in profound sleep, during which they remainsuspended in rows along the branches, to which they cling by one footonly, the other with all the lower surface of the body beingcomfortably wrapped in the leathery mantle formed by the contractedwings. In this condition, as Dr. Horsfield says of the Great Kalong, "ranged in succession with the head downwards . . . And often in closecontact, they have little resemblance to living beings, and by aperson not accustomed to their economy are easily mistaken for a partof the tree, or for a fruit of uncommon size suspended from itsbranches. " In this position the head is folded down upon the breast. Dr. Bennett and Mr. Gould ascribed very similar habits to a largeFruit Bat common in the northern parts of New South Wales and inQueensland, which is said to be often exceedingly destructive to thepeach and other fruit crops of the settlers in those colonies. 

The European Bats, and indeed all the Bats except these Flying Foxesand their immediate allies, seek a different kind of shelter. Theirchief natural dormitories consist of hollow trees and the caves andfissures of rocks, to which they often resort in great numbers; but inpopulous countries they also find an abundance of convenient places ofretirement in and about buildings of various kinds. Roofs, especiallywhen covered with tiles, or otherwise provided with apertures throughwhich the space immediately under the roofing is easily accessible, outbuildings of all kinds, church towers and other similar structures, disused chimneys, the spaces behind weather-boards and shutters whichare not often moved, in fact any dark and sheltered places about ourbuildings, are readily resorted to by many species, although some fewretain their taste for unadulterated nature so strongly that noartificial harbor will serve their turn. Thus among the Britishspecies the Great Bat or Noctule, a generally distributed though notabundant species throughout the southern and middle counties ofEngland, seems generally to retreat for its diurnal sleep to the holesor cavities in the trunks of trees, and only to visit buildings whenthere is a scarcity of such accommodation; and the Horseshoe Bats showa decided preference for caverns and deserted quarries; but the greatmajority appear to be indifferent in the matter, and to resort to anyshelter that seems convenient to them. Some, such as the Barbastelleof the southern parts of England, are solitary in their habits, generally retiring alone for their day's rest; others are moresociable, reposing in larger or smaller parties in their dormitories, whether natural or artificial, and sometimes, like the Fruit Bats, collecting in immense numbers. 

The common Bats, like the Fruit Bats, sleep in what we should consideran exceedingly uncomfortable position, namely, with their headsdownwards, but they cling by the claws of _both_ hind feet to thesmall irregularities of the stone or wood forming the walls and otherparts of the structure of their retreat. They frequent the same placesyear after year, so that, where they are numerous, the ground is oftencompletely covered and discolored with their excrements, which in somecases accumulate in course of time to such an amount as to have givenrise to the notion of carrying it away to be used as guano. The littleblood-sucking Vampire Bats already mentioned take up their abode incaverns, and, according to Dr. Hensel, who observed their habits, theydischarge their excrements, which are black and pasty, near theentrance of the cave just before starting on their evening flight, andthis substance by degrees forms quite a thick layer (one foot or more)on the floor of the cavern. The Doctor says that a large dog which hadpaid a visit of curiosity to one of these caves came out again lookingas if he had got long black boots on. 

In the warmer regions of the earth's surface, where their supply offood is constant, the activity of the Bats is not known to have anyintermission, but in cold and temperate countries they pass the winterseason in a state of torpidity. The period of this hibernation, as itis called, varies somewhat in the different species, but few of themare to be seen flying about, except when the weather is decidedlymild. The commonest of all our British species, the Pipistrelle, has ashorter winter sleep than any of its companions, it usually makes itsappearance on the wing by the middle of March, and continues activeuntil quite late in the year; in fact Mr. Gould has recorded the factof his having shot a specimen of it on a warm sunny day just beforeChristmas. For the purpose of hibernation the Bats retire to theirusual resting-places, but frequently, instead of suspending themselvesby their hind feet, as when sleeping, pack themselves away in smallparties in holes and crevices, an arrangement which probably furnishesa better protection against the inclemency of the season. 

It is probably in the dormitory that the birth of the young bats takesplace--at least, so far as we know, the process is affected in amanner which must preclude active exertions on the part of the motherfor some little time. The best account of the operation with which weare acquainted is that given fifty years ago by Mr. George Daniell, ina paper read before the Zoölogical Society, in which he described thehabits of some Noctules kept by him in captivity. Four out of fivedied, and the survivor, a female, was observed on 23d June to becomevery restless, and to continue so for about an hour, although stillsuspended by the hind limbs in the attitude of repose. "Suddenly, " touse Mr. Daniell's words, "she reversed her position, and attachedherself by her anterior limbs to a cross wire of the cage, stretchingher hind limbs to their utmost extent, curving the tail upwards, andexpanding the interfemoral membrane, so as to form a perfect nestlikecavity for the reception of the young . . . Which was born on its back, perfectly destitute of hair, and blind. The mother then cleaned it, turning it over in its nest; and afterwards, resuming her usualposition, placed the young in the membrane of her wing. She nextcleaned herself, and wrapped up the young one so closely as to preventany observation of the process of suckling. At the time of birth theyoung was larger than a new-born mouse, and its hind legs and clawswere remarkably strong and serviceable, enabling it not only to clingto its dam, but also to the deal sides of the cage. On the 24th theanimal took her food in the morning, and appeared very careful of heryoung, shifting it from side to side to suckle it, and folding it inthe membranes of the tail and wings. " Unfortunately, theseinteresting observations were cut short by the death of the mother, and the young animal, which was with some difficulty removed from thenipple, survived only eight days, during which it was fed with milkfrom a sponge, and made but little progress, its eyes being stillunopened, and its body almost hairless. 

There can be no doubt that this process, varied in minor points inaccordance with differences of structure, reveals to us what takesplace in Bats generally in immediate connection with the birth of theyoung. From all the observations that have been made it appearscertain that the female Bats produce only a single young one at abirth; that this is at first blind, naked, and helpless; and that thefemale nurses it carefully--a process which must be greatlyfacilitated by the power of clinging to its parent possessed by theyoung Bat from the first moment of its appearance in the world. Thetwo nipples possessed by the female are situated upon the breast, sometimes quite at the sides under the arm-pits, a position whichrenders it particularly easy for the careful mother to tend heroffspring, while she is also enabled to carry it about with her in herevening flights, the young creature clinging firmly to its mother'sfur, and being quite out of the way of the movements of the wings. This part of the business, of course, could not be exemplified in Mr. Daniell's case, as the female was imprisoned in a cage, but it is awell-known fact in the natural history of these creatures that themother does carry her young about with her so long as it continueshelpless. Apparently, indeed, even after the young animal becomescapable of flying about, its mother still retains some interest in itswell-being--at least, if we may apply generally a case recorded by Dr. Allen in his account of the Bats of North America. It relates to asmall species, the Red Bat, very common throughout the United States, a young individual of which having been captured by a lad, "threehours afterwards, in the evening, as he was conveying it to the museumin his hand, while passing near the place where it was caught, themother made her appearance, and followed the boy for two squares, flying around him, and finally alighted on his breast, such was heranxiety to save her offspring. Both were brought to the museum, theyoung one firmly adhering to its mother's teat. This faithful creaturelived two days in the museum, and then died of injuries received fromher captor. The young one being but half grown was still too young totake care of itself, and died shortly after. "

This little anecdote seems to set the moral character of the Bat in avery favorable light, at any rate as regards the family affections, and there is no doubt that the females of all the species of the groupshow considerable fondness for their young. In other respects, perhaps, they do not all shine quite so brilliantly, for, as we haveseen, the Fruit Bats squabble very selfishly for the most convenientsleeping places, as indeed do other gregarious species of the order, and some of the former quarrel and fight over their food. As regardsamiability of character, however, there is probably considerabledifference between different kinds of Bats; at any rate, inconfinement, they show much diversity of temper, some of them beingsullen, refusing food, and biting vigorously at their captors or thebars of their prison, while others are easily tamed and soon becomefamiliar. Two of the commonest species, the Pipistrelle, and theLong-eared Bat are among the latter. The Pipistrelle, which appears tobe abundant throughout Britain, and indeed in most of the northerntemperate regions of the eastern hemisphere, is a small reddish-brownspecies, measuring little more than one inch and a half in lengthwithout the tail, but with a spread of wing of more than eight inches. Its regular food consists chiefly of gnats, midges, and other smallflies, in pursuit of which it often frequents the vicinity of water, but it has a curious predilection for raw meat, and in search of thisit often makes its way into pantries, where the little thief will befound clinging to a joint of meat, and feeding upon it with avidity. This fondness for meat makes the Pipistrelle very easy to keep inconfinement, as it diminishes the necessity of finding it insect food, and the little creature will in time become so tame as to take piecesof meat from its owner's fingers. It is an active and lively littlecreature, flying, running, and climbing about with great ease; in thelatter operation, according to Professor Bell, it makes use of theextreme tip of the tail as if it was a finger. 

The Long-eared Bat, so called from the great size of its ears, whichare nearly as long as the whole animal exclusive of the tail, hasperhaps a wider distribution than the Pipistrelle, but is hardly soabundant in Britain. Its head and body measure nearly two inches long, while its wings spread to about ten inches. This Bat generally sleepsduring the day under the roofs of houses and in church towers, andwhen sleeping its long ears are carefully stowed away under the foldedwings, but the earlet or inner lobe of the ear still projects, so thatthe creature appears to have a pair of short-pointed ears. TheLong-eared Bat flies very late in the evening, and indeed seems tocontinue its activity throughout the night; its food appears toconsist to a great extent of the smaller moths, although other insectsare by no means disdained. This species also soon becomes very tameand familiar; it will fly about the room, play with its fellows, andcome fearlessly to take its food from the hand. Professor Bell givesan interesting account of one kept by Mr. James Sowerby, which, "whenat liberty in the parlor, would fly to the hand of any of the youngpeople who held up a fly toward it, and, pitching on the hand, takethe fly without hesitation. If the insect was held between the lips, the Bat would then settle on its young patron's cheek, and take thefly with great gentleness from the mouth; and so far was thisfamiliarity carried, that, when either of the young people made ahumming noise with the mouth, in imitation of an insect, the Bat wouldsearch about the lips for the promised dainty. " This habit of takingits food when off the wing, would seem to be natural to the Long-earedBat under certain circumstances, as Mr. Tomes records his having seenone feeding in this manner upon the myriads of small moths whichswarmed about a spindle tree in bloom. 

[Illustration: LONG-EARED BAT. ]

It is unnecessary to say that the creatures which display all thisactivity and intelligence are well endowed with at least all thesenses possessed by the other animals of their class. The organs ofsmell and hearing are well developed, and in many cases associatedwith external membranous expansions of great size, as seen in the earsof the Long-eared Bat; and the eyes, though generally of small sizeexcept in the Fruit Bats, are bright and efficient, serving thecreatures in good stead in the rapid pursuit of their insect-prey, which must be directed principally by sight. The common expression "asblind as a Bat, " must be taken to apply to Bats accidentally drivenfrom their retreats in the day-time, when it must be confessed thatthey fly about in a dazed manner; but at night and in their darkretreats they show no such imbecility of purpose, but find their waywith astonishing precision and certainty. In fact, instead of beingblind, the Bats must be especially sharp-sighted, if all theirevolutions be guided by the sense of sight, for in many cases theyhabitually resort to the inmost recesses of caverns and other placeswhere, so far as our judgment goes, no light can possibly penetrate. Hence it was long since suspected that some other sense than that ofsight must come to their aid when they plunge into such outer darknessas prevails in some places through which they fly with the greatestfreedom, and more than a century ago numerous experiment were made bya distinguished Italian naturalist, the Abbé Spallanzani, in order todiscover, if possible, what might be the secret of these curiousphenomena. 

He set free, in a long passage which was bent at a right angle aboutthe middle of its length, a blinded Bat, which flew through the wholeof this passage, turning the corner correctly, without anywheretouching the walls; while flying, too, it in some mysterious mannerdetected a hole in the roof at a distance of eighteen inches, andproceeded at once to ensconce itself in this shelter. In anotherexperiment the Abbé took two Bats, one blinded, the other not, andplaced them in a space shut off from a garden and roofed in with nets, and with sixteen strings suspended from the top in different parts. Both Bats flew about briskly and avoided the hanging strings equallywell, until at length the _blinded_ Bat discovered that the meshes ofthe net were large enough for him to get through, when he at once madehis escape, and after flying about for a short time, went off directlyto the only roof in the vicinity, under which he disappeared. Inshort, from these experiments it became perfectly clear that underthese circumstances the sense of sight was not of primary importancein guiding the course of the Bat. Similar trials with the organs ofsmell and hearing showed that they had nothing to do with it, and theonly other sense that could be appealed to was the general sense oftouch. Baron Cuvier, the great French comparative anatomist, was thefirst to suggest, from the consideration of the results obtained bythe Abbé Spallanzani and others, especially by M. De Jurine, ofGeneva, that the peculiar phenomena in question might be accounted forby the existence, especially in the great membranous expansions of thewings, of a most delicate sensibility; and subsequent investigationsof the structure of those organs has tended to confirm this view, sothat it is now the one generally accepted. It is found that thesegreat membranes are traversed in all parts by numerous nerves, thedelicate terminations of which form little loops, exactly resemblingthose which occur in our skin in those parts where the sense of touchis most highly developed; and this resemblance is heightened by thefact that the membrane is covered with rows of little points. Even theorgans of circulation in the wings are so constructed as to render italmost certain that those organs have a quite exceptional sensibility. Their ramifications are very numerous, and the veins as well as thearteries have contractile walls, rendering the circulation of theblood exceedingly active, the conditions, as Professor St. GeorgeMivart remarks, being almost those of a state of inflammation. 

If these membranous expansions have the functions just ascribed tothem, we can easily understand that the larger they are the better, and this will explain why the Bats generally exhibit so great atendency to run out into naked membranes. Thus although the ears, asorgans of hearing, have probably nothing to do with guiding the Batwhen flying in dark places, we find that in a great number of speciesthe external ears are exceedingly large and delicately membranous, ofwhich indeed we have an example in the British Long-eared Bat alreadyreferred to. In like manner, while the nose, as a nose, may also beleft out of consideration, the development of membranous appendages ofthe part of the face in which the nostrils open is one of the mostcurious peculiarities of a vast number of Bats, in many of which thesesingular nose-leaves almost rival the ears in size, while theirstructure often renders them most grotesque. We have two Bats thusadorned in Britain, namely, the Greater and the Lesser Horseshoe Bats, but most of the leaf-nosed species are inhabitants of warmer regions, and it is there that they run out into the most remarkableeccentricities of structure. In Blainville's Bat, a small speciesinhabiting South America and the West Indies, these expansions of theskin of the face seem to have reached the utmost possiblegrotesqueness, but the membranous leaves are larger and the ears muchmore developed in many species allied to our own Horseshoe Bats, especially such as the Megaderms. We can hardly imagine that thesegreat membranous expansions of the outer ears and the region of thenose can have any other purpose than that of enlarging the surface ofhighly sensitive skin specially adapted for the perception of externalimpressions, and it is a remarkable fact, strictly in accordance withthis view, that, so far as we know, the Bats so endowed are moredecidedly nocturnal in their habits and frequent darker retreats thantheir less gifted fellows. Thus our Long-eared Bat, as already stated, continues active on the wing throughout the whole night, and theHorseshoe Bats are distinguished as specially affecting dark caves. 

HOW SNAKES EAT

(FROM SNAKES. )

BY CATHERINE C. HOPLEY. 

[Illustration: HAMADRYAD SNAKE. ]

The Hamadryad's appointed diet is one ring-snake per week; but "Ophi, "as we now call him, is occasionally required--and with no sacrifice ofhis principles either--to eat an extra snake to satisfy the curiosityof some distinguished visitor. Sometimes, too, colubers are plentiful, and two small ones are not too much for his ten or twelve feet ofappetite. This splendid serpent has rewarded care by remaining inperfect health, and growing several feet. He was between eight andnine feet long when he came, and is now not far short of twelve andproportionately larger in circumference. Sometimes during winter, whenring-snakes are scarce, "Ophi" is compelled to fast; for he is notthen to be tempted with other food. During the first year of hisresidence in the Gardens, the supply was good, and he ate no less thaneighty-two fellow-creatures before the winter was well over. Towardsspring, however, the supply ran short, and only two more remained forhim. He had now fasted two entire weeks, and looked hungry and eager. The keeper offered him a guinea-pig, at which he took great offence, raising his hood and hissing angrily for a long while. Eggs hedeclined, also a lizard and a rat, in great disgust. In India theOphiophagi are said to feed on lizards and fish occasionally, but_our_ Ophiophagus preferred to fast. At last one of the tworing-snakes was produced, and Ophio was to be regaled. It was the 31stof March, 1876, and he had been a denizen of the Gardens just oneyear. My note-book informs me that it was a lovely, soft spring day, and that Ophio was quite lively. He had rejected frogs on his ownaccount, but in the uncertainty of more ring-snakes arriving, he wasnow decoyed into eating half a dozen. Holland contrived that the snakedestined for his dinner should answer the purpose of a feast, and hadallowed it to eat as many frogs as it chose. Like the poor wretch who, doomed to the gallows, is permitted to fare sumptuously the lastmorning of his life, the ring-snake ate three frogs, by which theOphiophagus was to derive chief benefit; he, all unconscious of thecause of his victim's unusual plumpness, swallowed him speedily. 

Soon after this Ophio doffed his winter coat entire, and having againfasted for ten days, was at once rewarded by the last remainingring-snake in a similarly plethoric condition, namely, with three morefrogs inside him. Now and then during the winter months the scarcityof ring-snakes has compelled the sacrifice of some far rarer colubersto Ophio's cannibal tastes. And yet each year we hear of hundreds ofring-snakes being ruthlessly killed in country districts, while atgreat cost and trouble others are purchased or brought from theContinent for the Hamadryad's sustenance. Lord Lilford, one of theOphidarium's best patrons, sometimes sends presents of game in theshape of ring-snakes to the Hamadryad. 

While watching this snake-eater over his dinner, one is struck withthe remarkable tenacity of life exhibited in the victim, or the slowaction of the venom if poisoned in the first grasp. The Ophiophagusseizes it anywhere, that is, at whichever part happens to come first, and then, after holding it quietly for a time, works his jaws up tothe head in the usual hand-over-hand, or "jaw-after-jaw" fashion, invariably swallowing the snake head first. On one occasion when Iwatched attentively, Ophio, having seized a ring-snake by the middle, held it doggedly still for one quarter of an hour, while the lessersnake did its very best to work its way out of the jaws, and also tofetter its captor by twirling itself over his head and coiling roundhis neck. This continued while Ophio, with his head and neck raised, remained motionless, and after the quarter of an hour commenced towork his jaws up towards the head of the ring snake, which, as moreand more of its own body was free for action, twirled itself about, and at length coiled its tail round the bit of branch nailed into thecage. 

Persistently, like a sailor making his vessel fast to the windlass, the ring snake lashed as much of himself as was free round the brancha foot off, and so pulled and pulled till he looked in danger ofsevering himself in two. Meanwhile Ophio, slowly but surely advancing, caused its head and neck to disappear, grasping tightly with hisvenomous jaws, as if he would say, "We'll see who is master. " It was aclose tussle, so firmly did the little coluber retain his hold on the"tree"; but as the upper part of him was gradually drawn into thoseunrelaxing jaws, he by degrees gave way, and by and by was gone. 

Not far short of an hour was occupied in this meal, during which thevictim showed no signs of being poisoned, nor were his coils round thestump relaxed in the slightest degree, till Ophio reached the tail. The ring snake is not a constrictor, yet he thus tied himself roundthe tree by the coils of his tail. 

One more singular case of tenacity of life must be recorded. Aring-snake had been caught in the usual way, and the usual struggleensued between captor and captive. Coluber, with its head tightlygripped in the jaws of his enemy, had still all the rest of himself atliberty and in full activity, and after wriggling a violent protest, he coiled what was left of himself so closely round the neck of hispersecutor that the latter made little or no progress with his dinnerfor a time. He seemed to be deliberating how to proceed next, andasking, "What is the meaning of this?" then shook his head, lowered itto the shingle, and tried to rub off the coils. The only result thusachieved was that the extreme end of Coluber's tail was loosened for amoment, but only to coil afresh around Ophio's jaws, whichnevertheless slowly and surely advanced. 

For nearly an hour the progress was very slow; but when the ring-snakewas nearly all swallowed except a few inches of tail, these became sotight a muzzle that Ophio in turn was the victim. Shaking his head andvainly endeavoring to free his jaws of this muzzle, a minute or twoelapsed, during which he seemed to suffer some discomfort, whensuddenly his mouth opened widely, and out crawled Natrix, apparentlynone the worse for this temporary entombment. He had turned round whentwo or three feet from daylight, and come back to see the world oncemore. But it so happened that Ophio closed his jaws in time over thefew inches of tail which still remained between them. Nor did he oncerelax his grasp of this, but quickly and patiently began to work hisway up to the head and recommence his meal, and this time with bettersuccess. An hour and a quarter I watched, nor was any evidence ofpoison seen, so as to reduce the powers of the bitten snake; forbitten it must have been in those prolonged and forcible grasps. 

[Illustration]

In these conflicts one could but observe a dogged stupidity on thepart of the venomous snake, who, had he but brought coils to his aid, might have simplified matters so easily. The little Heterodons, andeven the Lacertines, often assist themselves with coils in managingtheir prey, though not themselves constrictors; but the venomous oneshave not the slightest notion of helping themselves in this way, as ifconfident that in time their venom would do its work. 

[Illustration]

WHAT WORMS DO

(FROM THE FORMATION OF VEGETABLE MOULD. )

BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

[Illustration]

We now come to treat of a curious and important subject, --namely, theamount of earth which is brought up by worms from beneath the surface, and is afterwards spread out more or less completely by the rain andwind. The amount can be judged of by two methods, --by the rate atwhich objects left on the surface are buried, and more accurately byweighing the quantity brought up within a given time. We will beginwith the first method, as it was first followed. 

Near Maer Hall in Staffordshire, quick-lime had been spread, about theyear 1827, thickly over a field of good pasture-land, which had notsince been ploughed. Some square holes were dug in this field in thebeginning of October, 1837, and the sections showed a layer of turf, formed by the matted roots of the grasses, ½ inch in thickness, beneath which, at a depth of 2½ inches (or 3 inches from the surface), a layer of the lime in powder or in small lumps could be distinctlyseen running all round the vertical sides of the holes. The soilbeneath the layer of lime was either gravelly or of a coarse sandynature, and differed considerably in appearance from the overlyingdark-coloured fine mould. Coal-cinders had been spread over a part ofthis same field either in the year 1833 or 1834; and when the aboveholes were dug, that is, after an interval of 3 or 4 years, thecinders formed a line of black spots round the holes, at a depth of1 inch beneath the surface, parallel to and above the white layer oflime. Over another part of this field cinders had been strewed, onlyabout half a year before, and these either still lay on the surface orwere entangled among the roots of the grasses; and I here saw thecommencement of the burying process, for worm-castings had been heapedon several of the smaller fragments. After an interval of 4¾ yearsthis field was re-examined, and now the two layers of lime and cinderswere found almost everywhere at a greater depth than before by nearly1 inch, we will say by ¾ of an inch. Therefore, mould to an averagethickness of . 22 of an inch had been annually brought up by the worms, and had been spread over the surface of this field. 

