I stood by my study window after dark. An electric light a few blocks distant, cast shadows of the small limbs of a tree upon the window-pane. Those shadows were in constant motion because of the wind blowing through the trees. Through the dancing shadows I saw the brilliant light against the darkness of the western sky. My breath condensed into moisture on the cold glass, and through that moisture the electric light shone in the center of a brilliantly-colored circle, composed of myriads of pencils of light, radiating from the dazzling central point. As the moisture evaporated the pencils became fewer and coarser, bright lines and fragments of lines, rather than pencils. A few breaths on the glass, more moisture condensed and again the pencils were in myriads. I enjoyed the small but brilliant view in the same spirit in which I enjoy the starry heavens on a grand mountain outlook.
As I looked I thought of many things. I thought of my own mind with its wondrous thinking machinery; I thought of my eyes and of their marvelous mechanism by which the brain received so much thought-producing material; I thought of the burning furnace within my body that sent out heated air laden with the invisible vapor of water; I thought of the laws of heat and cold by which that vapor was instantly condensed and became visible when it came in contact with the cold glass; I thought of the transparent glass and of all the changes it had passed through since it was a mineral in the primeval rocks; I thought of the tree with its naked branches whose fibers were being toughened by constant wrestling with the wind; I thought of the leaves that in a few weeks would cover those twigs and conceal from me the electric light; I thought of the invisible air with its strange elements and properties, and of the laws of meteorology that produced the wind; I thought of the electric wire and of the distant copper mines from which it came; I thought of the mysterious force that we call electricity, of the coal, the engine, the machinery, that produce it, and of the light that it produces; I thought of the mysterious thing that we call light and of the laws of light that gave me those penciled rays; I thought of the things that were made for “glory and for beauty” as well as for practical utility; and I thought of God.
And so, according to such knowledge as I had of psychology, of physiology, of physics, of meteorology, of botany, of mineralogy, of chemistry, of optics, of electricity, of esthetics, and of natural theology, were my thoughts manifold, rich, suggestive, correlated, inspiring, spiritual even, in their last analysis.
That which to many would be a thing of no interest, a commonplace sight not worth a second glance, was to me full of beauty, tinged with glory, spiritually helpful, and an occasion for praising and worshiping God.
Roselle Theodore Cross.
BLACK-THROATED GREEN WARBLER.(Dendroica virens).Life-size.FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
BLACK-THROATED GREEN WARBLER.(Dendroica virens).Life-size.FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
One of the interesting nature studies is an investigation of the groups of insect-eating birds in reference to their food and the methods employed in obtaining it. Some insects are useful to man, but by far the larger number are a detriment to his interests in one way or another.
The swallows and swifts are almost constantly on the wing, dexterously catching any insects that come in their way. They are day birds and at night are replaced by the nighthawks that feed upon the night flying insects. Next are the flycatchers that dart “from ambush at passing prey, and with a suggestive click of the bill, return to their post.” The beautiful little hummingbird, ever active on the wing, quickly sees and picks from leaf or flower insects that would escape the attention of other birds. The woodpeckers and allied birds examine the tree trunks and carefully listen for the insect that may be boring through the wood within. The vireos, like the good housekeeper, examine the “nooks and corners to see that no skulker escapes.” The robin and its sister thrushes and the numerous sparrows attend to the surface of the earth, and aquatic birds extensively destroy those insects whose development takes place either in or on the water.
Not the least among the birds that assist man in his warfare upon insect pests are our beautiful and active warblers that frequent the foliage of tree and shrubs patiently gathering their insect food.
One of these is the Black-throated Green Warbler of our illustration. If we desire to examine its habits, except during the period of migration, we must visit the forests of cone bearing trees in the northern woods of the eastern United States, in the Allegheny mountains and from these points northward to Hudson Bay. It is almost useless to seek this bird in other places. Here, high up in the cedars, pines and hemlock in cozy retreats far out on the branches it builds its nest. “The foundation of the structure is of fine shreds of bark, fine dry twigs of the hemlock, bits of fine grass, weeds and dried rootlets, intermixed with moss and lined with rootlets, fine grass, some feathers and horse hair.” The nests are usually bulky and loosely constructed. These rollicksome Warblers have a peculiar song which is very characteristic and not easily forgotten. The descriptions of this song are almost as numerous as are the observers. One has given this rendering: “Hear me Saint Ther-e-sa.” Another has very aptly described it as sounding like, “Wee-wee-su-see,” the syllables “uttered slowly and well drawn out; that before the last in a lower tone than the two former, and the last syllable noticeably on the upward slide; the whole being a sort of insect tone, altogether peculiar, and by no means unpleasing.”