Coal-cinders had been strewed over another field, at a date whichcould not be positively ascertained, so thickly that they formed(October, 1837) a layer, 1 inch in thickness at a depth of about3 inches from the surface. The layer was so continuous that theoverlying dark vegetable mould was connected with the sub-soil ofred clay only by the roots of the grasses; and when these were broken, the mould and the red clay fell apart. In a third field, on whichcoal-cinders and burnt marl had been strewed several times at unknowndates, holes were dug in 1842; and a layer of cinders could be tracedat a depth of 3½ inches, beneath which at a depth of 9½ inches fromthe surface there was a line of cinders together with burnt marl. Onthe sides of one hole there were two layers of cinders, at 2 and3½ inches beneath the surface; and below them at a depth in parts of 9½, and in other parts of 10½ inches there were fragments of burnt marl. In a fourth field two layers of lime, one above the other could bedistinctly traced, and beneath them a layer of cinders and burnt marlat a depth of from 10 to 12 inches below the surface. 

A piece of waste land was enclosed, drained, ploughed, harrowed, andthickly covered in the year 1822 with burnt marl and cinders. It wassowed with grass seeds, and now supports a tolerably good but coarsepasture. Holes were dug in this field in 1837, or 15 years after itsreclamation, and we see in the accompanying diagram (Fig.  1) reducedto half of the natural scale, that the turf was ½ inch thick, beneathwhich there was a layer of vegetable mould 2½ inches thick. This layerdid not contain fragments of any kind; but beneath it there was alayer of mould, 1½ inch in thickness, full of fragments of burnt marl, conspicuous from their red color, one of which near the bottom was aninch in length; and other fragments of coal-cinders together with afew white quartz pebbles. Beneath this layer and at a depth of4½ inches from the surface, the original black, peaty, sandy soil with afew quartz pebbles was encountered. Here, therefore, the fragments ofburnt marl and cinders had been covered in the course of 15 years by alayer of fine vegetable mould, only 2½ inches in thickness, excludingthe turf. Six and a half years subsequently this field wasre-examined, and the fragments were now found at from 4 to 5 inchesbeneath the surface. So that in this interval of 6½ years, about1½ inch of mould had been added to the superficial layer. I am surprisedthat a greater quantity had not been brought up during the whole21½ years, for in the closely underlying black, peaty soil there were manyworms. It is, however, probable that formerly, whilst the landremained poor, worms were scanty; and the mould would then haveaccumulated slowly. The average annual increase of thickness for thewhole period is . 19 of an inch. 

[Illustration: FIG. 1. Section of the vegetable mould in a field, drained and reclaimed fifteen years previously; a, turf; b, vegetable mould without any stones; c, mould with fragments of burnt marl, coal cinders, and pebbles; d, sub-soil of black, peaty sand with quartz pebbles. ]

Two other cases are worth recording. In the spring of 1835 a field, which had long existed as poor pasture, and was so swampy that ittrembled slightly when stamped on, was thickly covered with red sandso that the whole surface appeared at first bright red. When holeswere dug in this field after an interval of about 2½ years, the sandformed a layer at a depth of ¾ inch beneath the surface. In 1842(i. E. , seven years after the sand had been laid on) fresh holes weredug, and now the red sand formed a distinct layer, 2 inches beneaththe surface, or 1½ inch beneath the turf; so that on an average. 21 inches of mould had been annually brought to the surface. Immediatelybeneath the layer of red sand the original sub-stratum of black, sandypeat extended. 

A grass field, likewise not far from Maer Hall, had formerly beenthickly covered with marl, and was then left for several years aspasture; it was afterwards ploughed. A friend had three trenches dugin this field 28 years after the application of the marl, and a layerof the marl fragments could be traced at a depth, carefullymeasured, of 12 inches in some parts, and of 14 inches in other parts. This difference in depth depended on the layer being horizontal, whilst the surface consisted of ridges and furrows from the fieldhaving been ploughed. The tenant assured me that it had never beenturned up to a greater depth than from 6 to 8 inches; and as thefragments formed an unbroken horizontal layer from 12 to 14 inchesbeneath the surface, these must have been buried by the worms whilstthe land was in pasture before it was ploughed, for otherwise theywould have been indiscriminately scattered by the plough throughoutthe whole thickness of the soil. Four and a half years afterwards Ihad three holes dug in this field, in which potatoes had been latelyplanted, and the layer of marl fragments was now found 13 inchesbeneath the bottoms of the furrows, and therefore probably 15 inchesbeneath the general level of the field. It should, however, beobserved that the thickness of the blackish, sandy soil, which hadbeen thrown up by the worms above the marl fragments in the course of32½ years, would have measured less than 15 inches, if the field hadalways remained as pasture, for the soil would in this case have beenmuch more compact. The fragments of marl almost rested on anundisturbed sub-stratum of white sand with quartz pebbles; and as thiswould be little attractive to worms, the mould would hereafter be veryslowly increased by their action. 

We will now give some cases of the action of worms, on land differingwidely from the dry, sandy, or the swampy pasture just described. Thechalk formation extends all round my house in Kent; and its surface, from having been exposed during an immense period to the dissolvingaction of rain-water, is extremely irregular, being abruptly festoonedand penetrated by many deep, well-like cavities. During thedissolution of the chalk the insoluble matter, including a vast numberof unrolled flints of all sizes, has been left on the surface andforms a bed of stiff red clay, full of flints, and generally from 6 to14 feet in thickness. Over the red clay, wherever the land has longremained as pasture, there is a layer a few inches in thickness ofdark-coloured vegetable mould. 

A quantity of broken chalk was spread, on December 20, 1842, over apart of a field near my house, which had existed as pasture certainlyfor 30, probably for twice or thrice as many, years. The chalk waslaid on the land for the sake of observing at some future period towhat depth it would become buried. At the end of November, 1871, thatis, after an interval of twenty-nine years, a trench was dug acrossthis part of the field; and a line of white nodules could be traced onboth sides of the trench, at a depth of 7 inches from the surface. Themould, therefore (excluding the turf), had here been thrown up at anaverage rate of . 22 inches per year. Beneath the line of chalk nodulesthere was in parts hardly any fine earth free of flints, while inother parts there was a layer 2¼ inches in thickness. In this lattercase the mould was altogether 9¼ inches thick; and in one such spot anodule of chalk and a smooth flint pebble, both of which must havebeen left at some former time on the surface, were found at thisdepth. At from 11 to 12 inches beneath the surface, the undisturbedreddish clay, full of flints, extended. The appearance of the abovenodules of chalk surprised me much at first, as they closely resembledwater-worn pebbles, whereas the freshly-broken fragments had beenangular. But on examining the nodules with a lens, they no longerappeared water-worn, for their surfaces were pitted through unequalcorrosion, and minute, sharp points, formed of broken fossil shells, projected from them. It was evident that the corners of the originalfragments of chalk had been wholly dissolved, from presenting a largesurface to the carbonic acid dissolved in the rain-water and to thatgenerated in soil containing vegetable matter, as well as thehumus-acids. The projecting corners would also, relatively to theother parts, have been embraced by a larger number of living rootlets;and these have the power of even attacking marble, as Sachs has shown. Thus, in the course of twenty-nine years, buried angular fragments ofchalk had been converted into well-rounded nodules. 

Another part of this same field was mossy, and as it was thought thatsifted coal-cinders would improve the pasture, a thick layer wasspread over this part either in 1842 or 1843, and another layer someyears afterwards. In 1871 a trench was here dug, and many cinders layin a line at a depth of 7 inches beneath the surface, with anotherline at a depth of 5½ inches parallel to the one beneath. In anotherpart of this field, which had formerly existed as a separate one, andwhich it was believed had been pasture-land for more than a century, trenches were dug to see how thick the vegetable mould was. By chancethe first trench was made at a spot where at some former period, certainly more than forty years before, a large hole had been filledup with coarse, red clay, flints, fragments of chalk, and gravel; andhere the fine vegetable mould was only from 4⅛ to 4⅜ inches inthickness. In another and undisturbed place, the mould varied much inthickness, namely, from 6½ to 8½ inches; beneath which a few smallfragments of brick were found in one place. From these several cases, it would appear, that during the last 29 years mould has been heapedon the surface at an average annual rate of from . 2 to . 22 of aninch. But in this district when a ploughed field is first laid down ingrass, the mould accumulates at a much slower rate. The rate, also, must become very much slower after a bed of mould, several inches inthickness, has been formed; for the worms then live chiefly near thesurface, and burrow down to a greater depth so as to bring up freshearth from below, only during the winter, when the weather is verycold (at which time worms were found in this field at a depth of26 inches), and during summer, when the weather is very dry. 

A field which adjoins the one just described, slopes in one partrather steeply (viz. , at from 10° to 15°); this part was last ploughedin 1841, was then harrowed and left to become pasture-land. Forseveral years it was clothed with an extremely scant vegetation, andwas so thickly covered with small and large flints (some of them halfas large as a child's head) that the field was always called by mysons "the stony field. " When they ran down the slope the stonesclattered together. I remember doubting whether I should live to seethese larger flints covered with vegetable mould and turf. But thesmaller stones disappeared before many years had elapsed, as did everyone of the larger ones after a time; so that after thirty years (1871)a horse could gallop over the compact turf from one end of the fieldto the other, and not strike a single stone with his shoes. To anyonewho remembered the appearance of the field in 1842, the transformationwas wonderful. This was certainly the work of the worms, for thoughcastings were not frequent for several years, yet some were thrown upmonth after month, and these gradually increased in numbers as thepasture improved. In the year 1871 a trench was dug on the aboveslope, and the blades of grass were cut off close to the roots, sothat the thickness of the turf and of the vegetable mould could bemeasured accurately. The turf was rather less than half an inch, andthe mould, which did not contain any stones, 2½ inches in thickness. Beneath this lay coarse, clayey earth full of flints, like that in anyof the neighboring ploughed fields. This coarse earth easily fellapart from the overlying mould when a split was lifted up. The averagerate of accumulation of the mould during the whole thirty years wasonly . 083 inch per year (i. E. , nearly one inch in twelve years); butthe rate must have been much slower at first, and afterwardsconsiderably quicker. 

The transformation in the appearance of this field, which had beeneffected beneath my eyes, was afterwards rendered the more striking, when I examined in Knole Park a dense forest of lofty beech-trees, beneath which nothing grew. Here the ground was thickly strewed withlarge, naked stones, and worm-castings were almost wholly absent. Obscure lines and irregularities on the surface indicated that theland had been cultivated some centuries ago. It is probable that athick wood of young beech-trees sprung up so quickly, that time enoughwas not allowed for worms to cover up the stone with their castings, before the site became unfitted for their existence. Anyhow, thecontrast between the state of the now miscalled "stony field, " wellstocked with worms, and the present state of the ground beneath theold beech-trees in Knole Park, where worms appeared to be absent, wasstriking. 

A narrow path running across part of my lawn was paved in 1843 withsmall flag-stones, set edgeways; but worms threw up many castings, andweeds grew thickly between them. During several years the path wasweeded and swept; but ultimately the weeds and worms prevailed, andthe gardener ceased to sweep, merely moving off the weeds, as often asthe lawn was mowed. The path soon became almost covered up, and afterseveral years no trace of it was left. On removing, in 1877, the thinoverlaying layer of turf, the small flag-stones, all in their properplaces, were found covered by an inch of fine mould. 

Two recently published accounts of substances strewed on the surfaceof pasture-land, having become buried through the action of worms, maybe here noticed. The Rev. H.  C. Key had a ditch cut in a field, overwhich coal-ashes had been spread, as it was believed, 18 years before, and on the clean-cut perpendicular sides of the ditch, at a depth ofat least 7 inches, there could be seen, for a length of 60 yards, "adistinct, very even, narrow line of coal-ashes, mixed with small coal, perfectly parallel with the top-sward. " This parallelism and thelength of the section gives interest to the case. Secondly, Mr. Dancerstates that crushed bones had been thickly strewed over a field, and"some years afterwards" these were found "several inches below thesurface, at a uniform depth. " Worms appear to act in the same mannerin New Zealand as in Europe; for Professor J. Von Haast has describeda section near the coast, consisting of mica-schist, "covered by 5 or6 feet of loess, above which about 12 inches of vegetable soil hadaccumulated. " Between the loess and the mould there was a layer from 3to 6 inches in thickness, consisting of "cores, implements, flakes, and chips, all manufactured from hard basaltic rock. " It is, therefore, probable, that the aborigines, at some former period, hadleft these objects on the surface, and that they had afterwards beenslowly covered up by the castings of worms. 

Farmers in England are well aware that objects of all kinds, left onthe surface of pasture-lands, after a time disappear, or, as they say, work themselves downwards. How powdered lime, cinders, and heavystones, can work down, and at the same rate, through the matted rootsof a grass-covered surface, is a question which has probably neveroccurred to them. 

_The sinking of great stones through the action of worms. _--When astone of large size and of irregular shape is left on the surface ofthe ground, it rests, of course, on the more protuberant parts; butworms soon fill up with their castings all the hollow spaces on thelower side; for, as Hensen remarks, they like the shelter of stones. As soon as the hollows are filled up, the worms eject the earth whichthey have swallowed beyond the circumference of the stones; and thusthe surface of the ground is raised all round the stone. As theburrows excavated directly beneath the stone after a time collapse, the stone sinks a little. Hence it is, that boulders which at someancient period have rolled down from a rocky mountain or cliff on to ameadow at its base, are always somewhat imbedded in the soil; and, when removed, leave an exact impression of their lower surfaces inthe under-lying fine mould. If, however, a boulder is of such hugedimensions, that the earth beneath is kept dry, such earth will not beinhabited by worms, and the boulder will not sink into the ground. 

A lime-kiln formerly stood in a grass-field near Leith Hill Place, inSurrey, and was pulled down 35 years before my visit; all the looserubbish had been carted away, excepting three large stones ofquartzose sandstone, which it was thought might hereafter be of someuse. An old workman remembered that they had been left on a baresurface of broken bricks and mortar, close to the foundations of thekiln; but the whole surrounding surface is now covered with turf andmould. The two largest of these stones had never since been moved; norcould this easily have been done, as, when I had them removed, it wasthe work of two men with levers. One of these stones, and not thelargest, was 64 inches long, 17 inches broad, and from 9 to 10 inchesin thickness. Its lower surface was somewhat protuberant in themiddle; and this part still rested on broken bricks and mortar, showing the truth of the old workman's account. Beneath the brickrubbish the natural sandy soil, full of fragments of sandstone, wasfound; and this could have yielded very little, if at all, to theweight of the stone, as might have been expected if the sub-soil hadbeen clay. The surface of the field, for a distance of about 9 inchesround the stone, gradually sloped up to it, and close to the stonestood in most places about 4 inches above the surrounding ground. Thebase of the stone was buried from 1 to 2 inches beneath the generallevel, and the upper surface projected about 8 inches above thislevel, or about 4 inches above the sloping border of turf. After theremoval of the stone it became evident that one of its pointed endsmust at first have stood clear above the ground by some inches, butits upper surface was now on a level with the surrounding turf. Whenthe stone was removed, an exact cast of its lower side, forming ashallow crateriform hollow, was left, the inner surface of whichconsisted of fine, black mould, excepting where the more protuberantparts rested on the brick-rubbish. A transverse section of this stone, together with its bed, drawn from measurements made after it had beendisplaced, is here given on a scale of ½ inch to a foot (Fig.  2). Theturf-covered border which sloped up to the stone, consisted of finevegetable mould, in one part 7 inches in thickness. This evidentlyconsisted of worm-castings, several of which had been recentlyejected. The whole stone had sunk in the thirty-five years, as far asI could judge, about 1½ inch; and this must have been due to thebrick-rubbish beneath the more protuberant parts having beenundermined by worms. At this rate, the upper surface of the stone, ifit had been left undisturbed, would have sunk to the general level ofthe field in 247 years; but before this could have occurred, someearth would have been washed down by heavy rain from the castings onthe raised border of turf over the upper surface of the stone. 

[Illustration: FIG. 2. Transverse section across a large stone, which had lain on a grass-field for thirty-five years. _aa_, general level of the field. The underlying brick of rubbish has not been represented. ]

The second stone was larger than the one just described, viz. , 67 inches in length, 39 in breadth, and 15 in thickness. The lowersurface was nearly flat, so that the worms must soon have beencompelled to eject their castings beyond its circumference. The stoneas a whole had sunk about 2 inches into the ground. At this rate itwould have required 262 years for its upper surface to have sunk tothe general level of the field. The upwardly sloping, turf-coveredborder round the stone was broader than in the last case, viz. , from14 to 16 inches; and why this should be so, I could see no reason. Inmost parts this border was not so high as in the last case, viz. , from2 to 2½ inches, but in one place it was as much as 5½. Its averageheight close to the stone was probably about 3 inches, and it thinnedout to nothing. If so, a layer of fine earth, 15 inches in breadth and1½ inch in average thickness, of sufficient length to surround thewhole of the much elongated slab, must have been brought up by theworms in chief part from beneath the stone in the course of 35 years. This amount would be amply sufficient to account for its having sunkabout 2 inches into the ground; more especially if we bear in mindthat a good deal of the finest earth would have been washed by heavyrain from the castings ejected on the sloping border down to the levelof the field. Some fresh castings were seen close to the stone. Nevertheless, on digging a large hole to a depth of 18 inches wherethe stone had lain, only two worms and a few burrows were seen, although the soil was damp and seemed favorable for worms. There weresome large colonies of ants beneath the stone, and possibly sincetheir establishment the worms had decreased in number. 

The third stone was only about half as large as the others; and twostrong boys could together have rolled it over. I have no doubt thatit had been rolled over at a moderately recent time, for it now lay atsome distance from the two other stones at the bottom of a littleadjoining slope. It rested also on fine earth, instead of partly onbrick-rubbish. In agreement with this conclusion, the raisedsurrounding border of turf was only 1 inch high in some parts, and2 inches in other parts. There were no colonies of ants beneath thisstone, and on digging a hole where it had lain, several burrows andworms were found. 

At Stonehenge, some of the outer Druidical stones are now prostrate, having fallen at a remote but unknown period; and these have becomeburied to a moderate depth in the ground. They are surrounded bysloping borders of turf, on which recent castings were seen. Close toone of these fallen stones, which was 17 feet long, 6 feet broad, and28½ inches thick, a hole was dug; and here the vegetable mould was atleast 9½ inches in thickness. At this depth a flint was found, and alittle higher up on one side of the hole a fragment of glass. The baseof the stone lay about 9½ inches beneath the level of the surroundingground, and its upper surface 19 inches above the ground. 

A hole was also dug close to a second huge stone, which in falling hadbroken into two pieces; and this must have happened long ago, judgingfrom the weathered aspect of the fractured ends. The base was buriedto a depth of 10 inches, as was ascertained by driving an iron skewerhorizontally into the ground beneath it. The vegetable mould formingthe turf-covered sloping border round the stone, on which manycastings had recently been ejected, was 10 inches in thickness; andmost of this mould must have been brought up by worms from beneath itsbase. At a distance of 8 yards from the stone, the mould was only5½ inches in thickness (with a piece of tobacco pipe at a depth of4 inches), and this rested on broken flint and chalk which could nothave easily yielded to the pressure or weight of the stone. 

A straight rod was fixed horizontally (by the aid of a spirit-level)across a third fallen stone, which was 7 feet 9 inches long; and thecontour of the projecting parts and of the adjoining ground, which wasnot quite level, was thus ascertained, as shown in the accompanyingdiagram (Fig.  3) on a scale of ½ inch to a foot. The turf-coveredborder sloped up to the stone on one side to a height of 4 inches, andon the opposite side to only 2½ inches above the general level. A holewas dug on the eastern side, and the base of the stone was here foundto lie at a depth of 4 inches beneath the general level of theground, and of 8 inches beneath the top of the sloping turf-coveredborder. 

[Illustration: FIG. 3. Section through one of the fallen Druidical stones at Stonehenge, showing how much it had sunk into the ground. ]

Sufficient evidence has now been given showing that small objects lefton the surface of the land where worms abound soon get buried, andthat large stones sink slowly downwards through the same means. Everystep of the process could be followed, from the accidental depositionof a single casting on a small object lying loose on the surface, toits being entangled amidst the matted roots of the turf, and lastly toits being embedded in the mould at various depths beneath the surface. When the same field was re-examined after the interval of a few years, such objects were found at a greater depth than before. Thestraightness and regularity of the lines formed by the embeddedobjects, and their parallelism with the surface of the land, are themost striking features of the case; for this parallelism shows howequably the worms must have worked; the result being, partly theeffect of the washing down of the fresh castings by rain. The specificgravity of the objects does not affect their rate of sinking, as couldbe seen by porous cinders, burnt marl, chalk and quartz pebbles, having all sunk to the same depth within the same time. Consideringthe nature of the sub-stratum, which at Leith Hill Place was sandysoil including many bits of rock, and at Stonehenge, chalk-rubble withbroken flints; considering, also, the presence of the turf-coveredsloping border of mould round the great fragments of stone at boththese places, their sinking does not appear to have been sensiblyaided by their weight, though this was considerable. 

_On the number of worms which live within a given space. _--We willnow show, first, what a vast number of worms live unseen by us beneathour feet, and, secondly, the actual weight of the earth which theybring up to the surface within a given space and within a given time. Hensen, who has published so full and interesting an account of thehabits of worms, calculates, from the number which he found in ameasured space, that there must exist 133, 000 living worms in ahectare of land, or 53, 767 in an acre. This latter number of wormswould weigh 356 pounds, taking Hensen's standard of the weight of asingle worm, namely, one gram. It should, however, be noted that thiscalculation is founded on the numbers found in a garden, and Hensenbelieves that worms are here twice as numerous as in corn-fields. Theabove result, astonishing though it be, seems to me credible, judgingfrom the number of worms which I have sometimes seen, and from thenumber daily destroyed by birds without the species beingexterminated. Some barrels of bad ale were left on Mr. Miller's land, in the hope of making vinegar, but the vinegar proved bad, and thebarrels were upset. It should be premised that acetic acid is sodeadly a poison to worms that Perrier found that a glass rod dippedinto this acid and then into a considerable body of water in whichworms were immersed, invariably killed them quickly. On the morningafter the barrels had been upset, "the heaps of worms which lay deadon the ground were so amazing, that if Mr. Miller had not seen them, he could not have thought it possible for such numbers to have existedin the space. " As further evidence of the large number of worms whichlive in the ground Hensen states that he found in a garden 64 openburrows in a space of 14½ square feet, that is, 9 in 2 square feet. But the burrows are sometimes much more numerous, for when digging ina grass-field near Maer Hall, I found a cake of dry earth, as large asmy two open hands, which was penetrated by seven burrows, as large asgoose-quills. 

[Illustration]

TWO FOPS AMONG THE FISHES

(FROM GLEANINGS FROM NATURE. )[7]

BY W.  S. BLATCHLEY. 

[7] Copyright by W.  S. Blatchley, 1899. 

I. --THE RAINBOW DARTER. 

"Little fishy in the brook. "

[Illustration]

Not the one "daddy caught with a hook, " but another, too small for thehook, too small for the frying-pan, too small for aught else butbeauty, and gracefulness of form; and yet not the young of a largerfish, but full grown of himself. In every brook in the State he may befound, yea, even in the rill, no more than a foot in width, whichleads away from the old spring-house on the hillside. You will notfind him swimming about like the minnows in the still, deep water ofthe stream, but where the clear, cold water is rushing rapidly overthe stones of a ripple he makes his home. There he rests quietly onthe bottom, waiting patiently for his food, the larvæ or young ofgnats, mosquitoes, and other such insects, to float by. 

If you attempt to catch him, or your shadow suddenly frightens him, with a sweep of his broad pectoral or breast fins, he moves quickerthan a flash a few feet farther up the stream, and then as suddenlycomes to a stop, and resumes his quiet, "thoughtful" attitude. If youpersist in your attempt to capture him, he will dart under a smallstone or submerged leaf, where, like the foolish ostrich which whenpursued hides her head under her wing, no longer seeing you, he thinkshimself secure. 

[Illustration: RAINBOW DARTER. ]

On account of the shape of his body, as well as on account of hisrapid movements, he has received the surname "darter. " Belonging tothe group which bears this surname, there are, in the eastern half ofthe United States, about forty-seven species or kinds, the largest ofwhich, when full grown, measures only about six inches in length, while the smallest species never reaches a length of more than an inchand a half. They all have the same habits, and at least twenty-ninekinds of them are found in Indiana; but the one of which I am writingis much the more common. He is from two to two and a half inches inlength, and, like the other members of his family, has two fins on hisback; "dorsal" fins they are called by naturalists, the front one ofwhich contains ten short spines. During eight months of the year, themales and females dress alike in a suit of brownish olive which isstriped on the sides with ten or twelve narrow, black cross-bars, andmore or less blotched on the back with darker spots. But on the firstwarm days of spring, when the breezes blow up from the gulf, awakeningthe gypsy in our blood, the little male fish feels, too, theirinfluence, and in him there arises an irresistible desire to"a-courting go. " Like most other beings of his sex, he thinks hisevery-day suit too plain for the important business before him. Itwill, in his opinion, ne'er catch the eye of his lady love. So he donsone of gaudy colors and from it takes his name, --the rainbowdarter, --for in it he is best known, as it not only attracts theattention of his chosen one, but often also that of the wanderingnaturalist who happens along the stream. 

The blackish bars of other seasons are changed to indigo blue, whilethe space between them assumes a hue of the brightest orange. The finsare broadly edged with blue and have the bases orange, or orange andscarlet, while the cheeks assume the blue and the breast becomes anorange. Clad in this suit he ventures forth on his mission, and ifsuccessful, as he almost always is, the two construct a nest of tinystones in which the eggs of the mother-fish are laid and watched overwith jealous care by both parents until in time there issue forth sonsdestined some day to wear a coat of many colors, and "darters" to beattracted by those coats, as was their mother by the one their fatherwore. 

Although so abundant and so brilliant in the springtime, the rainbowdarter is known to few but naturalists. The fishes in which theaverage country boy is interested are the larger ones--such as thegoggle-eye, the sucker, chub, and sunfish--those which, when caught, will fill up the string and tickle the palate. 

But there are, let us hope, among our farmers' sons and daughters, some who are learning to take an interest in the objects of naturewhich are beautiful, as well as in those which are useful. To them Iwill say, if you wish to see something really pretty, make a seinefrom an old coffee sack or a piece of mosquito netting, and any day inspring drag two or three ripples of the branch which flows through thewood's pasture, and ten chances to one you will get some "rainbows. "By placing them in a fruit jar three-fourths full of clear, coldwater, and renewing the water every few hours, they can be kept forseveral days; but they cannot bear the confinement long, accustomed asthey are to the free running stream from which they were taken. 

By taking the rainbow as the type of the darter and studying closelyits habits, both in captivity and in the streams, much can be learnedabout a group which, in the words of Dr. S.  A. Forbes, "are themountaineers among fishes. Forced from the populous and fertilevalleys of the river beds and lake bottoms, they have taken refugefrom their enemies in the rocky highlands where the free waters playin ceaseless torrents, and there they have wrested from stubbornnature a meagre living. Although diminished in size by theircontinual struggle with the elements, they have developed an activityand hardihood, a vigor of life and a glow of high color almost unknownamong the easier livers of the lower lands. "

II. --THE LONG-EARED SUNFISH. 

Among the most brightly colored of all the fresh-water members of thefinny tribe is the long-eared sunfish. When full grown its length isabout eight inches and the breadth one-half as much. The color is thena brilliant blue and orange, the former predominating above; theorange on the sides in spots, the blue in wavy, vertical streaks. Thecheeks are orange with bright blue stripes; the fins with themembranes orange, and the rays blue. Extending back from the hindmargin of each cheek is a conspicuous blackish membrane termed an"ear-flap, " which in this species is longer than in any other of thesun-fish family, whence the specific name, _megalotis_, from two Greekwords meaning "great" and "ear. "

[Illustration: LONG-EARED SUNFISH. ]

Within the placid pools of the brooks and larger streams of the Statethis sunfish has its favorite haunts. Mid-summer is the time when itshabits can be best observed. On a recent August morn I sat for anhour or longer on the banks of a stream, which flows through a woodedblue-grass pasture, and watched the denizens of its waters. A peacefulcalm existed, the water being without a ripple and with scarce thesemblance of a flow--the air without the shadow of a breeze. Dragonflies lazily winged their way across the pool, now resting daintilyupon a blade of sedge or swamp grass, now dipping the tips of theirabdomens beneath the surface of the water while depositing their eggs. The only sounds of nature were the buzz of a bumble-bee feeding amongthe flowers of the _Brunella_ at my side, and an occasional drawl of adog-day locust from the branches of the sycamore which threw agrateful shade about me. 

The sunfish "hung motionless" in the water, their heads towards me, holding their position only by a slow flapping of their dorsal andpectoral fins. Their nesting time over, their season's labor ended, itwas with them, as with many other beings, a time of languor. 

These long-eared fishes are the lords and ladies of the respectivepools wherein they abide. When they move other smaller fry clear theway. If a worm or gnat, falling upon the surface, tempts them, it istheirs. A leaf falls near them and is seemingly unnoticed--a fly, andhow quickly their dormant energy is put into motion. With a dart and agulp the insect is swallowed, and a new stage of waiting expectancy isushered in. 

How admirably fitted their form for cleaving the water! They oftenseem to glide rather than propel themselves through its depths. Again, how swiftly the caudal fin moves when with straight unerring motionthey dart upon their prey. At times one turns his body sideways, and, with a slow, upward-gliding motion, moves toward some object on thesurface which is doubtfully "good to eat. " He even takes it into hismouth and then, not having faith in his power to properly digest it, ejects it with force, and turning quickly darts back to the friendlyshadow of a boulder beneath whose sides he has, in time of threateneddanger, a safe retreat. 

I throw a grasshopper into the pool. Like a flash six of the sunfishare after it. One reaches it a tenth of a second in advance of theothers, and with a lightning-like gulp, which disturbs the serenity ofthe surface of the pool, swallows the kicking prey. The energy of thesun's heat and light, stored in grass, transmitted to move muscles ingigantic leaps, will, in a short time, wag a caudal fin and propel theowner through these watery depths. 

Years are thus doubtless spent by these long-eared sunfish in a dreamysort of existence, their energies quickened by the vernal season andgrowing duller on the approach of winter. Excepting the times whenthey are tempted by a wriggling worm on some boy's hook, theirs is alife exempt from danger. A kingfisher glancing down from his perch onthe bent sycamore limb may, at times, discern them and lessen theirranks; but, methinks, the chub minnows, with fewer spines in theirdorsal fins, are more agreeable to the king-fisher's palate. With allthe tints of the rainbow gleaming from their sides they move to andfro, the brilliant rulers of these quiet pools. 

The king or monarch of those noted was most gorgeously arrayed. Inaddition to the hues above described, a streak of emerald bordered hisdorsal and caudal fins and was bent around the edge of his upperlip--a green mustache, as it were. By tolling them with occasionalbits of food I drew him and his retinue close into shore. There, forsome time they rested, watching eagerly for additional morsels. As Iwas leaving I plucked from my sleeve an ant and threw it towards them. A dart, a gurgle, a gulp--the leader had leaped half his length fromthe water, and the ant was forever gone. The ripples receded andfinally disappeared, and the last scene in this tragedy of nature wasat an end. 

[Illustration]

SEA-SLUGS AND CUTTLE-FISH

(FROM A JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES. )

BY CHARLES DARWIN. 

[Illustration: CUTTLE-FISH. ]

I was much interested, on several occasions, by watching the habits ofan Octopus, or cuttle-fish. Although common in the pools of water leftby the retiring tide, these animals were not easily caught. By meansof their long arms and suckers, they could drag their bodies into verynarrow crevices; and when thus fixed, it required great force toremove them. At other times they darted, tail first, with the rapidityof an arrow, from one side of the pool to the other, at the sameinstant discoloring the water with a dark chestnut-brown ink. Theseanimals also escape detection by a very extraordinary, chameleon-likepower of changing their color. They appear to vary their tintsaccording to the nature of the ground over which they pass: when indeep water, their general shade was brownish-purple, but when placedon the land, or in shallow water, this dark tint changed into one ofa yellowish green. The color, examined more carefully, was a Frenchgray, with numerous minute spots of bright yellow: the former of thesevaried in intensity; the latter entirely disappeared and appearedagain by turns. These changes were effected in such a manner, thatclouds, varying in tint between a hyacinth red and a chestnut brown, were continually passing over the body. Any part, being subjected to aslight shock of galvanism, became almost black: a similar effect, butin a less degree, was produced by scratching the skin with a needle. These clouds, or blushes as they may be called, are said to beproduced by the alternate contraction and expansion of minutevescicles containing variously colored fluids. 

This cuttle-fish displayed its chameleon-like power both during theact of swimming and whilst remaining stationary at the bottom. I wasmuch amused by the various arts to escape detection used by oneindividual, which seemed fully aware that I was watching it. Remainingfor a time motionless, it would then stealthily advance an inch ortwo, like a cat after a mouse; sometimes changing its color: it thusproceeded, till having gained a deeper part, it darted away, leaving adusky train of ink to hide the hole into which it had crawled. 

While looking for marine animals, with my head about two feet abovethe rocky shore, I was more than once saluted by a jet of water, accompanied by a slight grating noise. At first I could not think whatit was, but afterwards I found out that it was this cuttle-fish, which, though concealed in a hole, thus often led me to its discovery. That it possesses the power of ejecting water there is no doubt, andit appeared to me that it could certainly take good aim by directingthe tube or siphon on the upper side of its body. From the difficultywhich these animals have in carrying their heads, they cannot crawlwith ease when placed on the ground. I observed that one which I keptin the cabin was slightly phosphorescent in the dark. 

[Illustration]

THE COW-FISH

(FROM TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON. )

BY SIR ALFRED RUSSELL WALLACE. 

[Illustration: SKULL OF COW-FISH. ]

It was a female, about six feet long, and nearly five in circumferencein the thickest part. The body is perfectly smooth, and without anyprojections or inequalities, changing into a horizontal semicircularflat tail, with no appearance whatever of hind limbs. There is nodistinct neck; the head is not very large, and is terminated by alarge mouth and fleshy lips, somewhat resembling those of a cow. Thereare stiff bristles on the lips, and a few distantly scattered hairsover the body. Behind the head are two powerful oval fins, and justbeneath them are the breasts, from which, on pressure being applied, flows a stream of beautiful white milk. The ears are minute holes, andthe eyes very small. The color is a dusky lead, with some largepinkish-white marbled blotches on the belly. The skin is about an inchthick on the back, and a quarter of an inch on the belly. Beneath theskin is a layer of fat of a greater or less thickness, generally aboutan inch, which is boiled down to make an oil used for light and forcooking. The intestines are very voluminous, the heart about the sizeof a sheep's, and the lungs about two feet long, and six or seveninches wide, very cellular and spongy, and can be blown out like abladder. The skull is large and solid, with no front teeth; thevertebræ extend to the very tip of the tail, but show no rudiments ofposterior limbs; the fore limbs, on the contrary, are very highlydeveloped, the bones exactly corresponding to those of the human arm, having even the five fingers, with every joint distinct, yet enclosedin a stiff inflexible skin, where not a joint can have any motion. 

The cow-fish feeds on grass at the borders of the rivers and lakes, and swims quickly with the tail and paddles; and though the externalorgans of sight and hearing are so imperfect, these senses are said bythe hunters to be remarkably acute, and to render necessary all theircaution and skill to capture the animals. They bring forth one, orrarely two, young ones, which they clasp in their arms or paddleswhile giving suck. They are harpooned or caught in a strong net, atthe narrow entrance of a lake or stream. Each yields from five totwenty-five gallons of oil. The flesh is very good, being somethingbetween beef and pork, and this one furnished us with several meals, and was an agreeable change from our fish diet. 

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE COW FISH. ]

OLD RATTLER AND THE KING SNAKE[8]

BY DAVID STARR JORDAN. 

PRESIDENT OF LELAND STANFORD, JUNIOR, UNIVERSITY. 

[8] From _The Popular Science Monthly_ by permission. 

 "I only know thee humble, bold, Haughty, with miseries untold, And the old curse that left thee cold, And drove thee ever to the sun On blistering rocks . . . Thou whose fame Searchest the grass with tongue of flame, Making all creatures seem thy game, When the whole woods before thee run, Asked but--when all is said and done-- To lie, untrodden, in the sun!" --BRET HARTE. 

[Illustration]

Old Rattler was a snake, of course, and he lives in the King's RiverCañon, high up and down deep in the mountains of California. 

He had a hole behind and below a large, flat granite rock, not farfrom the river, and he called it his home; for in it he slept allnight and all winter, but when the sun came back in the spring andtook the frost out of the air and the rocks, then he crawled out tolie until he got warm. The stream was clear and swift in the cañon, the waterfalls sang in the side gulch of Roaring River, the windrustled in the long needles of the yellow pines, and the birds calledto their mates in the branches. But Old Rattler did not care for suchthings. He was just a snake, you know, and his neighbors did not thinkhim a good snake at that, for he was surly and silent, and his big, three-cornered, "coffin-shaped" head, set on a slim, flat neck, wasvery ugly to see. But when he opened his mouth he was uglier still, for in his upper jaw he had two long fangs, and each one was filledwith deadly poison. His vicious old head was covered with gray andwrinkled scales, and his black, beadlike eyes snapped when he openedhis mouth to find out whether his fangs were both in working order. 

Old Rattler was pretty stiff when he first came from his hole on themorning of this story. He had lain all night coiled up like a ropeamong the rocks, and his tail felt very cold. But the glad sun warmedthe cockles of his heart, and in an hour or two he became limber, andthis made him happy in his snaky fashion. But, being warm, he began tobe hungry, for it had been a whole month since he had eaten anything. When the first new moon of August came, his skin loosened everywhereand slipped down over his eyes like a veil, so that he could seenothing about him, and could not hunt for frogs by the river, nor forchipmunks among the trees. But with the new moon of September all thiswas over. The rusty brown old coat was changed for a new suit of grayand black, and the diamond-shaped checkers all over it were clean andshiny as a set of new clothes out to be. 

There was a little striped chipmunk running up and down the sugar-pinetree over his head, pursing his little mouth and throwing himself intopretty attitudes, as though he were the centre of an admiringaudience, and Old Rattler kept a steady eye on him. But he was in nohurry about it all. He must first get the kinks out of his neck, andthe cold cramps from his tail. There was an old curse on his family, so the other beasts had heard, that kept him always cold, and his tailwas the coldest part of all. So he shook it a little, just to showthat it was growing limber, and the bone clappers on the end rustledwith a sharp, angry noise. Fifteen rattles he had in all--fifteen anda button--and to have so many showed that he was no common member ofhis hated family. Then he shook his tail again, and more sharply. Thiswas to show all the world that he, Old Rattler, was wide awake, andwhoever stepped on him would better look out. Then all the big beastsand little beasts who heard the noise fled away just as fast as everthey could; and to run away was the best thing they could do, for whenOld Rattler struck one of them with his fangs all was over with him. So there were many in the cañon, beasts and birds and snakes too, whohated Old Rattler, but only a few dared face him. And one of these wasGlittershield, whom men call the King of Snakes, and in a minute Ishall tell you why. 

And when Old Rattler was doing all that I have said, the King Snakelay low on a bed of pine needles, behind a bunch of fern, and watchedhim with keen, sharp eye. The angry buzz of Rattler's tail, whichscared the chipmunks and the bullfrogs and all the rest of the beastfolk, was music for Glittershield. He was a snake, too, and snakesunderstand some things better than any of the rest of us. 

Glittershield was slim and wiry in his body, as long as Old Rattlerhimself, but not so large around. His coat was smooth and glossy, notrough and wrinkly like Old Rattler's, and his upraised head was smalland pretty--for a snake. He was the best dressed of all his kind, andhe looked his finest as he faced Old Rattler. His head was shinyblack, his throat and neck as white as milk while all down his body tothe end of his tail he was painted with rings, first white, thenblack, then crimson, and every ring was bright as if it had just beenfreshly polished that very day. 

So the King Snake passed the sheltering fern and came right up to OldRattler. Rattler opened his sleepy eyes, threw himself on guard with asnap and a buzz, and shook his bony clappers savagely. But the King ofSnakes was not afraid. Every snake has a weak spot somewhere, and thatis the place to strike him. If he hadn't a weak spot no one else couldlive about him, and then, perhaps he would starve to death at last. Ifhe had not some strong points, where no one could harm him, hecouldn't live himself. 

As the black crest rose, Old Rattler's tail grew cold, his headdropped, his mouth closed, he straightened out his coil, and staggeredhelplessly toward his hole. 

This was the chance for Glittershield. With a dash so swift that allthe rings on his body--red, white, and black--melted into one purpleflash, he seized Old Rattler by his throat. He carried no weapons, tobe sure. He had neither fangs nor venom. He won his victories byforce and dash, not by mean advantage. He was quick and strong, andhis little hooked teeth held like the claws of a hawk. Old Rattlerclosed his mouth because he couldn't help it, and the fangs he couldnot use were folded back against the roof of his jaw. 

The King Snake leaped forward, wound his body in a "love-knot" aroundOld Rattler's neck, took a "half-hitch" with his tail about thestomach, while the rest of his body lay in a curve like the letter Sbetween the two knots. Then all he had to do was to stiffen up hismuscles, and Old Rattler's backbone was snapped off at the neck. 

[Illustration: "HE SEIZED OLD RATTLER BY HIS THROAT. "]

All that remained to Glittershield was to swallow his enemy. First herubbed his lips all over the body, from the head to the tail, till itwas slippery with slime. Then he opened his mouth very wide, with ahuge snaky yawn, and face to face he began on Old Rattler. The uglyhead was hard to manage, but, after much straining, he clasped his jawsaround it, and the venom trickled down his throat like some fierysauce. Slowly head and neck and body disappeared, and the tailwriggled despairingly, for the tail of the snake folk can not dietill sundown, and when it went at last the fifteen rattles and thebutton were keeping up an angry buzz. And all night long the King ofSnakes, twice as big as he ought to be, lay gorged and motionless uponOld Rattler's rock. 

And in the morning the little chipmunk ran out on a limb above him, pursed up his lips, and made all kinds of faces, as much as to say, "Idid all this, and the whole world was watching while I did it. "

[Illustration: KING SNAKE. ]

THE STORY OF A STRANGE LAND

(FROM SCIENCE SKETCHES. )[9]

BY DAVID STARR JORDAN. 

PRESIDENT OF LELAND STANFORD, JUNIOR, UNIVERSITY. 

[9] Copyright, 1896, by A.  C. Mclurg & Co. 

 "In one strange land, And a long way from home, I heard a mighty rumbling, and I couldn't tell where. " --NEGRO MELODY. 

[Illustration]

It happened a long time ago, it may be fifty thousand years in roundnumbers, or it may have been twice as many, that a strange thingtook place in the heart of the Great Mountains. It was in the middleof the Pliocene epoch, a long, dull time that seemed as if it wouldnever come to an end. There was then on the east side of the GreatDivide a deep, rocky basin surrounded by high walls of granite gashedto the base by the wash of many streams. In this basin, we know nothow--for the records all are burned or buried--the crust of the earthwas broken, and a great outflow of melted larva surged up from below. This was no ordinary eruption, but a mighty outbreak of the earth'simprisoned forces. The steady stream of lava filled the whole mountainbasin and ran out over its sides, covering the country all around sodeeply that it has never been seen since. More than four thousandsquare miles of land lay buried under melted rock. No one can tell howdeep the lava is, for no one has ever seen the bottom. Within its bedare deep clefts whose ragged walls descend to the depth of twelvehundred feet, and yet give no glimpse of the granite below, while attheir side are mountains of lava whose crags tower a mile above thebottom of the ravines. 

[Illustration: "IT WOULD HISS AND BOIL HIGH IN THE AIR. "]

At last, after many years or centuries--time does not count for muchin these Tertiary days--the flow of melted lava ceased. Its surfacecooled, leaving a high, uneven plain, black and desolate, a hard, coldcrust over a fiery and smoldering interior. About the crater lay greatropes and rolls of the slowly hardening lava, looking like knots andtangles of gigantic reptiles of some horrible extinct sort. There wasneither grass nor trees, nor life of any sort. Nothing could grow inthe coarse, black stone. The rivers and brooks had long sincevanished in steam, the fishes were all dead, and the birds had flownaway. The whole region wore the aspect of the desolation of death. 

But to let land go to waste is no part of Mother Nature's plan. Soeven this far-off corner of her domain was made ready for settlement. In the winter she sifted snow on the cold black plain, and in thesummer the snow melted into a multitude of brooks and springs. Thebrooks gradually wore paths and furrows down the large bed, and thesands which they washed from one place they piled up in another. Thewinds blew the seeds of grasses about, and willows and aspens crept upthe mountain-sides. Then came the squirrels, scattering the nuts ofthe pine. Other seeds came too, in other ways, till at last the barrenhillside was no longer barren. 

The brooks ran over the surface of the crust undisturbed by the fireswithin, and were clear and cold as mountain brooks should be; but therain and melted snow will never all remain on the surface. Some of itfalls into cracks or joints or porous places in the rock, and fromthis come underground streams or springs. But in this region a streamcould not run long underground without coming in contact with the oldstill-burning fires. When a crust is formed over the lava, it coolsvery slowly. When the crust is a rod or two deep, the lava within isalmost as well protected as if it were at the center of the earth. 

Whenever the water came down into the fire, the hot rocks would befurious with indignation, and tearing the water to atoms they wouldthrow it back to the surface as steam. Then the explosive force of thesteam would in turn tear up the rocks, making still larger the holethrough which the water came. When the rocks were very hot, a littlewater upon them would make a terrible commotion like the shock of anearthquake. When much water came down, it would hiss and boil high inthe air, as it tried to break the cushion of steam which came betweenit and the lava. 