The song of the Black-throated Green Warbler is so unlike that of the other warblers that it becomes an important characteristic of the species. Mr. Chapman says, “There is a quality about it like the droning of bees; it seems to voice the restfulness of a midsummer day.”
Those who wish to observe this bird and cannot go to its nesting retreats, in the evergreen forests, must seek in any wooded land during its migrations to and from the tropics, where it finds an abundance of food during the rigors of our northern winters.
A few days ago I was watching the curious actions of a sparrow on the sidewalk in a rather quiet part of town. On either side of the street were lofty brick and stone buildings, with the usual multiplicity of little niches and cavities in and about the projecting cornices and ornamental architecture. These sheltered and inviting ledges had been utilized from year to year by divers smaller tribes of the feathered folk as nest-building sites, and the little bird which had attracted my attention had already laid the foundation timbers of its prospective house in a cosy niche of the cornice almost directly over my head where I was standing.
It was plainly evident that the sprightly creature was seeking sticks of proper length and strength to barricade a broad hiatus in the front part of the cavity it had chosen for its future home.
This opening was angular in form with the vertex at the bottom and its sides separating outwards towards the top, where there was a span of perhaps four or five inches.
As I stood with my elbow resting against the low paling the confiding sparrow hopped to within a yard or two of my feet in searching for tiny twigs that had fallen from the overhanging shrubbery.
It picked up a great many pieces and as quickly dropped them. Then it would stand perfectly still for a few minutes intently scanning the limited landscape as if in a brown study as to what move it should next make.
Finally it set vigorously to work picking up bits of material from an inch or two to six inches in length. Instead of flying away with a load it dropped them in a little heap nearly if not quite parallel to each other. Then poking its beak into the pile and throwing the sticks hither and thither it settled down to practical business by seizing a stick of medium length and flying away with its burden dangling in the air. Of course, I watched the little architect and saw her mount straight up to the chosen ledge and deposit the twig exactly crosswise of the gaping notch. This operation she repeated several times, always throwing the sticks about as if intent upon selecting a piece of special dimensions. No human carpenter with measuring rule in his hand could have been more expert.
In a moment the truth flashed into my mind and I realized that I was verily the human pupil of a little bird made famous by honored mention in Holy Writ.
Why, the cunning worker had foreseen to the ridicule of my own confessed stupidity that in order to effectually bar the exposed side of the chamber it must of necessity select girders of successively increasing length and size. Thus, as I fancied it reasoned, a short stick would not span the top of the dangerous gap; while, on the other hand, a long stick could not be used at the bottom because it would strike smack against the side walls before it could be placed in position low enough. So all this clearly explained why the bird should exercise such studied care in selecting the large “timbers.”
A few days afterwards I visited the scene of operations again, and by using an opera glass found that the nest was very nearly if not quite finished. The menacing gap in the ledge no longer existed; for there was a solid bulkhead in its stead composed of longitudinal sticks tied and stiffened by interwoven bits of dry grass and such shreds of various waste material as only bird intelligence knows where to find.
More interested now than ever, I took pains to climb into the attic of the three story building where from a narrowgable window I could look obliquely down into the pretty nest now neatly lined with tiny feathers and thistle down. So much, then, for the sparrows and their house building. I say sparrows now, for during my later observations I had seen both Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow diligently working together.
But to advert now to our alleged “libel” on the birds, I have only to say that it is very convenient for great men and ponderous books to tell us that the lower animals perform their actions by means of a tendency called “instinct;” and thus divest themselves of all further responsibility in the matter. Confronted by this obscure declaration we are led as pupils in natural history to ask, “What is instinct?” The following definitions of this much-abused term are, perhaps, the best to be found in the English language:
“Instinct is a propensity prior to experience and independent of instruction.”—William Paley.