[Illustration: MOUTH OF GEYSER. ]

And all this went on in hundreds of places and maybe for thousands ofyears. The hot rocks glowed and sweltered in the ground, and the coldsnow-water crept after them closer and closer, while more and morevigorously the rocks resented the intrusion. Sometimes the water wouldgo down in a mass through a cleft, when it would be hurled bodily thevery way it came. At other times the water came down little by little, insinuating itself into many places at once. Then the hot rocks threwit back in many little honeycomb channels, and by the spreading ofthese channels the rocks were at last crumbled to pieces. The hardblack lava on the glass-like obsidian were changed to white kaolin assoft and powdery as chalk. And as the water fought its way, gaining alittle every year, steadily working between the joints in the enemy'sarmor and as surely being thrown back with violence if it penetratedtoo far, the animals and the plants followed in the wake of thewater, and took possession of the territory as fast as it was won. 

At last the Pliocene times were over, for all times come to an end. The one sure thing on the earth is the certainty of change. With thechange of time came on the earth's great winter. The snow-drifts onthe lava were piled up mountain-high. Snow is but ice gathered inlittle fragments which will grow solid under pressure. As the snowaccumulated it began to move, forming great rivers of ice which randown the courses of the stream. And as these slowly moving, giganticice-rivers tore away huge blocks of lava and pushed them down themountain-sides, where the rocks had been softened by the action ofsteam, the ice wore out deep valleys, and everything that it touchedwas smoothed and polished. The winter of the great Ice age lasted avery long time, many thousands of years; but, long as it was and longago, it came at last to an end--not to a full stop, of course, foreven now, some of its snow still lingers on the highest peaks thatsurround the lava-beds. 

[Illustration: "CUTTING DEEP GORGES OR CAÑONS. "]

Then the winters grew shorter and the summers longer. The south windsblew and the ice melted away, first from the plain and then from themountains. The water ran down the sides of the lava-bed, cutting deepgorges or canons, so deep that the sun can hardly see the bottom. Andinto the joints and clefts of the rocks more and more water went, tobe hurled back with greater and greater violence, for all the watersof all the snow cannot put out a mile deep of fire. 

In the old depressions where the ice had chiselled away the softerrocks, there were formed lakes of the standing water, and one of thesewas more than thirty miles long, winding in and out among themountain-ridges. In the lake bottom the water soaked through down tothe hot lava below, from which it was thrown boiling back to thesurface again, fountains of scalding water in the icy lake. 

The cold Ice age has killed all the plants in the region; and it haddriven off the animals that could be driven, and had then buried therest. But when the snow was gone the creatures all came back again. Grass and meadow-flowers of a hundred kinds came up from the valleysbelow. The willow and the aspen took their place again by thebrook-side, and the red fir and the mountain pine covered the hillswith their sombre green. The birds came back. The wild goose swam andscreamed, and the winter wren caroled his bright song--loudest whenthere seemed least cause for rejoicing. The beaver cut his timber andpatiently worked at his dams. The thriftless porcupine destroyed atree for every morning meal. The gray jay, the "camp robber, " followedthe Indians about in hope that some forgotten piece of meat or ofboiled root might fall to his share; while the buffalo, the bear, andthe elk each carried on his affairs in his own way, as did a host oflesser animals, all of whom rejoiced when this snow-bound region wasat last opened for settlement. Time went on. The water and the firewere every day in mortal struggle, and always when the water wasthrown back repulsed, it renewed the contest as vigorously as before. The fire retreated, leaving great stretches of land to its enemy, thatit might concentrate its strength where its strength was greatest. Andthe water steadily gained, for the great ocean ever lay behind it. Sofor century after century they wrestled with each other, the water, the fire, the snow, the animals and the plants. But the fishes who hadonce lived in the mountain torrents were no longer there. They hadbeen boiled and frozen, and in one way or another destroyed or drivenaway. Now they could not get back. Every stream had its cañon, and ineach cañon was a waterfall so high that no trout could leap up. Although they used to try it every day, not one ever succeeded. 

[Illustration: "AND IN EACH CAÑON WAS A WATERFALL. "]

So it went on. A great many things happened in other parts of theworld. America had been discovered and the colonies were feeling theirway toward the Pacific Ocean. And in the vanguard was the famousexpedition of Lewis and Clarke, which went overland to the mouth ofthe river Columbia. John Colter was a hunter in this expedition, andby some chance he went across the mountains on the old trail of theNez Percès Indians which leads across the Divide from the Missouriwaters to those of the Columbia. When he came back from the Nez Percèstrail he told most wonderful tales of what he had seen at the head ofthe Missouri. There were cataracts of scalding water which shotstraight up into the air; there were blue ponds hot enough to boilfish; there were springs that came up snorting and steaming, and whichwould turn trees into stone; the woods were full of holes from whichissued streams of sulphur; there were canons of untold depth withwalls of ashes full of holes which let off steam like a locomotive, and there were springs which looked peaceful enough, but which attimes, would burst like a bomb. 

In short, every one laughed at Colter and his yarns, and this placewhere all lies were true was familiarly known as "Colter's Hell. " Butfor once John Colter told the truth, and the truth could not easily beexaggerated. But no one believed him. When others who afterwardsfollowed him over the Nez Percès trail told the same stories, peoplesaid they had been up to "Colter's Hell" and had learned to lie. 

But, as time passed, other men told what they had seen, until, in1870, a sort of official survey was made under the lead of Washburneand Doane. This party got the general bearings of the region, namedmany of the mountains, and found so much of interest that the nextyear Dr. Hayden, the United States Geologist, sent out a party forsystematic exploration. The Hayden party came up from Colorado onhorseback, through dense and tangled forests, across mountaintorrents, and other craggy peaks. The story of this expedition hasbeen most charmingly told by its youngest member, another JohnCoulter. Professor Coulter was the botanist of the survey, and he wonthe first of his many laurels on this expedition. In 1872, acting onHayden's report, Congress took the matter in hand and set apart thiswhole region as a "public park or pleasuring ground for the benefitand enjoyment of the people, " and such it remains to this day. 

But, while only of late this region has had a public history, thelong-forgotten years between the Glacial period and the expedition ofLewis and Clarke were not without interest in the history of thetrout. For all these years the fishes have been trying to mount thewaterfalls in order to ascend to the plateau above. Year after year, as the spawning-time came on, they leaped against the falls of theGardiner, the Gibbon, and the Firehole Rivers, but only to fall backimpotent in the pools at their bases. But the mightiest cataract ofall, the great falls of the Yellowstone, they finally conquered, andin this way it was done: not by the trout of the Yellowstone River, but by their brothers on the other side of the Divide. These followedup the Columbia to the head-waters of the Snake River, its greattributary, past the beautiful Heart Lake, and then on to the streamnow called Pacific Creek, which rises on the very crest of theDivide. In the space between this stream, which flows west to helpform the Snake River, and a smaller stream now called Atlantic Creek, flowing down the east slope of the Divide, the great chain of theRocky Mountains shrinks to a narrow plateau of damp meadow, not afourth of a mile in width; and some years, when the snows are heavyand melt late in the spring, this whole region is covered withstanding water. The trout had bided their time until they found it so, and now they were ready for action. Before the water was drained theyhad crossed the Divide and were descending on the Atlantic side towardthe Yellowstone Lake. As the days went by, this colony of bold troutspirits grew and multiplied and filled the waters of the great clearlake, where their descendants remain to this day. And no otherfishes--not the chub, nor the sucker, nor the white-fish, nor theminnow, nor the blob--had ever climbed Pacific Creek. None of themwere able to follow where the trout had gone, and none of them haveever been seen in the Yellowstone Lake. What the trout had done inthis lake--their victories and defeats, their struggles with the bearsand pelicans, and with the terrible worm, joint enemy of trout andpelicans alike--must be left for another story. 

[Illustration: TROUT. ]

So the trout climbed the Yellowstone Falls by way of the backstaircase. For all we know, they have gone down it on the other side. And in a similar way, by stealing over from Blacktail Deer Creek, theyovercame the Undine Falls in Lava Creek and passed its steep obsidianwalls, which not all the fishes in the world could climb. 

In the Gibbon River the cataracts have proved to the trout animpassible barrier; but, strangely enough, its despised associate, thesluggish, chunky blob, the little soft-bodied, smooth, blacktadpole-like fellow, with twinkling eyes and a voracious appetite--afish who cannot leap at all--has crossed this barrier. Hundreds ofblob live under the stones in the upper reaches of the stream, theonly fish in the Gibbon waters. There he is, and it is a standingpuzzle even to himself to know how he got there. We might imagine, perhaps, that some far-off ancestor, some ancient Queen of the Blobs, was seized by an osprey and carried away in the air. Perhaps an eaglewas watching and forced the osprey to give up its prey. Perhaps in thestruggle the blob escaped, falling into the river above the falls, toform the beginning of the future colony. At any rate, there is thegreat impassable waterfall, the blob above it and below. The ospreyhas its nest on a broken pine tree, above the cataract, and its tyrantmaster, the bald eagle, watches it from a still higher crag wheneverit goes fishing. 

Two years ago the Hon. Marshall McDonald, whose duty as United StatesFish Commissioner it is to look after the fishes wherever they may be, sent me to this country to see what could be done for his wards. Itwas a proud day when I set out from Mammoth Hot Springs astride ablack cayuse, or Indian pony, which answered to the name of Jump, followed by a long train of sixteen other cayuses of every variety ofcolor and character, the most notable of all being a white pony calledTinker. At some remote and unidentified period of her life she hadbucked and killed a tradesman who bestrode her against her will, andthereby, as in the old Norse legends, she has inherited his strength, his wickedness, and his name. And when, after many adventures, I cameback from this strange land and told the story of its fishes other menwere sent out from Washington with nets and buckets. They gathered upthe trout and carried them to the rivers above the falls, and now allthe brooks and pools of the old lava-bed, the fairest streams in theworld, are full of their natural inhabitants. 

[Illustration]

THE COLORS OF ANIMALS

(FROM CHAPTERS IN POPULAR NATURAL HISTORY. )

BY SIR JOHN LUBBOCK, BART. , M. P. , F. B. S. , ETC. 

[Illustration]

The color of animals is by no means a matter of chance; it depends onmany considerations, but in the majority of cases tends to protect theanimal from danger by rendering it less conspicuous. Perhaps it may besaid that if coloring is mainly protective, there ought to be but fewbrightly colored animals. There are, however, not a few cases in whichvivid colors are themselves protective. The kingfisher itself, thoughso brightly colored, is by no means easy to see. The blue harmonizeswith the water, and the bird as it darts along the stream looks almostlike a flash of sunlight; besides which, protection is not the onlyconsideration. Let us now consider the prevalent colors of animals andsee how far they support the rule. 

Desert animals are generally the color of the desert. Thus, forinstance, the lion, the antelope, and the wild ass are allsand-colored. "Indeed, " says Canon Tristram, "in the desert, whereneither trees, brushwood, nor even undulation of the surface affordthe slightest protection to its foes, a modification of color whichshall be assimilated to that of the surrounding country is absolutelynecessary. Hence, without exception, the upper plumage of every bird, whether lark, chat, sylvain, or sand grouse, and also the fur of allthe smaller mammals and the skin of all the snakes and lizards, is ofone uniform sand color. "

It is interesting to note that, while the lion is sand-colored likethe desert, the long, upright, yellow stripes of the tiger make itvery difficult to see the animal among the long dry grasses of theIndian jungles in which it lives. The leopard, again, and other treecats are generally marked with spots which resemble gleams of lightglancing through the leaves. 

The colors of birds are in many cases perhaps connected with theposition and mode of construction of their nests. Thus, we know thathen birds are generally less brightly colored than the cocks, and thisis partly, perhaps, because bright colors would be a danger to thehens while sitting on their eggs. When the nest is placed undergroundor in the hole of a tree, etc. , we find it no longer to be such aninvariable rule that the hen bird is dull-colored; but, on thecontrary, she is then often as gaily colored as the male. Such, forinstance, is the case with the hen kingfisher, which is one of thebrightest of British birds and one of the very few which make theirnests underground; the hen woodpecker, which is also gaily colored andbuilds in hollow trees, forms a second instance. 

In the few cases where the hens are as conspicuously colored as thecocks, and yet the nest is open to view, we generally find that thehens are strong, pugnacious birds, and well able to defend themselves. There are even instances, though these are comparatively rare, inwhich the hens are more brilliantly colored than the cocks; and it isan interesting fact that it is then the cocks, and not the hens, whichhatch the eggs. 

It therefore seems to be a rule, with very few exceptions, that whenboth the cocks and hens are of strikingly gay or conspicuous colors, the nest is such as to conceal the sitting bird; while, whenever thereis a striking contrast of colors, the nest is open and the sittingbird exposed to view. 

Again, most fishes are dark above and pale below. This points to thesame fact, for when one looks down into the dark water, the dark colorof their backs renders them the less easy to distinguish; while, to anenemy looking up from below, the pale belly would be less conspicuousagainst the light of the sky. Those fishes which live deep down in thedepths of the ocean present no such contrast between the upper andunder surface. Many of the smaller animals which live in the sea areas transparent as glass, and are consequently very difficult todistinguish. 

It is sometimes said that if animals were really colored withreference to concealment, sheep would be green, like grass. This, however, is quite a mistake. If they were green they would really bemore easy to see. In the gray of the morning and the evening twilight, just the time when wild animals generally feed, gray and stone colorsare most difficult to distinguish. Sheep were originally mountainanimals, and every one who has ever been on a mountain-side knows howdifficult it is to distinguish a sheep, at some distance, from a massof stone or rock. 

It is, again, a great advantage to the rabbit and hare to be coloredlike earth; black or white rabbits are more easy to see, andconsequently more likely to be killed. This, however, does not applyto those which are kept in captivity, and we know that tame rabbitsare often black and white. Again, in the far north, where for monthstogether the ground is covered with snow, the white color, which wouldbe a danger here, becomes an advantage; and many Arctic animals, likethe polar bear and polar hare, are white, while others, such as themountain hare and ptarmigan, change their color, being brown in summerand white in winter. So are the Arctic fox and the ermine, to whom itis then an advantage to be white, not to avoid danger, but in orderthat they may be the more easily able to steal unperceived upon theirprey. 

Many of the cases in which certain insects escape danger by theirsimilarity to plants are well known; the leaf insect and thewalking-stick insect are familiar and most remarkable cases. The larvæof insects afford, also, many interesting examples, and in otherrespects teach us, indeed, many instructive lessons. It would be agreat mistake to regard them as merely preparatory stages in thedevelopment of the perfect insect. They are much more than this, forexternal circumstances act on the larvæ, as well as on the perfectinsect: both, therefore, are liable to adaptation. In fact, themodifications which insect larvæ undergo may be divided into twokinds--developmental, or those which tend to approximation to themature form; and adaptational or adaptive, those which tend to suitthem to their own mode of life. 

It is a remarkable fact, that the forms of larvæ do not depend onthose of the mature insect. In many cases, for instance, very similarlarvæ produce extremely dissimilar insects. In other cases, similar, or comparatively similar, perfect insects have very dissimilar larvæ. Indeed, a classification of insects founded on larva would be quitedifferent from that founded on the perfect insects. The group to whichthe bees, wasps, and ants belong, for instance, and which, so far asthe perfect insects are concerned, form a very natural division, wouldbe divided into two; or rather one portion of them--namely, thesaw-flies--would be united to the butterflies and moths. Now, why dothe larvæ of saw-flies differ from those of their allies, and resemblethose of butterflies and moths? It is because their habits differ fromthose of ants and bees, and they feed on leaves like ordinarycaterpillars. 

In some cases the form changes considerably during the larval state. From this point of view, the transformations of a small beetle, called_Sitaris_, which have been carefully observed by M. Fabre, arepeculiarly interesting. 

The genus Sitaris, which is allied to the blister-fly and to theoil-beetle, is parasitic on a kind of solitary bee which excavatessubterranean galleries, each leading to a cell. The eggs of thebeetle, which are deposited at the entrance of the galleries made bythe bees, are hatched at the end of September or beginning ofOctober, and we might not unnaturally expect that the young larvæ, which are active little creatures with six serviceable legs, would atonce eat their way into the cells of the bee. No such thing: till themonth of April following they remain without leaving their birthplace, and consequently without food; nor do they in this long time changeeither in form or size. M. Fabre ascertained this, not only byexamining the burrow of the bees, but also by direct observations ofsome young larvæ kept in captivity. In April, however, his captives atlast awoke from their long lethargy, and hurried anxiously about theirprisons. Naturally inferring that they were in search of food, M. Fabre supposed that this would consist either of the larvæ or pupæ ofthe bee, or of the honey with which it stores its cell. All three weretried without success. The first two were neglected; and the larvæ, when placed on the latter, either hurried away or perished in theattempt, being evidently unable to deal with the sticky substance. M. Fabre was in despair. The first ray of light came to him from ourcountryman Newport, who ascertained that a small parasite found on oneof the wild bees was, in fact, the larva of the oil-beetle. The larvæof Sitaris much resembled this larva. Acting on this hint, M. Fabreexamined many specimens of the bee, and found on them at last thelarvæ of his Sitaris. The males of the bee emerge from the pupæ soonerthan the females, and M. Fabre ascertained that, as they come out oftheir galleries, the little Sitaris larvæ fasten upon them. Not, however, for long: instinct teaches them that they are not yet in thestraight path of development; and, watching their opportunity, theypass from the male to the female bee. Guided by these indications, M. Fabre examined several cells of the bee; in some, the egg of the beefloated by itself on the surface of the honey; in others, on the egg, as on a raft, sat the still more minute larva of the Sitaris. Themystery was solved. At the moment when the egg is laid, the Sitarislarva springs upon it. Even while the poor mother is carefullyfastening up her cell, her mortal enemy is beginning to devour heroffspring; for the egg of the bee serves not only as a raft, but as arepast. The honey, which is enough for either, would be too little forboth; and the Sitaris, therefore, at its first meal, relieves itselffrom its only rival. After eight days the egg is consumed, and on theempty shell the Sitaris undergoes its first transformation, and makesits appearance in a very different form. 

The honey, which was fatal before, is now necessary--the activity, which before was necessary, is now useless; consequently, with thechange of skin, the active, slim larva changes into a white fleshygrub, so organized as to float on the surface of the honey, with themouth beneath and the breathing-holes above the surface; for insectsbreathe, not as we do through the mouth, but through a row of holesarranged along the side. In this state it remains until the honey isconsumed; then the animal contracts, and detaches itself from itsskin, within which the further transformations take place. In the nextstage the larva has a solid corneous envelope and an oval shape, and, in its color, consistency, and immobility, resembles the chrysalis ofa fly. The time passed in this condition varies much. When it haselapsed, the animal moults again, again changes its form; after this, it becomes a pupa, without any remarkable peculiarities. Finally, after these wonderful changes and adventures, in the month of Augustthe perfect beetle makes its appearance. 

[Illustration: FIG. 1. THE CATERPILLAR OF THE MARBLED WHITE BUTTERFLY(_Arge galathea_). ]

In fact, whenever in any group we find differences in form or color, we shall always find them associated with differences in habit. Let ustake the case of Caterpillars. The prevailing color of caterpillars isgreen, like that of leaves. The value of this to the young insect, theprotection it affords, are obvious. We must all have observed howdifficult it is to distinguish small green caterpillars from theleaves on which they feed. When, however, they become somewhat larger, their form betrays them, and it is important that there should becertain marks to divert the eye from the outlines of the body. This iseffected, and much protection is given, by longitudinal lines (Fig.  1), which accordingly are found on a great many caterpillars. Theselines, both in color and thickness, much resemble some of the lines onleaves (those, for instance, of grasses), and also the streaks ofshadow which occur among foliage. If this be the explanation of them, then they ought to be wanting, as a general rule, in very smallcaterpillars, and should prevail most among those which feed on oramong grasses. 

[Illustration: FIG. 2. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE EYED HAWK-MOTH(_Smerinthus ocellatus_). ]

Now, similar lines occur on a great number of caterpillars belongingto most different groups of butterflies and moths, as you may see byturning over the illustrations of any monograph of the group. Theyexist among the Hawk-moths--as, for instance, in the Humming-birdHawk-moth; they occur in many butterflies, especially in those whichfeed on grass; and in many moths. But you will find that the smallestcaterpillars rarely possess these white streaks. As regards the secondpoint, also, the streaks are generally wanting in caterpillars whichfeed on large-leaved plants. The _Satyridæ_, on the contrary, allpossess them, and all live on grass. In fact we may say, as a generalrule, that these longitudinal streaks only occur on caterpillars whichlive on or among narrow-leaved plants. As the insect grows, theselines often disappear on certain segments, and are replaced bydiagonal lines. These diagonal lines (Fig.  2) occur in a great manycaterpillars, belonging to the most distinct families of butterfliesand moths. They come off just at the same angle as the ribs of leaves, and resemble them very much in general effect. They occur alsoespecially on species which feed on large-leaved plants; and I believeI may say that though a great many species of caterpillars presentthese lines, they rarely, if ever, occur in species which live ongrass; while, on the contrary, they are very frequent in thosespecies which live on large-leaved plants. 

It might at first be objected to this view that there are many cases, as in the Elephant-Hawk-moth, in which caterpillars have both. Alittle consideration, however, will explain this. In smallcaterpillars these oblique lines would be useless, because they musthave some relation, not only in color, but in their distance apart, tothe ribs of the leaves. Hence, while there are a great many specieswhich have, longitudinal lines when young, and diagonal ones when theyare older and larger, there is not, I believe, a single one whichbegins with diagonal lines, and then replaces them with longitudinalones. The disappearance of the longitudinal lines on those segmentswhich have diagonal ones, is striking, where the lines are marked. Itis an advantage, because white lines crossing one another at such anangle have no relation to anything which occurs in plants, and wouldmake the creature more conspicuous. When, therefore, the diagonallines are developed, the longitudinal ones often disappear. There isone other point in connection with these diagonal lines to which Imust call your attention. 

In many species they are white, but in some cases--as, for instance, in the beautiful green caterpillar of the Privet-Hawk-moth--the whitestreak is accompanied by a colored one, in that case lilac. At firstwe might think that this would be a disadvantage, as tending to makethe caterpillar more conspicuous; and in fact, if we put one in fullview--for instance, out on a table--and focus the eye on it, thecolored lines are very striking. But we must remember that the habitof the insect is to sit on the lower side of the leaf, generally nearthe middle rib, and in the subdued light of such a situation, especially if the eye be not looking exactly at them, the coloredlines beautifully simulate a line of soft shadow, such as must alwaysaccompany a strong rib; and I need not tell any artist that theshadows of yellowish-green must be purplish. Moreover, any one who hasever found one of these large caterpillars will, I am sure, agree withme that it is surprising, when we consider their size and conspicuouscoloring, how difficult it is to see them. 

But though the prevailing color of caterpillars is green, there arenumerous exceptions. In one great family of moths the prevailing coloris brown. These caterpillars, however, escape observation by theirgreat similarity to brown twigs--a resemblance which is heightened bytheir peculiar attitudes, and in many cases by the existence of wartsor protuberances, which look like buds. Some, however, even of thesecaterpillars, when very young, are green. Again, some caterpillars arewhite. These feed on and burrow in wood. The Ringlet Butterfly alsohas whitish caterpillars, and this may at first sight appear tocontradict the rule, since it feeds on grass. Its habit is, however, to keep at the roots by day, and feed only at night. 

In various genera we find Black caterpillars, which are of course veryconspicuous, and, so far as I know, not distasteful to birds. In suchcases, however, it will be found that they are covered with hairs orspines, which protect them from most birds. In these species the bolddark color may be an advantage, by rendering the hair moreconspicuous. Many caterpillars are black and hairy, but I do not knowany large caterpillar which is black and smooth. 

Brown caterpillars, also, are frequently protected by hairs or spinesin the same way; but, unlike black ones, they are frequently naked. These fall into two principal categories: firstly, those which, likethe Geometridæ, put themselves into peculiar and stiff attitudes, sothat in form, color, and position they closely resemble bits of drystick; and, secondly, those which feed on low plants, concealingthemselves on the ground by day, and only coming out in the dark. 

Yellow and yellowish-green caterpillars are abundant, and their coloris a protection. Red and blue, on the contrary, are much less commoncolors, and are generally present as spots. 

Moreover, caterpillars with red lines or spots are generally hairy, and this for the reason given above. Such species, therefore, would beavoided by birds. There are, no doubt, some apparent exceptions. TheSwallow-tail Butterfly, for instance, has red spots and still issmooth; but as it emits a strongly-scented liquid when alarmed, it isprobably distasteful to birds. I cannot recall any other case of aBritish caterpillar which has conspicuous red spots or lines, and yetis smooth. 

Blue is, among caterpillars, even a rarer color than red. Indeed, among our larger larvæ, the only cases I can recall are the Lappets, which have two conspicuous blue bands, the Death's-head Moth, whichhas broad diagonal bands, and two of the Hawk-moths, which have twobright blue oval patches on the third segment. The Lappets areprotected by being hairy, but why they have the blue bands I have noidea. It is interesting, that both the other species frequent plantswhich have blue flowers. The peculiar hues of the Death's-headcaterpillar, which feeds on the potato, unite so beautifully the brownof the earth, the yellow and green of the leaves, and the blue of theflowers, that, in spite of its size, it can scarcely be perceivedunless the eye be focussed exactly upon it. 

The Oleander Hawk-moth is also an interesting case. Many of theHawk-moth caterpillars have eye-like spots, to which I shall have toallude again presently. These are generally reddish or yellowish, butin this species, which feeds on the periwinkle, they are bright blue, and in form as well as color closely resemble the blue petals of thatflower. One other species, the Sharp-winged Hawk-moth, also has twosmaller blue spots, with reference to which I can make no suggestion. It is a very rare species, and I have never seen it. Possibly, in thiscase, the blue spots may be an inherited character, and have noreference to the present habits. They are, at any rate, quite small. 

No one who looks at any representations of Hawk-moth caterpillars canfail to be struck by the peculiar coloring of those belonging to thePine Moth, which differ in style of coloring from all other sphinxlarvæ, having longitudinal bands of brown and green. Why is this?Their _habitat_ is different. They feed on the leaves of the pinaster, and their peculiar coloring offers a general similarity to the browntwigs and narrow green leaves of a conifer. There are not many speciesof butterflies or moths which feed on the pine, but there are a few:and most, if not all of them, have a very analogous style of coloringto that of the Pine Moth, while the latter has also tufts ofbluish-green hair which singularly mimic the leaves of the pine. It isstill more remarkable that in a different order of insects we againfind species--for instance one of the saw-flies--which live on thepine, and in which the same style of coloring is repeated. 

Let us now take a single group, and see how far we can explain itsvarious colors and markings, and what are the lessons which they teachus. For this purpose, I think I cannot do better than select the larvæof the Hawk-moths, which have just been the subject of a masterly workby Dr. Weissmann, from which most of the following facts are taken. 

The caterpillars of this group are very different in color--green, white, yellow, brown, sometimes even gaudy, varied with spots, patches, streaks, and lines. Now, are these differences merely casualand accidental, or have they a meaning and a purpose? In many, perhapsin most cases, the markings serve for the purpose of concealment. When, indeed, we see caterpillars represented on a white sheet ofpaper, or if we put them on a plain table, and focus the eye on them, the colors and markings would seem, if possible, to render them evenmore conspicuous; but amongst the intricate lines and varied colors offoliage and flowers, and if the insect be a little out of focus, theeffect is very different. 

[Illustration: FIG. 3. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE ELEPHANT HAWK-MOTH(_Chærocampa elpenor_). Full grown. Natural size. ]

[Illustration: FIG. 4. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE ELEPHANT HAWK-MOTH(_Chærocampa elpenor_). First stage. ]

Let us begin with the Elephant Hawk-moth. The caterpillars (Fig.  3), as represented in most entomological works, are of two varieties, mostof them brown, but some green. Both have a white line on the threefirst segments; two remarkable eye-like spots on the fourth and fifth, and a very faint median line; and are rather more than four incheslong. I will direct your attention specially, for the moment, to threepoints:--What do the eye-spots and the faint lateral line mean? andwhy are some green and some brown, offering thus such a markedcontrast to the leaves of the small epilobe on which they feed? Otherquestions will suggest themselves later. I must now call yourattention to the fact, that when the caterpillars first quit the egg, and come into the world (Fig.  4), they are quite different inappearance, being, like so many other small caterpillars, brightgreen, and almost exactly the color of the leaves on which they feed. That this color is not the necessary or direct consequence of thefood, we see from the case of quadrupeds, which, as I need scarcelysay, are never green. It is, however, so obviously a protection tosmall caterpillars, that this explanation of their green colorsuggests itself to every one. 

[Illustration: FIG. 5. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE ELEPHANT HAWK-MOTH(_Chærocampa elpenor_). Second Stage. ]

[Illustration: FIG. 6. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE ELEPHANT HAWK-MOTH(_Chærocampa elpenor_). Just before the second moult. ]

[Illustration: FIG. 7. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE ELEPHANT HAWK-MOTH(_Chærocampa elpenor_). Third Stage. ]

After five or six days, and when they are about a quarter of an inchin length, they go through their first moult. In their second stage(Fig.  5), they have two white lines, stretching along the body fromthe horn to the head; and after a few days (Fig.  6), but not at first, traces of the eye-spots appear on the fourth and fifth segments, shownby a slight wave in the upper line. After another five or six days, and when about half an inch in length, our caterpillars moult again. In their third stage (Fig.  7), the commencement of the eye-spots ismore marked, while, on the contrary, the lower longitudinal line hasdisappeared. After another moult (Fig.  8), the eye-spots are stillmore distinct, the white gradually becomes surrounded by a black line, while in the next stage (Fig.  9) the centre becomes somewhat violet. The white lines have almost or entirely disappeared, and in somespecimens faint diagonal lines make their appearance. Some few assumea brownish tint, but not many. A fourth moult takes place in seven oreight days, and when the caterpillars are about an inch and a half inlength. Now, the difference shows itself still more between the twovarieties, some remaining green, while the majority become brown. Theeye-spots are more marked, and the pupil more distinct, the diagonallines plainer, while the white line is only indicated on the firstthree, and on the eleventh segment. The last stage (Fig.  9) has beenalready described. 

[Illustration: FIG. 8. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE ELEPHANT HAWK-MOTH(_Chærocampa elpenor_). Fourth Stage. ]

Now, the principal points to which I wish to draw attention are (1)the green color, (2) the longitudinal lines, (3) the diagonal lines, (4) the brown color, and (5) the eye-spots. 

[Illustration: FIG. 9. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE ELEPHANT HAWK-MOTH(_Chærocampa elpenor_). Fifth Stage. ]

As regards the first three, however, I think I need say no more. Thevalue of the green color to the young larva is obvious; nor is it muchless clear that when the insect is somewhat larger, the longitudinallines are a great advantage, while subsequently diagonal ones becomeeven more important. 

The next point is the color of the mature caterpillars. We have seenthat some are green, and others brown. The green ones are obviouslymerely those which have retained their original color. Now for thebrown color. This probably makes the caterpillar even more conspicuousamong the green leaves than would otherwise be the case. Let us see, then, whether the habits of the insect will throw any light upon theriddle. What would you do if you were a big caterpillar? Why, likemost other defenceless creatures, you would feed by night, and lieconcealed by day. So do these caterpillars. When the morning lightcomes, they creep down the stem of the food plant, and lie concealedamong the thick herbage, and dry sticks and leaves, near the ground;and it is obvious that under such circumstances the brown color reallybecomes a protection. It might indeed be argued that the caterpillars, having become brown, concealed themselves on the ground; and that wewere, in fact, reversing the state of things. But this is not so;because, while we may say, as a general rule, that (with someexceptions due to obvious causes) large caterpillars feed by night andlie concealed by day, it is by no means always the case that they arebrown; some of them still retaining the green color. We may thenconclude that the habit of concealing themselves by day came first, and that the brown color is a later adaptation. It is, moreover, interesting to note that while the caterpillars which live on lowplants often go down to the ground and turn brown, those which feed onlarge trees or plants remain on the under side of the leaves, andretain their green color. 

Thus, in the Eyed Hawk-moth, which feeds on the willow and sallow; thePoplar Hawk-moth, which feeds on the poplar; and the Lime Hawk-moth, which frequents the lime, the caterpillars all remain green; while inthose which frequent low plants, such as the Convolvulus Hawk-moth, which frequents the convolvulus; the Oleander Hawk-moth, which feedsin this country on the periwinkle; and other species, most of thecaterpillars turn brown. There are, indeed, some caterpillars whichare brown, and still do not go down to the ground--as, for instance, those of the Geometridæ generally. These caterpillars, however, asalready mentioned, place themselves in peculiar attitudes, which, combined with their brown color, make them look almost exactly likebits of stick or dead twigs. 

The last of the five points to which I called your attention was theeye-spots. In some cases, spots may serve for concealment, byresembling the marks on dead leaves. In one species, which feeds onthe hippophæ, or sea buckthorn, a gray-green plant, the caterpillaralso is a similar gray-green, and has, when full grown, a single redspot on each side--which, as Weissmann suggests, at first sight muchresembles in color and size one of the berries of the hippophæ. Thismight, at first, be supposed to constitute a danger, and therefore tobe a disadvantage; but the seeds, though present, are not ripe, andconsequently are not touched by birds. Again, in another caterpillar, there is an eye-spot on each segment, which mimics the flower of theplant on which it feeds. White spots, in some cases, also resemble thespots of light which penetrate foliage. In other instances, however, and at any rate in our Elephant Hawk-moth, the eye-spots certainlyrender the insect more conspicuous. 

Now in some cases, this is an advantage, rather than a drawback. Suppose that from the nature of its food, from its being covered withhair, or from any other cause, a small green caterpillar were verybitter, or disagreeable or dangerous as food, still, in the number ofsmall green caterpillars which birds love, it would be continuallyswallowed by mistake. If, on the other hand, it had a conspicuous andpeculiar color, its evil taste would serve to protect it, because thebirds would soon recognize and avoid it, as has been provedexperimentally. I have already alluded to a case of this among theHawk-moths, in a species which, feeding on euphorbia, with its bittermilky juice, is very distasteful to birds, and is thus actuallyprotected by its bold and striking colors. The spots on our ElephantHawk-moth caterpillar do not admit of this explanation, because theinsect is quite good to eat--I mean, for birds. We must, therefore, ifpossible, account for these spots in some other way. There can, Ithink, be little doubt that Weissmann is right when he suggests thatthe eye-spots actually protect the caterpillar, by frightening itsfoes. 

Every one must have observed that these large caterpillars--as, forinstance, that of the small Elephant Hawk-moth (Fig.  10)--have a sortof uncanny poisonous appearance; that they suggest a small thick snakeor other evil beast, and the so-called "eyes" do much to increase thedeception. Moreover, the segment on which they are placed is swollen, and the insect, when in danger, has the habit of retracting its headand front segments, which gives it an additional resemblance to somesmall reptile. That small birds are, as a matter of fact, afraid ofthese caterpillars (which, however, I need not say, are in realityaltogether harmless), Weissmann has proved by actual experiment. Heput one of these caterpillars in a tray in which he was accustomed toplace seed for birds. Soon a little flock of sparrows and other smallbirds assembled to feed as usual. One of them lit on the edge of thistray, and was just going to hop in, when she spied the caterpillar. Immediately she began bobbing her head up and down, but was afraid togo nearer. Another joined her, and then another, until at last therewas a little company of ten or twelve birds, all looking on inastonishment, but not one ventured into the tray; while one bird, which lit in it unsuspectingly, beat a hasty retreat in evident alarm, as soon as she perceived the caterpillar. After watching for sometime, Weissmann removed it, when the birds soon attacked the seeds. Other caterpillars also are probably protected by their curiousresemblance to spotted snakes. 

[Illustration: FIG. 10. --THE CATERPILLAR OF THE SMALL ELEPHANTHAWK-MOTH (_Chærocampa porcellus_). ]

Moreover, we may learn another very interesting lesson from thesecaterpillars. They leave the egg, as we have seen, a plain green, likeso many other caterpillars, and gradually acquire a succession ofmarkings, the utility of which I have just attempted to explain. Theyoung larva, in fact, represents an old form, and the species, in thelapse of ages, has gone through the stage which each individual nowpasses through in a few weeks. Thus, the caterpillar of _Chærocampaporcellus_, a species very nearly allied to the Elephant Hawk-moth, passes through almost exactly the same stages as that species. But itleaves the egg with a subdorsal line, which the caterpillar of theElephant Hawk-moth does not acquire until after its first moult. Noone can doubt, however, that there was a time when the new-borncaterpillars of the small Elephant Hawk-moth were plain green, likethose of the large one. Again, if we compare the mature caterpillarsof this group of Hawk-moths, we shall find there are some forms whichnever develop eye-spots, but which, even when full grown, correspondto the second stage of the Elephant Hawk-moth. Here, then, we seem tohave species still in the stage which the Elephant Hawk-moth must havepassed through long ago. 

The genus _Deilephila_, of which we have three species--the EuphorbiaHawk-moth, the Galium Hawk-moth, and the Rayed Hawk-moth--is also veryinstructive. The caterpillar of the Euphorbia Hawk-moth begins life ofa clear green color, without a trace of the subsequent markings. Afterthe first moult, however, it has a number of black patches, a whiteline, and a series of white dots, and has, therefore, at one bound, acquired characters which in the Elephant Hawk-moth, as we have seen, were only very gradually assumed. In the third stage, the line hasdisappeared, leaving the white spots. In the fourth, the caterpillarshave become very variable, but are generally much darker than before, and have a number of white dots under the spots. In the fifth stage, there is a second row of white spots under the first. The caterpillarsnot being good to eat, there is, as has been already pointed out, noneed for, or attempt at, concealment. Now if we compare the maturecaterpillars of other species of the genus, we shall find that theyrepresent phases in the development of the Euphorbia Hawk-moth. TheSea Buckthorn Hawk-moth, for instance, even when full grown, is aplain green, with only a trace of the line, and corresponds, therefore, with a very early stage of the Euphorbia Hawk-moth; thereis another species found in South Russia, which has the line, andrepresents the second stage of the Euphorbia Hawk-moth; another hasthe line and the row of spots, and represents, therefore, the thirdstage; lastly, there are some which have progressed further, and lostthe longitudinal line, but they never acquire the second row of spotswhich characterizes the last stage of the Euphorbia Hawk-moth. 

Thus, then, the individual life of certain caterpillars gives us aclue to the history of the species in past ages. 

For such inquiries as this, the larvæ of Lepidoptera are particularlysuitable, because they live an exposed life; because the differentspecies, even of the same genus, often feed on different plants, andare therefore exposed to different conditions; and last, not least, because we know more about the larvæ of the butterflies and moths thanabout those of any other insects. The larvæ of ants all live in thedark; they are fed by the perfect ants, and being therefore allsubject to very similar conditions, are all very much alike. It wouldpuzzle even a good naturalist to determine the species of an antlarva, while, as we all know, the caterpillars of butterflies andmoths are as easy to distinguish as the perfect insects; they differfrom one another as much as, sometimes more than, the butterflies andmoths themselves. 

There are five principal types of coloring among caterpillars. Thosewhich live inside wood, or leaves, or underground, are generally of auniform pale hue; the small leaf-eating caterpillars are green, likethe leaves on which they feed. The other three types may, to comparesmall things with great, be likened to the three types of coloringamong cats. There are the ground cats, such as the lion or puma, whichare brownish or sand color, like the open places they frequent. Soalso caterpillars which conceal themselves by day at the roots oftheir food-plant, tend, as we have seen, even if originally green, toassume the color of earth. Nor must I omit to mention the_Geometridæ_, to which I have already referred, and which, from theirbrown color, their peculiar attitudes, and the frequent presence ofwarts or protuberances, closely mimic bits of dry stick. That thecaterpillars of these species were originally green, we may infer fromthe fact that some of them at least are still of that color when firstborn. 

Then there are the spotted or eyed cats, such as the leopard, whichlive among trees; and their peculiar coloring renders them lessconspicuous by simulating spots of light which penetrate throughfoliage. So also many caterpillars are marked with spots, eyes, orpatches of color. Lastly, there are the jungle cats, of which thetiger is the typical species, and which have stripes, rendering themvery difficult to see among the brown grass which they frequent. Itmay, perhaps, be said that this comparison fails, because the stripesof tigers are perpendicular, while those of caterpillars are eitherlongitudinal or oblique. This, however, so far from constituting areal difference, confirms the explanation; because in each case thedirection of the lines follows that of the foliage. The tiger, walkinghorizontally on the ground, has transverse bars; the caterpillar, clinging to the grass in a vertical position, has longitudinal lines;while those which live on large-veined leaves have oblique lines, likethe oblique ribs of the leaves. 

Red and blue are rare colors among caterpillars. Omitting minute dots, we have six species more or less marked with red or orange. Of these, two are spiny, two hairy, and one protected by scent-emittingtentacles. The orange medio-dorsal line of the Bedford Butterfly isnot very conspicuous, and has been omitted in some descriptions. Blueis even rarer than red; in fact, none of our butterfly larvæ can besaid to exhibit this color. 

Now let us turn to the moths. I have taken all the larger species, amounting to rather more than one hundred and twenty; out of whichsixty-eight are hairy or downy; and of these forty-eight are markedwith black or gray, fifteen brown or brownish, two yellowish-green, one bluish-gray, one striped with yellow and black, and onereddish-gray. There are two yellowish-green hairy species, whichmight be regarded as exceptions: one, that of the Five-spottedBurnet-moth, is marked with black and yellow, and the other isvariable in color, some specimens of this caterpillar being orange. This last species is also marked with black, so that neither of thesespecies can be considered of the green color which serves as aprotection. Thus, among the larger caterpillars, there is not a singlehairy species of the usual green color. On the other hand, there arefifty species with black or blackish caterpillars, and of theseforty-eight are hairy or downy. 

In ten of our larger moths the caterpillars are more or less markedwith red. Of these, three are hairy, one is an internal feeder, fourhave reddish lines, which probably serve for protection by simulatinglines of shadow, and one, the Euphorbia Hawk-moth, is inedible. Thelast, the striped Hawk-moth, is rare, and I have never seen thecaterpillar; but to judge from figures, the reddish line and spotswould render it, not more, but less conspicuous amongst the lowherbage which it frequents. 

Seven species only of the larger moths have any blue; of these, fourare hairy, the other three are Hawk-moths. In one, the Death's Head, the violet color of the side stripes certainly renders the insect lessconspicuous among the flowers of the potato, on which it feeds. In theOleander Hawk-moth there are two blue patches, which, both in colorand form, curiously resemble the petals of the periwinkle, on which itfeeds. In the third species, the small Elephant Hawk-moth, the bluishspots form the centres of the above-mentioned eye-like spots. 

In one family, as already mentioned, the caterpillars are very oftenbrown, and closely resemble bits of stick, the similarity being muchincreased by the peculiar attitudes they assume. On the other hand, the large brown caterpillars of certain Hawk-moths are night feeders, concealing themselves on the ground by day; and it is remarkable thatwhile those species, such as the Convolvulus Hawk-moth, which feed onlow plants, turn brown as they increase in age and size, others, whichfrequent trees, and cannot therefore descend to the ground forconcealment, remain green throughout life. Omitting these, there areamong the larger species, seventeen which are brown, of which twelveare hairy, and two have extensile caudal filaments. The others closelyresemble bits of stick, and place themselves in peculiar and stiffattitudes. 

And thus, summing up the caterpillars, both of butterflies and moths, out of eighty-eight spiny and hairy species, only one is green, andeven this may not be protectively colored, since it has conspicuousyellow warts. On the other hand, a very great majority of the blackand brown caterpillars, as well as those more or less marked with blueand red, are either hairy or spiny, or have some special protection. 

Here, then, I think we see reasons, for many at any rate, of thevariations of color and markings in caterpillars, which at first sightseem so fantastic and inexplicable. I should, however, produce animpression very different from that which I wish to convey, were I tolead you to suppose that all these varieties have been explained, orare understood. Far from it; they still offer a large field for study;nevertheless, I venture to think the evidence now brought forward, however imperfectly, is at least sufficient to justify the conclusionthat there is not a hair or a line, not a spot or a color, for whichthere is not a reason--which has not a purpose or a meaning in theeconomy of nature. 

[Illustration]

PROTECTIVE RESEMBLANCES IN SPIDERS

BY ELIZABETH G. PECKHAM. [10]

[10] Abbreviated from the occasional Papers of the Natural HistorySociety of Wisconsin, Vol. I. , 1889. By permission. 

[Illustration]

There are, among spiders, two forms of protective modification: thefirst, including all cases of protective resemblance to vegetable andinorganic things--that is, all modifications of color or of color andform that tend to make them inconspicuous in their naturalrelations--I shall call direct protection. The second form, which Ishall call indirect protection, includes two classes, the spiderswhich are specially protected themselves and those which mimic othercreatures which are specially protected. 

Spiders are specially protected when they become inedible through theacquisition of hard plates and sharp spines. The modification of formis frequently accompanied by conspicuous colors, which warn theirenemies that they belong to an unpalatable class. 

The second class of indirectly protected spiders--those that mimicspecially protected creatures--presents some difficulties, since it isnot always easy to determine whether the purpose of mimicry isprotection or the capture of prey. The resemblance may, as isfrequently the case in direct protection, serve both purposes. 

In looking for instances of protective form and color among spiders weencounter one difficulty at the outset. The meaning of a protectivepeculiarity can be determined only when the animal is seen in itsnatural home. The number of strangely modified forms depicted indescriptive works on spiders is enormous. Bodies are twisted, elongated, inflated, flattened, truncated, covered with tubercles orspines, enclosed within chitinous plates, colored like bark, likelichens, like flowers of every imaginable hue, like bird droppings, like sand or stones, and in every one of these modifications there isdoubtless an adaptation of the spider to its surroundings which, whenit is studied out of its natural relations, we can only guess at. 

It has been well said that in these protective resemblances thosefeatures of the portrait are most attended to by nature which producethe most effective deception when seen in nature; the faithfulness ofthe resemblance being much less striking when seen in the cabinet. . . . 