“Instinct is a blind tendency to some mode of action, independent of any consideration on the part of the agent, of the end to which the action leads.”—Richard Whately.
“Instinct is an agent which performs blindly and ignorantly a work of intelligence and knowledge.”—Sir William Hamilton.
Now such names as Paley, Whately and Hamilton stand high upon the roll of honor in the sparkling literature of our language; and yet the words of these great scholars are but as sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal when they undertake to tell us what is the real import and inwardness of that occult and wonderful faculty in the mental essence of animals which scientists by force of circumstances have agreed to call “instinct.”
“Aha!” my little sparrow would say, could she speak our language, “we perform our actions neither blindly nor ignorantly, as your famous Mr. Hamilton learnedly remarks; but God has taught us to both reason and work according to existing circumstances, from cause to effect; nay, even as your great logicians would have it, a priori. And although five of our little bodies were sold in the markets of Jerusalem for two farthings, not one of us ever fell to the ground without our Father’s notice!”
There, that is about the kind of sermon our little bird would preach to the utter discomfiture of human wisdom, which, after all, is but “foolishness with God.”
Verily, and in conclusion, we declare that it is a libel upon the birds to say that they build their nests guided only by that nameless tendency signified by the common acceptation of the term “instinct.”
The humblest creature God has madeFulfills some noble, wise design;And, dowered rich with reason’s aid,It boasts a lineage divine.L. P. Veneen.
The humblest creature God has made
Fulfills some noble, wise design;
And, dowered rich with reason’s aid,
It boasts a lineage divine.
L. P. Veneen.
This mineral species includes a number of varieties which are highly valued as gems. These are, besides Beryl itself, the gems emerald, aquamarine and golden beryl. Chrysoberyl, it may be noted, is not a variety of Beryl, but a distinct species.
While these gems all differ in color, they are the same mineral and are practically identical in composition, hardness and other properties. In composition they are a silicate of aluminum and glucinum, the percentage being, for normal beryl, 67 per cent of silica, 19 per cent of alumina and 14 per cent of glucina.
The beautiful green color of the emerald is probably due to a small quantity of chromium which it usually contains, though some authorities believe organic matter to be the coloring ingredient. To what substance the other varieties of the species owe their color is not known.
In hardness the varieties of Beryl differ little from quartz, the hardness being 7.5 to 8 in the scale of which quartz is 7. They are somewhat inferior therefore to such gems as topaz, sapphire and ruby in wearing qualities, although hard enough for ordinary purposes.
The specific gravity of Beryl is also about like that of quartz, ranging from 2.63 to 2.80; the specific gravity of quartz being 2.65. The varieties of Beryl are therefore relatively light as compared with other gems.
Beryl crystallizes in the hexagonal system. It usually occurs as six-sided prisms, commonly terminated by a single flat plane, but sometimes by numerous small planes giving a rounded effect and occasionally by pyramidal planes which cause the prism to taper to a sharp point.
The crystals sometimes grow to enormous size, exceeding those of any other known mineral. Thus, one found in Grafton, New Hampshire, was four and one-quarter feet in length and weighed two thousand nine hundred pounds. Another in the same locality is estimated to weigh two and one-half tons. In the museum of the Boston Society of Natural History and in the United States National Museum are exhibited single crystals also of great size. That in Boston is three and one-half feet long by three feet wide and weighs several tons. That in the National Museum weighs over six hundred pounds.
None of these crystals are of a high degree of purity or transparency, but the crystal planes at least of the prisms are well developed.
Beryl crystals have no marked cleavage except a slight one parallel with the base. Where broken, the surface shows what is called conchoidal fracture, i. e. it exhibits little rounded concavities and convexities resembling a shell in shape.
The mineral is quite brittle. Some emeralds even have the annoying habit of breaking of their own accord soon after removal from the mine. This can be prevented by warming them gradually before exposing them to the heat of the sun or other sudden heat.