DIRECT PROTECTION. RESEMBLANCES TO VEGETABLE AND INORGANICTHINGS. --As a general rule the forms and colors of spiders areadapted to render them inconspicuous in their natural homes. Brightcolored spiders, . . . Either keep hidden away or are found upon flowerswhose tints harmonize with their own. This rule, while it hasnumerous exceptions, is borne out by the great majority of cases. Agood illustration is found in the genus Uloborus, of which the membersbear a deceptive resemblance to small pieces of bark, or to such bitsof rubbish as commonly become entangled in old deserted webs. The onlyspecies in our neighborhood is Uloborus plumipes, which I have almostinvariably found building in dead branches, where its disguise is moreeffective than it would be among fresh leaves. The spider is alwaysfound in the middle of the web, with its legs extended in a line withthe body. There has been, in this species, a development along severallines, resulting in a disguise of considerable complexity. Its formand color make it like a scrap of bark, its body being truncated anddiversified with small humps, while its first legs are very uneven, bearing heavy fringes of hair on the tibia and having the terminaljoints slender. Its color is a soft wood-brown or gray, mottled withwhite. It has the habit of hanging motionless in the web for hours ata time, swaying in the wind like an inanimate object. The strands ofits web are rough and inelastic, so that they are frequently broken;this gives it the appearance of one of those dilapidated and desertedwebs in which bits of wind-blown rubbish are frequently entangled. . . . 

Out of seven examples of the species taken during one summer, fivewere found in dead tamarack branches, one on a dead bush, and theseventh, an interesting variety, under the eaves of a porch. My eyewas caught by what seemed to be a string of eleven cocoons (it is notcommon to see more than four in a web). On attempting to take themdown I was surprised to see one of the supposed cocoons begin to shakethe web violently. Ten were what they seemed to be, but the eleventhwas the mother spider, whose color and general appearance was exactlylike that of the little cases that she had made for her eggs. . . . 

We come now to a large and interesting class in genus Epeira. I referto those species, mostly nocturnal, which are protected during theday, not by hiding in crevices, nor in any way actually getting out ofsight, but by the close resemblance which they bear to the bark of thetrees to which they cling. This resemblance is brought about in twoways; through their color, which is like that of wood or lichens, andthrough their tuberculated and rugose forms, which resemble roughbark. 

[Illustration: FIG. 1. --CÆROSTRIS MITRALIS (from Vinson). ]

[Illustration: FIG. 2. --CÆROSTRIS MITRALIS, in profile (from Vinson). ]

One of the most remarkable of these forms is C. Mitralis, a Madagascarspecies, which, looked at in profile, probably resembles a woody knot. The abdomen is divided into two divergent cones (Fig.  1). The entireupper surface of the body is covered with conical elevations, whichrender it rough and uneven; the sides of the abdomen are made up ofseveral layers, which form stages, one above another, like the ridgesof bark on a woody excrescence. The legs, formed of wide, flattenedplates, make the base. The color of the spider is yellowish-gray, varied with white and dark reddish-brown. It has the habit of perchingon a branch and clasping it like a bird, so that the elaboratemodification of form, which would be useless if the spider hungexposed in the web, is made as effective as possible. 

To take an example nearer home, E. Infumata is a large, round-bodiedspider, with two humps on the abdomen, which Emerton describes fromNew England as being brown, mottled with white and black; he adds thatwhen it draws in its feet it looks like a lump of dirt. Infumata, inWisconsin, has always a good deal of bluish-green on the upper surfaceof the abdomen. This may be a variety which has been so developed asto resemble the lichens which cover the tree to which it clings. It isone of the spiders which bear a good deal of handling withoutuncurling its legs, or showing any sign of life. Its humpy form andits color give it a very inanimate appearance. It is rather common inour neighborhood and may be caught in the late twilight while buildingits web, but to search for it in the daytime, even among the treesthat it most frequents, is an almost hopeless task. A more grotesqueform is E. Stellata, in which the abdomen has not two, but twelve orfifteen humps. These are so disposed that the edge of the abdomen, allaround, is scalloped. The colors are light and dark brown, modified bygray and white hairs. This spider remains motionless during thedaytime, keeping its legs drawn up to its body. It is common on grassand low bushes. It is not found in Wisconsin, but the description ofit suggests a resemblance to a piece of dead leaf. 

There are many other spiders in this genus that have humps and arecolored in brown, gray or dull yellow, as nordmanii, angulata, solitaria, etc. It is an almost universal habit among the Epeiridæ todrop to the ground when threatened, and when a humped gray or brownspider drops to the ground and draws in its legs it is nearlyindistinguishable from the lumps of earth, sticks and stones thatsurround it. 

One of the Therididæ which has the same protection is Ulesanisamericana (Fig.  3). The abdomen, which covers the cephalothorax nearlyto the eyes, has a prominent hump in the middle of the back and fouror five others behind. Its color is in shades of brown and yellow. 

[Illustration: FIG. 3. --ULESANIS AMERICANA (from Emerton). ]

Analogous to the humped Epeiridæ is Thomisus foka, of Madagascar, aspider which is regarded with great terror by the natives, as being sopoisonous that even its breath is deadly. They say that cattle, whenabout to lie down, look carefully about to see if one of these spidersis in the neighborhood. This dread is, no doubt, inspired by thestrange and uncanny aspect of a perfectly harmless creature. It has arugose, tuberculated body of trapezoid form, the colors being brownand reddish, while the whole aspect is crab-like. The thick, shortlegs are reddish, covered with tubercules. The secret of its strangeform is made clear when we learn that it resembles in color andgeneral appearance the fruit of Hymenæa verrucosa, a tree common inthe forests where this spider is found. 

Among the curious forms which must have been developed throughadvantageous variations but which we are unable to explain, isEriauchenus workmanni (Fig.  4). 

[Illustration: FIG. 4. --ERIAUCHENUS WORKMANNI (from Cambridge). ]

Epeira prompta, a variety of parvula, is a common spider in the Stateof Wisconsin. It is most frequently seen on cedar bushes, where itscolor harmonizes with that of the foliage and fruit. During the day itusually rests on a branch near its web. The back of the abdomen is ofa peculiar bluish-green, exactly like that of the lichens growing ontree trunks. The bluish color is broken by waving black lines whichimitate the curling edges of the lichens. The one represented in theplate was found on an old cedar which was covered with lichens. It waskept for two weeks in a glass-covered box, where it spent most of thetime crouching in a corner. It built no web, but spun some irregularlines to run about on. It ate gnats, flies, and once a little jumpingspider, S. Pulex, which we were keeping in the same box, leaping uponits prey, as noted by Hentz, like an Attus. This seems a curious habitto be acquired by an Epeirid, since spiders, as we have noticed amongour captives, are usually dependent for food upon what is caught intheir webs. Prompta moves awkwardly, but very rapidly. 

Drapetisca socialis, while quite a different looking spider, isprotected in the same way--by its resemblance to the bark upon whichit lives. Emerton speaks of finding it on the bark of spruce trees, which it "closely resembles in color. " Menge says that it is commonin Prussia, where it is seen in great numbers on fir trees, whosespotted bark it resembles in color, so that it is not easily seen. Wehave found them, most commonly, upon birch trees, and in thissituation their color adaptation is perfect. Both the spider and thepeeling bark of the tree are of a light silvery brown, covered withlittle blackish marks. On the bark these marks are, of course, irregular, while on the spider they form a pattern made up of straightand curved lines and dots, the legs being silvery, barred withblackish. 

Another little Theridion that is found on birch bark has the samecolors arranged a little differently. The abdomen above has a largeand peculiarly irregular black patch, which shades off into mottledbrown and black on the sides and below. The cephalothorax has stripesof brown and black, and the legs are barred with light and dark brown. 

Spiders that live upon walls, fences, tree trunks, or on the groundharmonize in color with the surfaces upon which they are found, beingusually gray, brown or yellow, mottled with black and white. Thisproposition is so well established as to need but few illustrations. The Therididæ furnish many examples, as T. Murarium, a gray spidervaried with black and white, said by Emerton to live usually "understones and fences, where it is well concealed by its color"; andLophocarenum rostratum, a yellowish-brown spider, found among leaveson the ground. Among the Attidæ bright sexual coloring often gains theascendancy over the protective tints, yet this family gives us goodexamples in such species as M. Familiaris and S. Pulex. 

To these may be added an as yet undescribed species which wediscovered last season in a neighborhood that we had searchedthoroughly for eight summers. We found the new spider in greatnumbers, but could only detect it by a close scrutiny of the railfences on which it lived, its color being dark gray. . . . 

[Illustration: FIG.  5. ORNITHOSCATOÏDES DECIPIENS (from Cambridge). ]

The last instance that I shall cite is a predaceous spider which isdisguised from both its enemies and its prey by an elaboratecombination of form, color, position, and character of web. I refer toOrnithoscatoïdes decipiens (Fig.  5), first described by Forbes andafterwards by Cambridge, the latter author giving in the same paperdescriptions of three other species of the same genus, whose habitshave not been noted, but whose protection is evidently of the sameorder as that of decipiens. I give Forbes's interesting account of hiscapture of decipiens, quoting also the remarks by which Cambridgeprefaces his description, since his explanation of the gradualdevelopment, through Natural Selection, of the spider's deceptiveappearance applies as well to all the cases of protective disguisewhich have been here enumerated. 

The capture is described as follows:--

"On June 25th, 1881, in the forest near the village of Lampar, on thebanks of the Moesi river in Sumatra, while my 'boys' were procuringfor me some botanical specimens from a high tree, I was ratherdreamily looking on the shrubs before me, when I became conscious ofmy eyes resting on a bird-excreta-marked leaf. How strange, I thought, it is that I have never got another specimen of that curious spider Ifound in Java which simulated a patch just like this! I plucked theleaf by the petiole while so cogitating, and looked at it halflistlessly for some moments, mentally remarking how closely that otherspider had copied nature, when, to my delighted surprise, I discoveredthat I had actually secured a second specimen, but the imitation wasso exquisite that I really did not perceive how matters stood for somemoments. The spider never moved while I was plucking or twirling theleaf, and it was only when I placed the tip of my little finger on it, that I observed that it was a spider, when it, without anydisplacement of itself, flashed its falces into my flesh. 

"The first specimen I got was in W. Java, while hunting one day forLepidoptera. I observed a specimen of one of the Hesperidæ sitting, asis often a custom of theirs, on the excreta of a bird on a leaf; Icrept near it, intending to examine what they find in what one isinclined to consider incongruous food for a butterfly. I approachednearer and nearer, and at last caught it between my fingers, when Ifound that it had as I thought become glued by its feet to the mass;but on pulling gently the spider, to my amazement, disclosed itself byletting go its hold: only then did I discover that I was not lookingon a veritable bird's excreta. . . . The spider is in general colorwhite, spotted here and there with black; on the underside its ratherirregularly shaped and prominent abdomen is almost all white, of apure chalk white; the angles of the legs are, however, shiningjet-black. The spider does not make an ordinary web, but only thethinnest film on the surface of the leaf. The appearance of theexcreta rather recently left by a bird on a leaf is well known. Thereis a pure white deposit in the centre, thinning out round the margin, while in the central mass are dark portions variously disposed; as theleaf is rarely horizontal, the more liquid portions run for somedistance. Now, this spider one might almost imagine to have in itsrambles 'marked and inwardly discerned' what it had observed, and tohave set about practising the 'wrinkles' gained; for it first weaves asmall, irregular patch of white web on some prominent leaf, then anarrow streak laid down towards its sloping margin ending in a smallknob; it then takes its place on the centre of the irregular spot onits back, crosses its black-angled legs over its thorax, and waits. Its pure white abdomen represents the central mass of the bird'sexcreta, the black legs the dark portions of the slime, while the webabove described which it has spun represents the more watery marginalpart (become dry), even to the run-off portion with the thickened knob(which was not accidental, as it occurred in both cases), like theresidue which semi-fluid substances ending in a drop leave onevaporation. It keeps itself in position on its back by thrustingunder the web below it the spines with which the anterior uppersurfaces of the legs are furnished. " . . . 

PROTECTIVE HABITS. --Going along with these forms ofprotective resemblance, we find certain habits which sometimes serveindependently to protect the spider, but oftener are supplemental tocolor and form. Many species hide in crevices or in leaves which theyroll up and bind together at the edges. In the Epeiridæ some are likethaddeus, which makes a little tent of silk under a leaf near its web. The young thaddeus also makes a tent, but spins its little geometricalweb on the under side of the leaf, the edges being bent downward. E. Insularis has the more common habit of forming its tent by drawing theedges of two or three leaves together with strands of web; in this itsits all day, but at night descends and occupies the centre of the webduring the hours of darkness. I have often found it in this positionwhen hunting nocturnal species by lantern light. It is probable thatin tropical countries the monkeys, and perhaps the birds, which devourthese large Epeiridæ have learned to recognize their webs, which arevery large and conspicuous, and to trace them to their hiding placesclose by; and thus may have arisen the curious habit noticed by Vinsonas possessed by E. Nocturna and E. Isabella of destroying the web eachmorning and rebuilding it at night; the spider in this way gaininggreater security from diurnal enemies. 

Atypus abbotii builds a purse-shaped tube which is found attached tothe bark of trees, and which has the external surface dark and coveredwith sand. The trap-doors which close the nest of some of theTerritelariæ are wonderful examples of protective industry. They fitwith such absolute accuracy into the openings of the nests and are socovered on the upper side with moss, earth, lichens, etc. , as to beindistinguishable from the surrounding surface. 

The rectilinear lines which are stretched in front of the webs ofmany Epeirids are useful in taking and sending on to the spider theshock which tells of an approaching enemy. Some spiders, when dangerthreatens, shake the web so violently as to grow indistinct to theeye, and others, as Pholcus atlanticus, hang by the legs and whirl thebody rapidly with the same bewildering result. . . . 

A habit common to many spiders, especially among the Epeiridæ, is thatof dropping to the ground at the approach of danger and restingmotionless among the dirt, sticks, leaves, etc. , which they resemblein color. The holding of the body in some peculiar position, as inUloborus, Hyptioides, and the flower-like Thomisidæ, is anecessary accompaniment to the color modification. 

The cocoons of spiders are seldom left exposed and unprotected. Wefind them in corners and crevices, concealed in rolled up leaves orunder bark. Very often the cocoon itself is covered over with a sheetof web. In some families the mother carries it about with her attachedto the underside of the abdomen. In other she carries it in her falcesuntil the young are hatched. The cocoons of others, as Uloborus, Argyrodes, etc. , while hung out in the web are still concealed bydeceptive form and color, or by being covered with rubbish. 

Cambridge speaks of A. Brunnea, whose cocoons "are covered over verysoon after they are made and the eggs deposited in them, with acoating of clay, which effectually destroys all their form and beauty. This coating of clay answers probably two ends: first, the concealmentof the cocoon and its protection from insect enemies; and, secondly, the protection of the eggs from the too powerful rays of the sun, dryclay being (as is well known) one of the best non-conductors of heat. "

The peculiar cocoon of C. Bisaccata is described by Emerton asfollows: "Only one specimen of this (_bisaccata_) was found on a beechtree at New Haven with two cocoons. These were dark brown, as dark asthe bark of the tree and as hard. Around the middle of each was acircle of irregular points. One of the cocoons was attached by astrong stem to the bark, and the other was attached in a similar wayto the first cocoon. The spider held on to one of the cocoons. " Inthis instance the egg has evidently the same protection as thatpossessed by the gray, bark-haunting spiders, with the added advantageof hardness. 

The habit of distributing the eggs through a number of cocoons made atintervals of several days, is protective. In this way, although one ortwo of the cocoons may be pierced by the ichneumon, there is a chancethat part of the brood may survive. 

INDIRECT PROTECTION. --The indirectly protected group includesthose spiders which are rendered inedible by the possession of sharpspines and chitinous plates, and also those that mimic other speciallyprotected creatures. 

The females of the specially protected group are characterized by thefollowing attributes:

Their inedibility, which they owe to a more or less coriaceousepidermis and an armature of strong sharp spines (Fig.  6). 

Their brilliant colors--glistening black and white, yellow, fierygold, metallic silver, rose-color, blue, orange and blood-red. 

Their habit of hanging always exposed in the centre of the web. 

[Illustration: FIG. 6. --GASTERACANTHA CREPIDOPHORA (from Cambridge). ]

In an interesting discussion of the protective value of color andmarking in insects, Poulton says that "the smaller convergent groupsof nauseous insects often present us with ideally perfect typesof warning patterns and colors--simple, crude, stronglycontrasted--everything subordinated to the paramount necessity ofbecoming conspicuous, " the memory of enemies being thus stronglyappealed to. 

This proposition is well illustrated by the Gasteracanthidæ. Amonglarvæ the warning colors are almost invariably black and white, orblack (or some very dark color), in contrast with yellow, orange andred. These are the colors that also constantly recur among theGasteracanthidæ. 

Cases that may be more justly considered exceptions to the rule thatthese hard, uneatable spiders are conspicuous are such species asAcrosoma rugosa (Fig.  7). One of this species was sent me by Mrs. Treat last summer. It lived for several weeks in my window, making noregular web, but hanging among a few irregular strands. It atenothing, although provided with insects, but drank greedily of water. It might seem that its black and white coloring would make itconspicuous, but in connection with its irregular shape and its way ofhanging motionless in the web it had the opposite effect. 

We have no reason to suppose that the class represented in rugosa islike that touched upon by Poulton, in which very protectively coloredlarvæ suddenly assume a terrifying aspect on the near approach of anenemy; still they do enjoy a kind of double protection. 

[Illustration: FIG. 7. --ACROSOMA RUGOSA. Left-hand figure female, right-hand figure male (from Emerton). ]

They are inconspicuous, and thus likely to escape attack, but in casethey are attacked they have still the advantage of being quicklyrejected. This experience cannot be as fatal to them as to the softand thin skinned larvæ. Their hard covering and projecting spineswould protect them to such an extent as to give them a fair chance ofsurviving. 

In one respect the inconspicuous Gasteracanthidæ have a decidedadvantage over their bright-colored relatives. The birds, indeed, avoid the conspicuous ones, but their brilliancy serves to attractanother enemy against which spines are no protection--the hunter wasp, which, as we have seen in the work of Bates, sometimes provisions itsnest wholly with spiders of this family. Mr. Smith gives liketestimony, saying:

"Spines on the abdomen of certain spiders would serve as a protectionagainst vertebrate enemies, though they do not protect against thehunter wasps, which frequently provision their nests with thesespecies. " He adds, however, that most of the spiny spiders are common, and that their colors make them conspicuous; just as butterflies thatare protected by an odor are common and bright-colored. . . . 

MIMICRY. --Mimicry, or the imitation of animal forms, while itis a form of indirect protection, differs in no essential respect fromthe imitation of vegetable and inorganic things. As Bates has said, the object of mimetic tendencies is disguise, and they will work inany direction that answers this purpose. 

In nearly all respects spiders come under the three laws given byWallace, as governing the development of mimetic resemblances inseveral large classes. These laws are as follows:

1. In an overwhelming majority of cases of mimicry, the animals (orthe groups) which resemble each other inhabit the same country, thesame district, and in most cases are to be found together on the verysame spot. 

2. These resemblances are not indiscriminate, but are limited tocertain groups, which, in every case, are abundant in species andindividuals, and can often be ascertained to have some specialprotection. 

3. The species which resemble or "mimic" these dominant groups, arecomparatively less abundant in individuals, and are often very rare. 

The second and third of these laws are confirmed by what we know ofmimetic resemblances among spiders. They mimic ants much oftener thanother creatures, and ants are very abundant, are specially protected, and are much more numerous than the mimetic spiders. To the firstlaw, also, they conform to a great extent, since everything tends toshow that in tropical America and in Africa the ant and the spider, the one mimicked and the other mimicking, are always found together. So far as I can discover, however, the ant-like spiders of NorthAmerica are not found in company with any species of ant which theyresemble. This may be because they do not mimic any particularspecies, but only the general ant-like form; or, considering that thegenera which contain their nearest relatives are much more abundant inCentral and South America, it may be that these forms were originallytropical, mimicking some tropical species of ants, and that after theGlacial Epoch they migrated northward, leaving the ants behind them. However this may be, their peculiar form has served them well, sincethey have maintained themselves as fairly abundant species with alower fecundity than is found in any other group of spiders. 

The cases in which one species mimics another may be divided, according to the kind of benefit derived, into four classes: Class 1. As a rule, where we find one species mimicking another, the mimickedspecies possesses some special means of defence against the enemies ofboth. This defence may consist of a disagreeable taste or odor, as inthe Heliconidæ, which are mimicked by other butterflies; of somespecial weapon of offence, as where wasps and bees are mimicked byflies and moths, or poisonous vipers by harmless caterpillars; or of ahard shell, as where the coriaceous beetles are mimicked by those thatare soft-bodied. 

Instances of this rule are exceedingly numerous; indeed, Wallace saysthat specially protected forms are always mimicked; still we havenothing mimicking our Gasteracanthidæ. 

Class 2. The mimetic may prey upon the mimicked species, its disguiseenabling it to gain a near approach to its victims; as the mantis, mentioned by Bates as exactly resembling the white ants upon which itfeeds; and the flies which mimic bees, upon which they are parasitic, and are thus able to enter the nests of the bees and lay eggs on thelarvæ. 

Class 3. The mimetic species may, by its imitation, be protected fromthe attacks of the creature it mimics, as is the case with thecrickets and grasshoppers which mimic their deadly foe, the hunterwasp. 

Class 4. The mimetic species may prey upon some creature which isfound commonly with, and is not eaten by, the mimicked species. 

No two of these classes are mutually destructive so that in any caseof mimicry a double advantage may be gained. 

Let us see which of these advantages has directed the development ofmimetic tendencies among spiders. 

While among beetles and butterflies we most commonly find mimicry ofone species by another within the same order, we have no instance of aspider mimicking another spider. This may be accounted for by the factthat the specially protected spiders depend for their safety upon thepossession of hard plates and spinous processes, and although thehardened epidermis might be imitated (we know that hard-shelledbeetles are mimicked by others that are soft), spines could scarcelybe imitated by a soft-bodied creature with sufficient accuracy toinsure disguise. 

While spiders most commonly mimic ants, we hear also of theirimitating beetles, snail-shells, ichneumons and horseflies. There isalso a curious Madagascar species which looks exactly like a littlescorpion, the resemblance being heightened by its habit of curving itsflexible tail up over its back when irritated. 

Those that resemble beetles comprise nearly all the species of thegenera Coccorchestes and Homalattus. These are small spiders withshort, convex bodies. The abdomen fits closely over the cephalothorax, and the epidermis, which has usually a metallic lustre, is sometimescoriaceous. Striking examples are found in H. Coccinelloides, whichbears a strong resemblance to beetles of the family Coccinelloidæ, andin C. Cupreus, in which certain marks on the abdomen imitate theelytra of beetles. 

The following account of a spider which mimics a snail-shell is givenby Mr. G.  F. Atkinson;--

"An undescribed species of _Cyrtarachne_ mimics a snail-shell, theinhabitant of which, during the summer and fall, is very abundant onthe leaves of plants in this place. In the species of Cyrtarachne theabdomen partly covers the cephalothorax, is very broad at the base, inthis species broader than the length of the spider, and rounds off atthe apex. When it rests upon the under side of a leaf with its legsretracted it strongly resembles one of these snail-shells by the colorand shape of its abdomen. The two specimens which I collected deceivedme at first, but a few threads of silk led me to make the examination. The spider seemed so confident of its protection that it would notmove when I jarred the plant, striking it several hard blows. Ipulled the spider forcibly from the leaf, and it did not exhibit anysigns of movement until transferred to the cyanide bottle. " . . . 

Trimen gives an account of the imitation, by spiders, of horseflies, acase falling into Class 2, as follows:--

"Hunting spiders are in some cases very like their prey, as mayeverywhere be noticed in the case of the species of Salticus whichcatch horseflies on sunny walls and fences. The likeness is not initself more than a general one of size, form and coloring; but itseffect is greatly aided by the actions of the spider, which walkshurriedly for short distances, stopping abruptly, and rapidly movingits falces, in evident mimicry of the well-known movements socharacteristic of flies. "

Instances of spiders mimicking ants are very numerous, and in manycases the resemblance is so close as to, at first sight, deceive atrained naturalist. This resemblance is brought about by the spider'sbody being elongated and strongly constricted, so that it appears tobe composed of three segments instead of two, by the color, by the wayin which the spider moves about, zig-zagging from side to side like anant, and by its habit of holding up one pair of its legs and movingthem in such a way that they look exactly like the antennæ of an ant. 

Ants may be regarded as specially protected, by their sharp, acidflavor, and in some species by the possession of stings or of hornyprocesses. 

On the ground that there are birds which do eat ants, and eat themgreedily, it has been thought by some naturalists that they cannot beconsidered specially protected creatures, and that, as spiders cantherefore derive no protection from mimicking them, all cases of suchmimicry depend upon the spider's increased ability to capture the antsas prey, but I am convinced that this is too hasty a conclusion. It isunquestionably true that some birds feed almost exclusively upon ants, but these are the exceptions. It is a common thing to find thatspecially protected groups, which are safe from the attacks of mostcreatures, have their special enemies. Thus, even the nauseousHeliconidæ are preyed upon by certain spiders and wasps; and bees, inspite of their stings, are preferred to other insects by thebee-eaters. Moreover, the ant-devouring birds are found largely amongthe wood-peckers, which eat the ants that run on the trunks of trees, and are therefore not a source of danger to the ant-like spiders, theAmerican species of which, so far as I can learn, live entirely uponthe ground. 

In the United States comparatively small numbers of either ants orspiders are eaten by birds, but in tropical America there are enormousnumbers of humming-birds feeding almost exclusively upon spiders, andthere the protective advantage of looking like ants must be of greatimportance to the smaller species. 

Belt considers that the advantages gained by ant-mimicking CentralAmerican spiders lies entirely on the side of protection. In relationto this subject he says: "Ant-like spiders have been noticedthroughout tropical America and also in Africa. The use that thedeceptive resemblance is to them has been explained to be the facilityit affords them for approaching ants on which they prey. I amconvinced that this explanation is incorrect, so far as the CentralAmerican species are concerned. Ants, and especially the stingingspecies are, so far as my experience goes, not preyed upon by anyother insects. No disguise need be adopted to approach them, as theyare so bold that they are more likely to attack a spider than a spiderthem. Neither have they wings to escape by flying, and generally go inlarge bodies easily found and approached. The use is, I doubt not, theprotection the disguise affords against small insectivorous birds. Ihave found the crops of some humming-birds full of small, soft-bodiedspiders, and many other birds feed on them. Stinging-ants, like beesand wasps, are closely resembled by a host of other insects; indeed, whenever I found any insect provided with special means of defence Ilooked for imitative forms, and was never disappointed in findingthem. "

The ant-like species are probably protected by their appearance fromthe attacks of many of the larger spiders. We have kept great numbersof Attidæ in captivity, and, although they devoured flies, gnats, larvæ, and other spiders, they would never touch ants. Among spiders, however, as among birds, we find that certain groups subsist almostentirely upon ants. 

The class of spiders whose mimicry protects them from their enemies, whether they are birds or other spiders, probably includes at leasttwo of our own ant-like species, Synageles picata and Synemosynaformica, which, in confinement, are always hungry for gnats, but willnot touch ants, even of small size. 

The existence of a class of spiders which mimic the particular speciesof ants upon which they prey is not to be questioned, but it isdoubtful whether the benefit to the spider is increased facility incapturing the ant, or whether it is merely protective. It may be thatthe spider, by virtue of its resemblance to the ant, not only gets anabundant supply of food, but also escapes being eaten itself, and thusenjoys a double advantage. Both Bates and Wallace take the ground thatthe advantage derived by the spider consists in greater ease in thecapture of prey, but both of these writers refer to spiders onlyincidentally to illustrate a general proposition, without specialconsideration of their peculiar conditions. 

Mr. Herbert Smith, who has paid a good deal of attention to thissubject, is inclined to believe that the mimicry in question isentirely protective. He writes as follows:--

"In the United States there are a few rare spiders that mimic ants. Here at Taperinha we find a good score of species of these spidersaping the various kinds of ants very closely; even the odd, spinywood-ant, _cryptocerus_, furnishes a pattern, and there are spidersthat mimic the wingless ichneumons. We find, after a while, that thespiders prey upon ants just as our spiders catch flies; indeed, thisfact has already been noted by other observers. But we go a stepbeyond the books when we discover not only that the spiders eat theants, but that they eat the particular ants which they mimic. At allevents, we verify this fact in a great number of cases, and we neverfind the spiders eating any but the mimicked species. . . . I do not liketo hazard a theory on this case of mimicry. It is difficult to supposethat the quick-witted ants would be deceived even by so close aresemblance; and, in any case, it would seem that the spiders do notrequire such a disguise in order to capture slow-moving ants. Mostbirds will not eat ants; it seems likely, therefore, that this issimply another example of protection; the spider deceives its enemies, not its prey; it mimics the particular species that it feeds on, because it is seen in that company when it is hunting, and among ahost of similar forms is likely to pass unnoticed. "

At first sight, and especially in view of the fact that such cases arenot uncommon among insects, it would be naturally supposed that theobject of the mimicry was to enable the spider to approach its victimwithout exciting suspicion; and it is difficult to account, on anyother supposition, for the very close resemblance between certainspecies of spiders and the particular species of ants which they preyupon. It seems as though the highest point of _protective_ benefitwould have been reached long before the resemblance of the spider tothe ant had become so close as it really is. On the other hand, it isdifficult to believe that ants are deceived, even by those spiderswhich mimic them most closely, when we remember that their perceptionsare so keen that they discriminate not only between ants of their ownand different species, but even between ants of their own speciesliving in two different communities. 

The mimicry of ichneumon flies by spiders was noted some years ago byMr. Herbert Smith. This case comes under Class 3, in which one speciesmimics another which preys upon it. Great destruction is caused byichneumons which lay their eggs on the bodies of the live spiders, and the disguise probably protects the spider by leading the fly tomistake it for one of its own species. 

We have no proof that spiders ever mimic ants as a method of escapingfrom them, but it is possible that this sometimes happens. We knowthat some ants prey upon them. The foraging ants of South Americadestroy spiders as well as many kinds of insects, and Wallace mentionsa small, wood-boring ant which fills its nest with small spiders. 

If the spiders that feed upon ants deceive them by their mimicry thosewhich are preyed upon by ants would gain an advantage by a similardisguise. I once placed a little ant-like spider of the genusHerpyllus in a bottle with three ants no larger than itself, which Ihad caught with it in the sweep-net. In a very few minutes the antshad killed and begun to devour the spider. It may be that theresemblance was sufficiently close to deceive them in the open, butfailed when spider and ants were confined together in close quarters. 

THE BATH OF THE BIRDS

BY RICHARD JEFFERIES. 

[Illustration]

One morning Sir Bevis went down to the brook. Standing on the brink, he said: "Brook, Brook! what are you singing? You promised to tell mewhat you were saying. "

The brook did not answer, but went on singing. Bevis listened aminute, and then he picked a willow leaf and threw it into the bubblesand watched it go whirling round and round in the eddies and back upunder the fall, where it dived down and presently came up again, andthe stream took it and carried it away past the flags. "Brook, Brook!"said Bevis, stamping his foot; "tell me what you are singing. "

And the brook, having now finished that part of his song, said:"Bevis, dear; sit down in the shadow of the willow, for it is very hotto-day, and the reapers are at work; sit down under the willow and Iwill tell you as much as I can remember. "

"But the reed said you could not remember anything, " said Bevis, leaning back against the willow. 

"The reed did not tell you the truth, dear; indeed, he does not knowall; the fact is, the reeds are so fond of talking that I scarcelyever answer them now or they would keep on all day long, and I shouldnever hear the sound of my own voice, which I like best. So I do notencourage them, and that is why the reeds think I do not recollect. "

"And what is that you sing about?" said Bevis impatiently. 

"My darling, " said the brook, "I do not know myself always what I amsinging about. I am so happy I sing, sing, and never think about whatit means; it does not matter what you mean as long as you sing. Sometimes I sing about the sun, who loves me dearly, and tries all dayto get at me through the leaves and the green flags that hide me; hesparkles on me everywhere he can, and does not like me to be in theshadow. Sometimes I sing to the wind, who loves me next most dearly, and will come to me everywhere in places where the sun cannot get. Heplays with me whenever he can, and strokes me softly and tells me thethings he has heard in the woods and on the hills, and sends down theleaves to float along; for he knows I like something to carry. Flingme in some leaves, Bevis, dear. 

"Sometimes I sing to the earth and the grass; they are fond of me, too, and listen the best of all. I sing loudest at night to the stars;for they are so far away they would not otherwise hear me. "

"But what do you say?" said Bevis; but the brook was too occupied nowto heed him and went on. 

"Sometimes I sing to the trees; they, too, are fond of me and come asnear as they can; they would all come down close to me if they could. They love me like the rest, because I am so happy and never cease mychanting. If I am broken to pieces against a stone, I do not mind inthe least; I laugh just the same and even louder. When I come over thehatch, I dash myself to fragments; and sometimes a rainbow comes andstays a little while with me. The trees drink me, and the grass drinksme; the birds come down and drink me; they splash me and are happy. The fishes swim about, and some of them hide in deep corners. Roundthe bend I go; and the osiers say they never have enough of me. Thelong grass waves and welcomes me; the moor-hens float with me; thekingfisher is always with me somewhere, and sits on the bough to seehis ruddy breast in the water. And you come too, Bevis, now and thento listen to me; and it is all because I am so happy. "

"Why are you so happy?" said Bevis. 

"I do not know, " said the brook. "Perhaps it is because all I think ofis this minute; I do not know anything about the minute just gone by, and I do not care one bit about the minute that is just coming; all Icare about is this minute, this very minute now. Fling me in some moreleaves, Bevis. Why do you go about asking questions, dear? Why don'tyou sing and do nothing else?"

"Oh, but I want to know all about everything, " said Bevis. "Where didyou come from, and where are you going, and why don't you go on andlet the ground be dry--why don't you run on, and run all away? why areyou always here?"

The brook laughed and said: "My dear, I do not know where I came from, and I do not care at all where I am going. What does it matter, mylove? All I know is I shall come back again; yes, I shall come backagain. " The brook sang very low and rather sadly now: "I shall go intothe sea and shall be lost; and even you would not know me; ask yourfather, love; he has sailed over the sea in ships that come toSouthampton, and I was close to him, but he did not know me. But byand by, when I am in the sea, the sun will lift me up, and the cloudswill float along--look towards the hills, Bevis, dear, every morningand you will see the clouds coming and bringing me with them; and therain and the dew, and sometimes the thunder and the lightning, willput me down again; and I shall run along here and sing to you, mysweet, if you will come and listen. Fling in some little twigs, mydear, and some bits of bark from the tree. "

"That I will, " said Bevis; and he picked up a stone and flung it intothe water with such a splash that the kingfisher flew away; but thebrook only laughed and told him to throw another and to make haste andgrow bigger and jump over him. 

"S--s, we shall meet by the drinking place, " said the grasshopper; andwas just hopping off, when Bevis asked him what the birds went down tobathe for. 

"I'm sure I do not know, " said the grasshopper, speaking fast, for hewas rather in a hurry to be gone; he never could stand still longtogether. "All I can tell you is, that on Midsummer Day every one ofthe birds has to go down to the brook and walk in and bathe; and ithas been the law for so many, many years that no one can remember whenit began. They like it very much, because they can show off theirfine feathers which are just now in full color; and if you like to gowith me, you will be sure to enjoy it. "

"So I will, " said Bevis; and he followed the grasshopper, who hoppedso far at every step that he had to walk fast to keep up with him. 

They went on in silence a good way, except that the grasshopper cried"S--s" to his friends in the grass as he passed, and said good-morningalso to a mole, who peeped out for a moment. 

"Why don't you hop straight?" said Bevis presently. "It seems to methat you hop first one side and then the other, and go in such azigzag fashion it will take us hours to reach the brook. "

"How very stupid you are!" said the grasshopper. "If you go straight, of course you can only see just what is under your feet; but if you gofirst this way and then that, then you see everything. You are nearlyas silly as the ants, who never see anything beautiful all theirlives. Be sure you have nothing to do with the ants, Bevis; they are amean, wretched, miserly set, quite contemptible and beneath notice. Now, I go everywhere, all round the field, and spend my time searchingfor lovely things; sometimes I find flowers, and sometimes thebutterflies come down into the grass and tell me the news; and I am sofond of the sunshine, I sing to it all day long. Tell me, now, isthere anything so beautiful as the sunshine and the blue sky, and thegreen grass, and the velvet and blue and spotted butterflies, and thetrees which cast such a pleasant shadow and talk so sweetly, and thebrook which is always running? I should like to listen to it for athousand years. "

"I like you, " said Bevis; "jump into my hand and I will carry you. " Heheld his hand out flat, and in a second up sprang the grasshopper andalighted on his palm and told him the way to go, and thus they wenttogether merrily. 

"Bevis, dear, I do not sing at night; but I always go where I can seea star. I slept under a mushroom last night, and he told me he waspushing up as fast as he could before some one came and picked him toput on a gridiron. I do not lay up any store, because I know I shalldie when the summer ends; and what is the use of wealth then? My storeand my wealth is the sunshine, dear, and the blue sky, and the greengrass, and the delicious brook who never ceases sing, sing, singingall day and night. And all the things are fond of me; the grass andthe flowers, and the birds and the animals--all of them love me. "

"I think I shall take you home and put you under a glass case on themantelpiece, " said Bevis. 

Off jumped the grasshopper in a moment, and fell so lightly on thegrass it did not hurt him in the least, though it was as far as ifBevis had tumbled down out of the clouds. Bevis tried to catch him, but he jumped so nimbly this way and that, and hopped to and fro, andlay down in the grass, that his green coat could not be seen. Bevisnow went down to the brook and stood on the bank, where it was high, near a bush at the side of the drinking place. "Ah, dear little SirBevis!" whispered a reed, bending towards him as the wind blew, "please do not come any nearer; the bank is steep and treacherous, andhollow underneath where the water-rats run. So do not lean over afterthe forget-me-nots--they are too far for you. Sit down where you are, behind that little bush, and I will tell you all about the bathing. The birds come down to bathe every Midsummer Day, and the goldfinches, and the sparrows, and the blackbirds, and the thrushes, and theswallows, and the wrens, and the robins, and almost every one of them, except two or three, whose great-grandfathers got into disgrace a longwhile ago. The rooks do not come because they are thieves, and stealthe mussels, nor the crows, who are a very bad lot; the swan does notcome either, unless the brook is muddy after a storm. The swan is sotired of seeing himself in the water that he quite hates it, and thatis the reason he holds his neck so high, that he may not see more ofhimself than he can help. "

Soon the birds came. They were all in their very best and brightestfeathers, and as the sun shone on them and they splashed the water andstrutted about, Bevis thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. 

They did not all bathe, for some of them were specially permitted onlyto drink instead, but they all came, and all in their newest dresses. So bright was the goldfinch's wing, that the lark, though she did notdare speak, had no doubt she rouged. The sparrow, brushed and neat, soquiet and subdued in his brown velvet, looked quite aristocratic amongso much flaunting color. As for the blackbird he had carefully washedhimself in the spring before he came to bathe in the brook, and heglanced round with a bold and defiant air, as much as to say: "Thereis not one of you who has so yellow a bill, and so beautiful a blackcoat as I have. " In the bush the bullfinch, who did not care much tomix with the crowd, moved restlessly to and fro. The robin looked allthe time at Bevis, so anxious was he for admiration. The wood-pigeon, very consequential, affected not to see the dove, whom Bevis longed tostroke, but could not, as he had promised the reed to keep still. 

Bevis looked up into the sky, and there was the hawk, almost up amongthe white clouds, soaring round and round, and watching all that wasproceeding. Almost before he could look down again a shadow went by, and a cuckoo flew along very low, just over the drinking place. 

"Cuckoo!" he cried, "cuckoo! The goldfinch has the prettiest dress;"and off he went. 

Now the hawk had bribed the cuckoo, who was his cousin, to do this, and the cuckoo was not at all unwilling, for he had an interesthimself in keeping the birds divided, so he said that although he hadmade up his mind to go on his summer tour, leaving his children to betaken care of by the wagtail, he would stop a day or two longer tomanage this little business. No sooner had the cuckoo said this, thanthere was a most terrible uproar, and all the birds cried out at once. The blackbird was so disgusted that he flew straight off, chatteringall across the field and up the hedge. The bullfinch tossed his head, and asked the goldfinch to come up in the bush and see which wasstronger. The greenfinch and the chaffinch shrieked with derision; thewood-pigeon turned his back and said "Pooh!" and went off with aclatter. The sparrow flew to tell his mates on the house, and youcould hear the chatter they made about it right down at the brook. But the wren screamed loudest of all, and said that the goldfinch wasa painted impostor, and had not got half so much gold as theyellow-hammer. So they were all scattered in a minute, and Bevis stoodup and hurried homeward. 

[Illustration]

THE LOON

(FROM WALDEN. )

BY HENRY D. THOREAU. 

[Illustration]

It is remarkable how many creatures live wild and free, though secret, in the woods, and still sustain themselves in the neighborhood oftowns, suspected by hunters only. How retired the otter manages tolive here! He grows to be four feet long, as big as a small boy, perhaps without any human being getting a glimpse of him. I formerlysaw the raccoon in the woods behind where my house is built, andprobably still heard their whinnering at night. Commonly I rested anhour or two in the shade at noon, after planting, and ate my lunch, and read a little by a spring which was the source of a swamp and of abrook, oozing from under Brister's Hill, half a mile from my field. The approach to this was through a succession of descending grassyhollows, full of young pitch-pines, into a larger wood about theswamp. 

There, in a very secluded and shaded spot, under a spreadingwhite-pine, there was yet a clean, firm sward to sit on. I had dug outthe spring and made a well of clear gray water, where I could dip up apailful without roiling it, and thither I went for this purpose almostevery day in midsummer, when the pond was warmest. Thither, too, thewood-cock led her brood, to probe the mud for worms, flying but a footabove them down the bank, while they ran in a troop beneath; but atlast, spying me, she would leave her young and circle round and roundme, nearer and nearer till within four or five feet, pretending brokenwings and legs, to attract my attention, and get off her young, whowould already have taken up their march, with faint wiry peep, singlefile through the swamp, as she directed. Or I heard the peep of theyoung when I could not see the parent bird. 

There, too, the turtle-doves sat over the spring, or fluttered frombough to bough of the soft white-pines over, my head; or the redsquirrel, coursing down the nearest bough, was particularly familiarand inquisitive. You only need sit still long enough in someattractive spot in the woods that all its inhabitants may exhibitthemselves to you by turns. . . . 

In the fall the loon (_Colymbus glacialis_) came, as usual, to moultand bathe in the pond, making the woods ring with his wild laughterbefore I had risen. At rumor of his arrival all the Mill-dam sportsmenare on the alert, in gigs and on foot, two by two and three by three, with patent rifles and conical balls and spy-glasses. They comerustling through the woods like autumn leaves, at least ten men to oneloon. Some station themselves on this side of the pond, some on that, for the poor bird cannot be omnipresent; if he dive here he must comeup there. 

But now the kind October wind rises, rustling the leaves and ripplingthe surface of the water, so that no loon can be heard or seen, thoughhis foes sweep the pond with spy-glasses, and make the woods resoundwith their discharges. The waves generously rise and dash angrily, taking sides with all waterfowl, and our sportsmen must beat a retreatto town and shop and unfinished jobs. But they were too oftensuccessful. When I went to get a pail of water early in the morning Ifrequently saw this stately bird sailing out of my cove within a fewrods. If I endeavored to overtake him in a boat, in order to see howhe would manœuvre, he would dive and be completely lost, so that I didnot discover him again, sometimes, till the latter part of the day. But I was more than a match for him on the surface. He commonly wentoff in a rain. 

As I was paddling along the north shore one very calm Octoberafternoon, for such days especially they settle on to the lakes, likethe milkweed down, having looked in vain over the pond for a loon, suddenly one, sailing out from the shore toward the middle a few rodsin front of me, set up his wild laugh and betrayed himself. I pursuedwith a paddle and he dived, but when he came up I was nearer thanbefore. He dived again but I miscalculated the direction he wouldtake, and we were fifty rods apart when he came to the surface thistime, for I had helped to widen the interval; and again he laughedlong and loud, and with more reason than before. 

He manœuvred so cunningly that I could not get within half a dozenrods of him. Each time when he came to the surface, turning his headthis way and that, he coolly surveyed the water and the land, andapparently chose his course so that he might come up where there wasthe widest expanse of water and at the greatest distance from theboat. It was surprising how quickly he made up his mind and put hisresolve into execution. He led me at once to the wildest part of thepond, and could not be driven from it. While he was thinking one thingin his brain, I was endeavoring to divine his thought in mine. It wasa pretty game, played on the smooth surface of the pond, a man againsta loon. 

Suddenly your adversary's checker disappears beneath the board, andthe problem is to place yours nearest to where his will appear again. Sometimes he would come up unexpectedly on the opposite side of me, having apparently passed directly under the boat. So long-winded washe and so unweariable, that when he had swam farthest he wouldimmediately plunge again, nevertheless; and then no wit could divinewhere in the deep pond, beneath the smooth surface, he might bespeeding his way like a fish, for he had time and ability to visit thebottom of the pond in its deepest part. It is said that loons havebeen caught in the New York lakes eighty feet beneath the surface, with hooks set for trout, --though Walden is deeper than that. Howsurprised must the fishes be to see this ungainly visitor from anothersphere speeding his way amid their schools!

Yet he appeared to know his course as surely under water as on thesurface, and swam much faster there. Once or twice I saw a ripplewhere he approached the surface, just put his head out to reconnoitre, and instantly dived again. I found that it was as well for me to reston my oars and wait his reappearing as to endeavor to calculate wherehe would rise; for again and again, when I was straining my eyes overthe surface one way, I would suddenly be startled by his unearthlylaugh behind me. But why, after displaying so much cunning, did heinvariably betray himself the moment he came up by that loud laugh?Did not his white breast enough betray him?