Beryl and its varieties, like tourmaline, are dichroic, i. e. the stones exhibit different colors when viewed in different directions. This dichroism can sometimes be observed by the naked eye, but often not without the aid of the instrument known as the dichroscope. When seen it furnishes a positive means of distinguishing a true stone from any glass imitations.
The varieties of Beryl have none of the brilliancy of the diamond and therefore depend wholly on their body colors and their lustre for their beauty and attractiveness. Fortunately they exhibit these qualities as well by artificial light as by daylight.
BERYL.
BERYL.
Ordinary Beryl is a mineral of comparatively common occurrence, being often found in granitic and metamorphic rocks.
That of common occurrence is usually too clouded and fractured to be of use for gem cutting. There are many localities, however, where Beryls of gem quality occur.
The finest emeralds in the world come from Muso, a locality in the United States of Colombia, seventy-five miles N. N. W. of Bogota. It is a wild and inaccessible region and the mining of the gems is a precarious occupation. The emeralds occur according to Bauer in a dark, bituminous limestone which is shown by fossils to be of Cretaceous age. As emeralds in other localities occur only in eruptive or metamorphic rocks, it seems probable that the Muso emeralds have washed in from an older formation. The emerald bearing beds are horizontal, overlying red sandstone and clay slate. Calcite, quartz, pyrite and the rare mineral parisite are other minerals found associated with the emerald. The manner of working these emerald mines is thus described by Streeter:
“The mine is now worked by a company, who pay an annual rent for it to the government, and employ one hundred and twenty workmen. It has the form of a tunnel of about one hundred yards deep, with very inclined walls. On the summit of the mountains, and quite near to the mouth of the mine, are large lakes, whose waters are shut off by means of water-gates, which can be easily shifted when the laborers require water. When the waters are freed they rush with great rapidity down the walls of the mine, and on reaching the bottom of it they are conducted by means of an underground canal through the mountain into a basin. To obtain the emeralds the workmen begin by cutting steps on the inclined walls of the mine, in order to make firm resting places for their feet. The overseer places the men at certain distances from each other to cut out wide steps with the help of pickaxes. The loosened stones fall by their own weight to the bottom of the mine. When this begins to fill, a sign is given to let the waters loose, which rush down with great vehemence, carrying the fragments of rock with them through the mountain into the basin. This operation is repeated until the horizontal beds are exposed in which the emeralds are found.”
The next most prominent locality whence gem emeralds are obtained is that in Siberia on the river Tokovoya, forty-five miles east of Ekaterinburg. The emeralds here found are often larger than any yet obtained in South America, but they are not of so good quality. They occur in mica schist (see colored plate), and often associated with the mineral phenacite, chrysoberyl, rutile, etc.
Other localities whence emeralds are obtained are Upper Egypt (the source of those known to the ancients), the Heubachthal in Austria, and Alexander county, North Carolina, in our own country. The latter locality is no longer worked, but it has afforded a number of fine crystals.
Aquamarines and transparent Beryls are found in Siberia, India, Brazil, and in many localities in the United States. Dana describes an aquamarine from Brazil which approaches in size, and also in form, the head of a calf. It weighs two hundred and twenty-five ounces troy, is transparent and without a flaw. In the Field Columbian Museum is to be seen a beautiful cut aquamarine from Siberia more than two inches in diameter and weighing three hundred and thirty-one carats. Here is also the finest specimen of blue Beryl ever cut in the United States. It was found in Stoneham, Me., is rich sea green color in one direction and sea blue in another. It weighs one hundred and thirty-three carats. Numerous other Maine localities have furnished gem Beryls. Golden Beryls are found in Maine, Connecticut, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and other United States localities, as well as in Siberia and Ceylon. From them are obtained gems of rich golden color resembling topaz.
Beryl of a pale rose color is sometimes found, and when of good quality is cut for gem purposes, but it is of too rare occurrence to be important.
Emeralds seem to have been known and prized from the earliest times. They are mentioned in the Bible in several places, the earliest mention being in Exodus, where they are described as one of the stones making up the ephod of the high priest.
Their use in Egypt dates back to an unrecorded past and they frequently appear in the ornaments found upon mummies. Readers of Roman history will remember that the Emperor Nero used an emerald constantly as an eye glass.
The Incas, Aztecs and other highly civilized peoples of South America were found using these gems profusely for purposes of adornment and for votive offerings when first visited by the Spaniards. It was partly the desire to secure these gems which led Cortez and his followers, early in the sixteenth century, to undertake the conquest of Peru. Some of the emeralds wrested from the Incas by Cortez and brought to Spain are said to have been marvels of the lapidary’s art. One was carved into the form of a rose, another that of a fish with golden eyes, and another that of a bell with a pearl for a clapper.
During the years following Cortez’ conquest large quantities of emeralds were brought to Europe, and they became much more popular and widely distributed than previously. Joseph D’Acosta, a traveler of the period, says the ship in which he returned from America to Spain carried two chests, each of which contained one hundred pounds’ weight of fine emeralds.
From what locality the Peruvians themselves obtained these gems is not known, unless it was the Colombian locality at Muso, already described. The Spaniards were led to these mines in 1558. They continued the working of them, and there has been practically no interruption in their operation since that time.
The ancients had many superstitions regarding the emerald, one being that it had a power to cure diseases of the eye. Another was that it would reveal the inconstancy of lovers by changing color.
“It is a gem that hath the power to showIf plighted lovers keep their troth or no.If faithful, it is like the leaves of Spring;If faithless, like those leaves when withering.”
“It is a gem that hath the power to show
If plighted lovers keep their troth or no.
If faithful, it is like the leaves of Spring;
If faithless, like those leaves when withering.”
So writes one poet.
Again, they believed the emerald would blind the eyes of the serpent:
“Blinded like serpents when they gazeUpon the emerald’s virgin blaze.”—Moore.
“Blinded like serpents when they gaze
Upon the emerald’s virgin blaze.”
—Moore.
Of these traditions, perhaps the only one held in any esteem at the present time is that which associates the emerald with the month of June, making it the talismanic gem or “birth stone” of persons born in that month.
The largest and most beautiful emerald known to be in existence at the present time is one owned by the Duke of Devonshire. This is an uncut six-sided crystal about two inches long and of the same diameter. It is of perfect color, almost flawless and quite transparent.
Like all other gems, the value of emeralds varies much according to their perfection. Those of the best grade are worth at least one hundred dollars a carat. The color should be a dark velvety green, those of lighter shades being much less valuable. Owing to the extreme brittleness of the mineral, emeralds usually contain flaws, so that “an emerald without a flaw” has passed into a proverb to indicate a thing almost unattainable.
Aquamarine and other varieties of Beryl seem not to have been as highly esteemed as emerald by the ancients, although Beryl is mentioned in the Bible, and early writers describe gems evidently belonging to the species. They were probably less well known to the ancients, as nearly all the localities from which aquamarines and Beryls are now obtained are of comparatively modern discovery. They are gems in every way as worthy as the emerald, however, and will doubtless become more popular as their qualities are better known.
Oliver Cummings Farrington.
“A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was,Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye.”
“A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye.”
“New birds, new flowers, new pleasures,” I murmur as my vision widens upon the, to me, new world of Arizona. A new delight indeed, notwithstanding the often impressed fact that the old footpath-ways of Ohio are, after many years, still but half discovered countries. But ’tis human, this desire for novelty, and I am not at all in advance of my fellow kindred in arriving at that stage of blessed content which we see expressed upon every side of us in the lives of the lesser (?) creatures who abide without unrest until compelled by the necessities of necessity to “move on.” But I echo Richard Jefferies: “a fresh flower, a fresh path-way, a fresh delight,” and am so far content; and, truly, coming from the east of living greens, ’tis a new kingdom of somber mountains and sandy desert at which I have arrived. To an imaginative person it is a land filled with the echoes of a distant past, even now but half heard and in my mind the golden glow of a day that is dead enfolds the silent hills, a silence of grandeur, not of nature which is here alive and keen to the fullest extent. With many other naturalists, I agree that if one desires to learn the secrets of the field and forest, one must go about singly and alone. There is something strange about it too, while one person alone is allowed to see many of the inner movements of wild life, when two or three are gathered together, they seem to intimidate the wood folk to an unlimited extent.