He was indeed a silly loon, I thought. I could commonly hear the plashof the water when he came up, and so also detected him. But after anhour he seemed as fresh as ever, dived as willingly and swam yetfarther than at first. It was surprising to see how serenely he sailedoff with unruffled breast when he came to the surface, doing all thework with his webbed feet beneath. His usual note was this demoniaclaughter, yet somewhat like that of a waterfowl; but occasionally whenhe had balked me most successfully and come up a long way off, heuttered a long-drawn unearthly howl, probably more like that of a wolfthan any bird; as when a beast puts his muzzle to the ground anddeliberately howls. This was his looning, --perhaps the wildest soundthat is ever heard here, making the woods ring far and wide. Iconcluded that he laughed in derision of my efforts, confident of hisown resources. 

Though the sky was by this time overcast, the pond was so smooth thatI could see where he broke the surface when I did not hear him. Hiswhite breast, the stillness of the air, and the smoothness of thewater were all against him. At length, having come up fifty rods off, he uttered one of those prolonged howls, as if calling on the god ofloons to aid him, and immediately there came a wind from the east andrippled the surface, and filled the whole air with misty rain, and Iwas impressed as if it were the prayer of the loon answered, and hisgod was angry with me; and so I left him disappearing far away on thetumultuous surface. 

For hours, in fall days, I watched the ducks cunningly tack and veerand hold the middle of the pond, far from the sportsman; tricks whichthey will have less need to practise in Louisiana bayous. Whencompelled to rise they would sometimes circle round and round and overthe pond at a considerable height, from which they could easily see toother ponds and the river, like black motes in the sky; and, when Ithought they had gone off thither long since, they would settle downby a slanting flight of a quarter of a mile on to a distant part whichwas left free; but what beside safety they got by sailing in themiddle of Walden I do not know, unless they love its water for thesame reason that I do. 

[Illustration]

THE DARTMOOR PONIES, OR THE WANDERINGS OF THE HORSE TRIBE

(FROM "THROUGH MAGIC GLASSES. ")

BY ARABELLA B. BUCKLEY. 

[Illustration]

I want you to take a journey with me which I took in imagination a fewdays ago, as I lay on my back on the sunny moor and watched theDartmoor ponies. 

It was a calm misty morning one day last week, giving promise of abright and sunny day, when I started off for a long walk across themoor to visit the famous stone-circles, many of which are to be foundnot far off the track, called Abbot's Way, leading from BuckfastAbbey, on the Dart, to the Abbey of Tavistock, on the Tavy. 

My mind was full of the olden times as I pictured to myself how, sevenhundred years or more ago, some Benedictine monk from Tavistock Abbey, in his black robe and cowl, paced this narrow path on his way to hisCistercian brethren at Buckfast, meeting some of them on his road asthey wandered over the desolate moor in their white robes and blackscapularies in search of stray sheep. For the Cistercians wereshepherds and wool-weavers, while the Benedictines devoted themselvesto learning, and the track of about twenty-five miles from one abbeyto the other, which still remains, was worn by the members of the twocommunities and their dependents, the only variety in whose livesconsisted probably in these occasional visits one to the other. 

Yet even these monks belonged to modern times compared to the ancientBritons who raised the stone-circles, and buried their dead in thebarrows scattered here and there over the moor; and my mind driftedback to the days when, long before that pathway was worn, men clad inthe skins of beasts hunted wild animals over the ground on which I wastreading, and lived in caves and holes of the ground. 

I wondered, as I thought of them, whether the cultured monks and theuncivilized Britons delighted as much in the rugged scenery of themoor as I did that morning. For many miles in front of me the moorstretched out wild and treeless; the sun was shining brightly upon themass of yellow furze and deep-red heather, drawing up the moisturefrom the ground, and causing a kind of watery haze to shimmer over thelandscape; while the early mist was rising off the _tors_, orhill-tops, in the distance, curling in fanciful wreaths around therugged and stony summits, as it dispersed gradually in the increasingheat of the day. 

The cattle which were scattered in groups here and there feeding onthe dewy grass were enjoying the happiest time of the year. The moor, which in winter affords them scarcely a bare subsistence, is nowrichly covered with fresh young grass, and the sturdy oxen fedsolemnly and deliberately, while the wild Dartmoor ponies and theircolts scampered joyously along, shaking their manes and long flowingtails, and neighing to each other as they went; or clustered togetheron some verdant spot, where the colts teased and bit each other forfun, as they gambolled round their mothers. 

It was a pleasure, there on the open moor, with the lark soaringoverhead, and the butterflies and bees hovering among thesweet-smelling furze blossoms, to see horses free and joyous, with nothought of bit or bridle, harness or saddle, whose hoofs had neverbeen handled by the shoeing-smith, nor their coats touched with thesingeing iron. Those little colts, with their thick heads, shaggycoats, and flowing tails, will have at least two years more freedombefore they know what it is to be driven or beaten. Only once a yearare they gathered together, claimed by their owners and branded withan initial, and then left again to wander where they will. True, it isa freedom which sometimes has its drawbacks, for if the winter issevere the only food they can get will be the furze-tops, off whichthey scrape the snow with their feet; yet it is very precious initself, for they can gallop when and where they choose, with headerect, sniffing at the wind and crying to each other for the very joyof life. 

Now as I strolled across the moor and watched their gambols, thinkinghow like free wild animals they seemed, my thoughts roamed far away, and I saw in imagination scenes where other untamed animals of thehorse tribe are living unfettered all their lives long. 

First there rose before my mind the level grass-covered pampas ofSouth America, where wild horses share the boundless plains withtroops of the rhea, or American ostrich, and wander, each horse withas many mares as he can collect, in companies of hundreds or eventhousands in a troop. These horses are now truly wild, and live freelyfrom youth to age, unless they are unfortunate enough to be caught inthe more inhabited regions by the lasso of the hunter. In the broadpampas, the home of herds of wild cattle, they dread nothing. There, as they roam with one bold stallion as their leader, even beasts ofprey hesitate to approach them, for, when they form into a dense masswith the mothers and young in their centre, their heels deal blowswhich even the fierce jaguar does not care to encounter, and theytrample their enemy to death in a very short time. Yet these are notthe original wild horses we are seeking, they are the descendants oftame animals, brought from Europe by the Spaniards to Buenos Ayres in1535, whose descendants have regained their freedom on the boundlesspampas and prairies. 

As I was picturing them careering over the plains, another scenepresented itself and took their place. Now I no longer saw around metall pampas-grass with the long necks of the rheas appearing above it, for I was on the edge of a dreary, scantily covered plain between theAral Sea and the Balkash Lake in Tartary. To the south lies a barrensandy desert, to the north the fertile plains of the Kirghiz steppes, where the Tartar feeds his flocks, and herds of antelopes gallop overthe fresh green pasture; and between these is a kind of no-man'sland, where low scanty shrubs and stunted grass seem to promise but apoor feeding-ground. 

Yet here the small long-legged but powerful "Tarpans, " the wild horsesof the treeless plains of Russia and Tartary, were picking theirmorning meal. Sturdy wicked little fellows they are, with their shaggylight-brown coats, short wiry manes, erect ears, and fiery watchfuleyes. They might well be supposed to be true wild horses, whoseancestors had never been tamed by man; and yet it is more probablethat even they escaped in early times from the Tartars, and have heldtheir own ever since, over the grassy steppes of Russia and on theconfines of the plains of Tartary. Sometimes they live almost alone, especially on the barren wastes where they have been seen in winter, scraping the snow off the herbage as our ponies do on Dartmoor. Atother times, as in the south of Russia, where they wander between theDnieper and the Don, they gather in vast herds and live a free life, not fearing even the wolves, which they beat to the ground with theirhoofs. From one green oasis to another they travel over miles ofground. 

 "A thousand horse--and none to ride! With flowing tail, and flying mane, Wide nostrils--never stretched by pain, Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscarred by spur or rod, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Like waves that follow o'er the sea. "[11]

[11] Byron's _Mazeppa_. 

As I followed them in their course I fancied I saw troops of yetanother animal of the horse tribe, the "Kulan, " or _Equus hemionus_, which is a kind of half horse, half ass (p. 393), living on theKirghiz steppes of Tartary and spreading far beyond the range of theTarpan into Tibet. Here at last we have a truly wild animal, neverprobably brought into subjection by man. The number of names hepossesses shows how widely he has spread. The Tartars call him"Kulan, " the Tibetans "Kiang, " while the Mongolians give him theunpronounceable name of "Dschiggetai. " He will not submit to any ofthem, but if caught and confined soon breaks away again to his oldlife, a "free and fetterless creature. "

No one has ever yet settled the question whether he is a horse or anass, probably because he represents an animal truly between the two. His head is graceful, his body light, his legs slender and fleet, yethis ears are long and ass-like; he has narrow hoofs, and a tail with atuft at the end like all the ass tribe; his color is a yellow brown, and he has a short dark mane and a long dark stripe down his back as adonkey has, though this last character you may also see in many of ourDevonshire ponies. Living often on the high plateaux, sometimes asmuch as fifteen hundred feet above the sea, this "child of thesteppes" travels in large companies even as far as the rich meadows ofCentral Asia; in summer wandering in green pastures, and in winterseeking the hunger-steppes where sturdy plants grow. And when autumncomes the young steeds go off alone to the mountain heights to surveythe country around and call wildly for mates, whom, when found, theywill keep close to them through all the next year, even though theymingle with thousands of others. 

Till about ten years ago the _Equus hemionus_ was the only truly wildhorse known, but in the winter of 1879–80 the Russian travellerPrzevalsky brought back from Central Asia a much more horse-likeanimal, called by the Tartars "Kertag" and by the Mongols "Statur. " Itis a clumsy, thick-set, whitish-gray creature with strong legs and alarge, heavy, reddish-colored head; its legs have a red tint down tothe knees, beyond which they are blackish down to the hoofs. But theears are small, and it has the broad hoofs of the true horse, andwarts on his hind legs, which no animal of the ass tribe has. Thishorse, like the Kiang, travels in small troops of from five tofifteen, led through the wildest parts of the Dsungarian desert, between the Altai and Tianschan Mountains, by an old stallion. Theyare extremely shy, and see, hear, and smell very quickly, so that theyare off like lightning whenever anything approaches them. 

So having travelled over America, Europe, and Asia, was my questended? No; for from the dreary Asiatic deserts my thoughts wandered toa far warmer and more fertile land, where between the Blue Nile andthe Red Sea rise the lofty highlands of Abyssinia, among which theAfrican wild ass (_Asinus tæniopus_), the probable ancestor of ourdonkeys, feeds in troops on the rich grasses of the slopes, and thenonwards to the bank of a river in Central Africa where on the edge ofa forest, with rich pastures beyond, elephants and rhinoceroses, antelopes and buffaloes, lions and hyænas, creep down in the cool ofthe evening to slake their thirst in the flowing stream. There I sawthe herds of Zebras in all their striped beauty coming down from themountain regions to the north, and mingling with the darker-coloredbut graceful quaggas from the southern plains, and I half-grieved atthe thought how these untamed and free rovers are being slowly butsurely surrounded by man closing in upon them on every side. 

I might now have travelled still farther in search of the Onager, orwild ass of the Asiatic and Indian deserts, but at this point a moreinteresting and far wider question presented itself, as I flung myselfdown on the moor to ponder over the early history of all these tribes. 

Where have they all come from? Where shall we look for the firstancestors of these wild and graceful animals? For the answer to thisquestion I had to travel back to America, to those Western UnitedStates where Professor Marsh has made such grand discoveries in horsehistory. For there, in the very country where horses were supposednever to have been before the Spaniards brought them a few centuriesago, we have now found the true birthplace of the equine race. 

Come back with me to a time so remote that we cannot measure it evenby hundred of thousands of years, and let us visit the territories ofUtah and Wyoming. Those highlands were very different then from whatthey are now. Just risen out of the seas of the Cretaceous Period, they were then clothed with dense forests of palms, tree-ferns, andscrew-pines, magnolias and laurels, interspersed with wide-spreadinglakes, on the margins of which strange and curious animals fed andflourished. There were large beasts with teeth like the tapir and thebear, and feet like the elephant; and others far more dangerous, halfbear, half hyæna, prowling around to attack the clumsy paleotherium orthe anoplotherium, something between a rhinoceros and a horse, whichgrazed by the waterside, while graceful antelopes fed on the richgrass. And among these were some little animals no bigger than foxes, with four toes and a splint for the fifth, on their front feet, andthree toes on the hind ones. 

These clumsy little animals, whose bones have been found in the rocksof Utah and Wyoming, have been called _Eohippus_, or horses of thedawn, by naturalists. They were animals with real toes, yet theirbones and teeth show that they belonged to the horse tribe, andalready the fifth toe common to most other toed animals was beginningto disappear. 

This was in the Eocene Period, and before it passed away with itsscrew-pines and tree-ferns, another rather larger animal, called theOrohippus, had taken the place of the small one, and he had only fourtoes on his front feet. The splint had disappeared, and as time wenton still other animals followed, always with fewer toes, while theygained slender fleet legs, together with an increase in size and ingracefulness. First one as large as a sheep (Mesohippus) had onlythree toes and a splint. Then the splint again disappeared, and onelarge and two dwindling toes only remained, till finally these twobecame mere splints, leaving one large toe or hoof with almostimperceptible splints, which may be seen on the fetlock of a horse'sskeleton. 

You must notice that a horse's foot really begins at the point whichwe call his knee in the front legs, and at his hock in his hind legs. His true knee and elbow are close up to the body. What we call hisfoot or hoof is really the end of the strong, broad, middle toecovered with a hoof, and farther up his foot we can feel two smallsplints, which are remains of two other toes. 

[Illustration: SKELETON OF HORSE OR ASS. I, Incisor teeth. G, Grinding teeth, with the gap between the two as in all grass-feeders. K, Knee. H, Hock or heel. F, Foot. S, Splints or remains of the two lost toes. E, Elbow. W, Wrist. H, Hand-bone. T, Middle toe of three joints, 1, 2, 3 forming the hoof. ]

Meanwhile during these long succeeding ages while the foot waslengthening out into a slender limb the animals became larger, morepowerful, and more swift, the neck and head became longer and moregraceful, the brain-case larger in front and the teeth decreased innumber, so that there is now a large gap between the biting teeth andthe grinding teeth of a horse. Their slender limbs too became moreflexible and fit for running and galloping, till we find the wholeskeleton the same in shape, though not in size, as in our own horsesand asses now. 

They did not, however, during all this time remain confined toAmerica, for, from the time when they arrived at an animal called_Miohippus_, or lesser horse, which came after the Mesohippus and hadonly three toes on each foot, we find their remains in Europe, wherethey lived in company with the giraffes, opossums, and monkeys whichroamed over these parts in those ancient times. Then a little later wefind them in Africa and India; so that the horse tribe, represented bycreatures about as large as donkeys, had spread far and wide over theworld. 

And now, curiously enough, they began to forsake, or to die out in, the land of their birth. Why they did so we do not know; but while inthe old world as asses, quaggas, and zebras, and probably horses, theyflourished in Asia, Europe, and Africa, they certainly died out inAmerica, so that ages afterwards, when that land was discovered, noanimal of the horse tribe was found in it. 

And the true horse, where did he arise? Born and bred probably inCentral Asia from some animal like the "Kulan, " or the "Kertag, " heproved too useful to savage tribes to be allowed his freedom, and itis doubtful whether in any part of the world he escaped subjection. Inour own country he probably roamed as a wild animal till the savages, who fed upon him, learned in time to put him to work; and when theRomans came they found the Britons with fine and well-trained horses. 

Yet though tamed and made to know his master, he has, as we have seen, broken loose again in almost all parts of the world--in American onthe prairies and pampas, in Europe and Asia on the steppes, and inAustralia in the bush. And even in Great Britain, where so few patchesof uncultivated land still remain, the young colts of Dartmoor, Exmoor, and Shetland, though born of domesticated mothers, seems toassert their descent from wild and free ancestors as they throw outtheir heels and toss up their heads with a shrill neigh, and flyagainst the wind with streaming manes and outstretched tails as theKulan, the Tarpan, and the Zebra do in the wild desert or grassyplain. 

[Illustration]

NOTES

ALLEN, GRANT, English scientist and man of letters; born1848, died 1899. Was born in Canada, and passed his boyhood there. Educated in France and at Oxford University. He wrote "PhysiologicalÆsthetics, " "Vignettes from Nature, " "The Evolutionist at Large, ""Force and Energy, " many scientific papers in periodicals, and somefiction. "Strange Stories, " "The Reverend John Creedy, " "Philistia, ""The British Barbarians" among others. 

BELT, T.  G. , an English traveller of the nineteenth century, best known by his book, "The Naturalist in Nicaragua. "

BLATCHLEY, W.  S. , American naturalist and geologist, born1859. Has taken part in many important geological surveys, and isState geologist of Indiana. Among his writings are "Gleanings fromNature, " and many important highly technical contributions to Statescientific publications. 

BRUNER, L. , American professor of entomology and ornithologyat the University of Nebraska, born 1566. Is the State entomologist ofNebraska. Has written "An Introduction to the Study of Entomology, "and some papers on the locusts of Argentina, as well as many technicalscientific reports in State papers, etc. 

BURROUGHS, JOHN, American essayist, born 1837. Has writtenmuch on nature observation. Among his books are "Wake Robin, " "WinterSunshine, " "Birds and Poets, " "Pepacton, " "Fresh Fields, " "Signs andSeasons, " etc. He was at first a school teacher, then a clerk of thetreasury, then a national bank examiner, and he now lives on a farm, devoting himself to literature and fruit culture. 

HOPLEY, MRS. C.  C. , an English author who lived much inAmerica, and made a special study of "Snakes, " on which subject shewrote a great deal. Her book entitled "Snakes" is the most importantrecord of her work. 

HUXLEY, T.  H. , Famous English biologist, born 1825; died1895. Was assistant surgeon in the navy, then professor of naturalhistory, rector of Aberdeen University, and president of the RoyalSociety. Among his books are, "Evidences as to Man's Place in Nature, ""Comparative Anatomy, " "Lay Sermons, " "Critiques and Addresses, ""Physiography, " "The Crayfish, " "Science and Culture, " "Evolution andEthics, " "The Anatomy of Invertebrate Animals, " etc. 

JEFFERIES, RICHARD, born near Swindon, Wiltshire, Nov. 6, 1848; died Aug. 14, 1887. A naturalist whose fascinating writings wererecognized as classics only after his death. Among his most popularbooks are, "The Gamekeeper at Home" (1878), "Wild Life in a SouthernCountry" (1879), "The Amateur Poacher" (1880), "Round About a GreatEstate" (1881), "Nature Near London, " and "The Story of My Heart"(1883), "Red Deer" (1884), and "The Open Air" (1885). 

JORDAN, DAVID STARR, President Leland Stanford, Jr. , University; born Gainesville, N. Y. , Jan. 19, 1851; graduated CornellM.  S. , 1872; M.  D. Indiana Medical College, 1875; (Ph. D. ButlerUniversity, 1878; LL. D. Cornell University, 1886). Held chairs invarious collegiate institutions, 1872–79; assistant to U.  S. FishCommission, 1877–91; professor of zoölogy 1879–85, and president1885–91, Indiana University; president Leland Stanford Jr. , University since 1891; president California Academy of Sciences1896–98; also U.  S. Commissioner in charge of fur-seal investigations, etc. Author: "A Manual of Vertebrate Animals of Northern UnitedStates, " "Science Sketches, " "Fishes of North and Middle America"(4 vols. ); "Footnotes to Evolution, " "Matka and Kotik, " "Care and Cultureof Men, " "The Innumerable Company, " "Imperial Democracy, " "AnimalLife, " "Animal Forms, " "The Strength of Being Clean, " "Standeth Godwithin the Shadow, " also numerous papers on Ichthyology, in proceduresof various societies and government bureaus. 

MAETERLINK, MAURICE, Belgian dramatist and poet, born 1864. He began early to write plays, which were translated into English andrepresented in London. He has written "Le Trésor des Humbles, ""Aglavaine and Selysette, " "Pélléas and Melisande, " "The Intruder, ""Princess Maleine, " "Wisdom and Destiny. " He has been called the"Belgian Shakespeare. "

MORLEY, MARGARET W. , author and teacher, born 1858. Hastaught in New York State and in the West. She is the author of "A Songof Life, " "Life and Love, " "A Few Familiar Flowers, " "Flowers andtheir Friends, " "The Bee People, " "The Honey Makers, " "Seed Babies, ""Little Wanderers, " "Wasps and their Ways, " etc. 

THOREAU, HENRY DAVID, born at Concord, Mass. , July 12, 1817;died May 6, 1862. After his graduation from Harvard, in 1837, hehelped his father make lead pencils. In 1839 he began his carefulstudies on nature, and made a voyage on the Concord and MerrimacRivers described in his first book. His most popular work, "Walden, orLife in the Woods, " was published in 1854. After his death severalvolumes were made up from his voluminous diaries. His collectedwritings, in ten volumes, were published in 1893. 

WALLACE, A.  R. , noted English naturalist and traveller, born1822. Was educated as a land surveyor, but turned his attentionexclusively to natural history. He explored the valleys of the Amazonand Rio Negro, travelled in the Malay Archipelago and Papua. He andDarwin both announced together the theory of natural selection. Hewrote "Travels on the Amazon, " "Palm Trees of the Amazon, " "The MalayArchipelago, " "Contributions to the Theory of Natural Selection, ""Geographical Distribution of Animals, " "Tropical Nature, " "IslandLife, " etc. 

WILSON, A. , English physiologist, lecturer, and journalist, born 1852. Educated Edinburgh University and Medical School. Haswritten much on popular physiology in the newspapers and magazines. Isthe author of "Studies on Life, " "Leisure Time Studies, " "ScienceStories, " "Chapters on Evolution, " "Leaves from a Naturalist's NoteBook, " "Wild Animals, " "Elements of Zoölogy, " etc. 

NATURAL HISTORY

SUGGESTIONS FOR SUPPLEMENTARY READINGS

 Days Out of Doors CHARLES C. ABBOTT

 First Lessons in Zoölogy ELIZABETH C. AGASSIZ

 Birds of America JOHN J. AUDUBON

 My Land and Water Friends M.  E. BAMFORD

 Locusts and Wild Honey JOHN BURROUGHS

 Woodlands MORDECAI C. COOK

 A Year Among the Birds WILSON FLAGG

 The Out Door World W. FURNEAUX

 The Great World's Farm SELINA GAYE

 Monsters of the Sea Chips from the Earth's Crust J. GIBSON

 Sharp Eyes WILLIAM H. GIBSON

 Practical Forestry JOHN GIFFORD

 Along the Florida Reefs CHARLES F. HOLDER

 About Pebbles ALPHEUS HYATT

 Country Cousins ERNEST INGERSOLL

 History of a Mouthful of Bread JEAN MACÉ

 Under Foot L.  D. NICHOLLS

 Underground Treasures JAMES ORTON

 Among the Night People C.  D. PIERSON

 Ethics of the Dust JOHN RUSKIN

 The Sea Children WALTER RUSSELL

 Aspects of the Earth NATHANIEL S. SHALER

 The Vacation Club ADA J. TODD

 The Complete Angler IZAAK WALTON

 Half Hours in Field and Forest Half Hours with a Naturalist J.  G. WOOD