But bird life in this far away territory, notwithstanding Dr. Charles Abbott’s experience to the contrary, seems to me to be much more companionable and less timid than in the more thickly populated east, and also, bird curiosity is more noticeable than in those states where generations of experience has obviated all desire for any close scrutiny or investigation of that queer biped without feathers. One has only to sit silent and quiet for a few moments to have his ornithological interest aroused by numerous visitors, who, with impatient “chips” and “twits” question his presence among them. While Gila county makes up her quota of song birds in quantity, she lacks something in decorative quality, at least so far as coloring of plumage is concerned. There is no question but what the very arid atmosphere of this section is not without its marked effect upon feather coloring, and on account of this dullness of plumage, I was at first unable to classify numbers of birds who were perfectly familiar to me in Ohio. Birds like the blue jay lose much of the metallic gorgeousness of their plumage and are under a veil as it were, showing a dull, bluish gray. The blackbirds also are decidedly rusty in appearance, hardly holding their own with the great glossy ravens (Corvus principalis) who have so adapted themselves to civilization as to have become almost a necessity as purveyors of edible refuse and debris which accumulates in such abundance about the abodes of mankind, who are supposedly the most hygienic and cleanly of all creatures, but whose abiding places ‘au natural’ present an unsightly spectacle in comparison with the nests of birds, but of course it is because our requirements are so much greater, and education has developed a love of “accumulations” among us, herein must lie all blame. But we “progress” or so we have determined.
However, I never see these dignified crows of stately motion moving about without remembering Virgil’s:
“The crow with clamorous cries the shower demands,And single stalks along the desert sands.”
“The crow with clamorous cries the shower demands,
And single stalks along the desert sands.”
But in Arizona his demand for showers is vain, for the absence of the “rain maker” is her greatest deficit.
To return to the atmospheric or arid effect upon color, I fail to understand why the bleaching process is so observable in feathers, yet the most brilliant and tropical coloring predominates in the flora. Does the plant world absorb all of the richest coloring matter of the sunlight, or do they possess an antidote to the alkaline properties of the air? Is atmosphericmoisture that is not obtainable necessary in feather coloring? Some of the plants here are sufficient unto themselves, brewing their own sustenance as it were, as I have seen the Bisnaga, sometimes called “Well of the Desert” in which a deep hole had been cut, produce in a short time at least a cup full of watery liquid, which is very invigorating to the thirsty traveler, and growing, too, in a sand as dry as powder, there not having been a drop of rain near it in months, if not years, and dew an unknown quantity. This liquor seems necessary for the full fruition of the rich, yellow flower, so carefully guarded by immense fish-hook spines or barbs that is such efficient protection to this species of cacti. As effectual is this protection as is the venomous reputation of that much maligned saurian, the Gila monster (Heloderma suspectum), which is not one-half so bad as his looks would imply, but he is formidable in appearance when he puffs forth his breath like a miniature steam engine and at the same time emits a greenish saliva from his mouth, which is to say the least a forbidding performance, but I really believe him to be comparatively harmless, for after considerable acquaintance with his habits, I have only learned of one person being bitten by this reptile, and that was a man who was drunk and insisted upon tickling the Gila monster on the mouth and was bitten for his pains. The reptile had to be killed before its teeth could be unlocked. As an antidote an attempt was made to fill the man with whisky, but as he was already full but little could be accomplished in that line; when he got sober he was all right save that his hand was somewhat paralyzed.
There is a marked gregariousness among the song birds of Arizona or else the present abundance of all species gives one that impression, for the numbers are almost countless, though human depredators are fast depopulating the songsters for the sake of their own pleasure or bird plumage for profit. While women anathematize men for their inordinate desire to kill something, they take an equivocal stand as critics, yet wearing a hat adorned with one or more dead bodies of birds. It is truly the old question of mote and beam re-enacted.
I do not remember of meeting with but one bird which I have been entirely unable to classify or even learn its common name if it has one. It darts in and out of a thorn bush after the manner of a thresher or cat bird, and about equals them in size; is of a dull canary yellow in color save for a rich red cap slightly tufted and worn jauntily on top of his head. I have never heard any note from him save a startled chip, and have been unable to learn anything about him from the various bird histories.
Dr. Abbott has remarked on the lack of vocal powers among the birds of Arizona, and says:
“I listened hour after hour to these cheerful birds, fancying there was melody in their attempts at song, and wondering why, when their lines had been cast in such forbidding places, the gift of sweet song had not been vouchsafed them. Does the extremely dry atmosphere have to do with it? Not a sound that I heard had that fulness of tone common to the allied utterances at home. At the limit of my longest stroll I heard a mountain mocking bird, as it is misnamed in the books, and his was a disappointed song. It was the twanging of a harp of a single string, and that a loose one.”
This absence of note richness is a feature that I have not observed, and never have I heard a more musical chorus from bird throats as one after another of the many sorts and conditions awoke at sunrise. Many a time have I listened while camping on a lone mountaintop, where our only canopy was the pine-fretted blue heavens, and heard the rich burst of song in which not a note lacked flavor; mocking birds, thrushes, orioles, wrens, finches, vireos, grosbeaks, robins (and their distinguishable note is likely to make one homesick) thrashers, blue birds, tanagers, etc., all filling in the score, as each was awakened and filled in the line of song, to say nothing of whip-poor-wills, owls and other night singers who have had “their day.” I feel sure if Dr. Abbott had given a little more time to the study of bird song in this territory he would have had no cause to complain of or discredit the vocal powers of these western songsters.
AFRICAN LION.(Felis leo).
AFRICAN LION.(Felis leo).
The African Lion, familiar to the general public as the sulky tenant of a barred cage, ranges with freer strides throughout the length and breadth of Africa, and even extends through Persia into the northwestern part of India. Fossil remains show that at one time Felis leo inhabited the southern part of Europe as well, but the king of beasts was evidently considered good sport by primitive man, and he became extinct in Europe except where, in the Roman amphitheatres, and in many a meaner cage since, he has roared for the edification of the populace.
The literature of all nations is full of allusions to the Lion; to his bravery, his grandeur and his strength. The old Assyrian kings carved pictures of themselves in bas relief hurling javelins into crouching Lions, and many a sportsman is to-day beating the thorn-thickets and trailing over the sandy plains of Africa with the same unreasoning enthusiasm, yet hoping, perhaps, in a vague way to hand down his name along with the Assyrian kings by writing a book. It is the Lion’s misfortune as well as his glory that he is king of beasts.
The Lion differs from the other Felidæ in the great strength and massive proportions of his head and shoulders, and more especially in the arrangement and growth of the hair on the body. Where, in other cats, the hair lies flat and close along the skin, the Lion is so clothed only on his yellowish-brown body. The hair of the top of the head and of the neck to the shoulders stands erect or bristles forward, forming the beautiful and characteristic mane of the adult male and suggesting in a way not otherwise possible the massive strength of the great paws, one blow from which will fell an ox or crush the skull of a man without an effort. In most Lions the mane is of a darker color than the remainder of the body, being often almost black. The elbows, tip of tail and the under parts of the body are also clothed with this long, bristly hair, but it is found only on males above three years of age. The females have smaller heads and shoulders and are of a uniform color.
In many minor ways the Lion is specially adapted for his predatory life. Every tooth in his head is sharp pointed or sharp edged. The great canine teeth are set far apart in his square jaws and locked together like a vice. The molars are transformed from grinders into incisors, yet are so strong that they will crack heavy bones. The papillæ on the tongue are so developed that they resemble long, horny spines curved backwards, giving the tongue the appearance of a coarse rasp. With this rough tongue the Lion can lick the meat from bones as easily as a house cat eats butter, and should a friendly Lion lick his keeper’s hand the flesh would be torn and the blood flow. The claws are very large and sharp, and are so nicely sheathed in the soft cushions of his feet that the Lion neither blunts nor wears them down. Yet when he strikes with tense paws every claw is like a hook and a dagger to tear and cut.
In seeking his prey the Lion lies in wait by springs and water holes and leaps upon his victims from the ambush of some bush or rock as yellow as his own tawny hide; or, failing in this, he sneaks up the wind and through the thickets and reeds of a watercourse or swamp and quickly leaps upon a surprised antelope or zebra or savage buffalo, crushing it to the ground by his great weight, while he strikes and tears it with paws and teeth. In cultivated districts the Lion prowls about the fields and villages, seizing cattle and sheep, and often, when he is old and lazy, rushes into some camp or hut at night and carries off a man. In many parts of Africa the natives build greatcorrals of thorns about their camps to keep the Lions away, and should one be heard in the night they light fires and wave torches until the dawn.
Under ordinary circumstances the Lion attends to his own hunting, and when seen in the daytime retreats to some denser cover where he will not be disturbed. This is often cited as an evidence of cowardice, but is such a common characteristic of big game and of animals, and even men of undoubted courage, that it should not be held against him. There is no animal in the world which can consistently hunt for trouble and survive, and so long as the Lion can keep his stomach filled and his sleep undisturbed he is probably content to waive the title of king of beasts.
Lion hunting has been held a royal sport in all times, with the result that the Lion has been exterminated in many parts of its natural habitat and forced back into the wilder parts of desert and plain. Unlike the tiger, the Lion is rarely found in forests, and is unable to climb trees. He is ordinarily stalked in the daytime, when, with stomach full, he sleeps among rocks and bushes, or shot from stands as he approaches some water hole or carcass by night. The literature of African exploration and travel abounds with accounts of Lions killed by men and men killed by Lions. In these days of zinc balls and repeating rifles it is generally the Lion that is killed. To the thorough-paced English sportsman like Sir Samuel Baker or Gordon Cumming the Lion hunt is recreation merely, and with their ten-bore rifles and British phlegm they are in no more danger than if they were chasing foxes through the dales of England.
The family life of the Lion is very interesting and human. So far as is known, a single male and female remain together year after year, irrespective of the pairing season, the Lion feeding and caring for his Lioness and cubs and educating the young in the duties of life. For two or three years the cubs follow their parents, so that Lions are often found in small troops. Cases have been reported where they have joined for a preconcerted hunt, and the Lioness often goes up the wind to startle game and drive it towards her ambushed mate, following after for a share of the prey. Hon. W. H. Drummond, in “The Large Game and Natural History of South and Southeast Africa,” gives the following account of the feast after the victim had been slain: “The Lion had by this time quite killed the beautiful animal, but instead of proceeding to eat it, he got up and roared vigorously until there was an answer, and in a few minutes a Lioness, accompanied by four whelps, came trotting up from the same direction as the zebra, which no doubt she had been to drive towards her husband. They formed a fine picture as they all stood round the carcass, the whelps tearing it and biting it, but unable to get through the tough skin. Then the Lion lay down, and the Lioness, driving her offspring before her, did the same, four or five yards off, upon which he got up and, commencing to eat, had soon finished a hind leg, retiring a few yards on one side as soon as he had done so. The Lioness came up next and tore the carcass to shreds, bolting huge mouthfuls, but not objecting to the whelps eating as much as they could find. There was a good deal of snarling and quarreling among these young Lions, and occasionally a standup fight for a minute, but their mother did not take any notice of them except to give them a smart blow with her paw if they got in her way. There was now little left of the zebra but a few bones, and the whole Lion family walked quietly away, the Lioness leading, and the Lion often turning his head to see that they were not followed, bringing up the rear.”
Dane Coolidge.
’Twas a holiday joy when I was a boy,To follow the brook a-trouting,’Twas gold of pleasure without alloy,To trudge away through the livelong day—Not a bite to eat, or a word to say,And never a failing or doubting.Then home at night in a curious plight—Heavy and tired and hungry quite—With a string of the “speckles” hung out of sight,And a chorus of boyish shouting.
’Twas a holiday joy when I was a boy,
To follow the brook a-trouting,
’Twas gold of pleasure without alloy,
To trudge away through the livelong day—
Not a bite to eat, or a word to say,
And never a failing or doubting.
Then home at night in a curious plight—
Heavy and tired and hungry quite—
With a string of the “speckles” hung out of sight,
And a chorus of boyish shouting.
Only a line of the commonest twine,Only a pole of alder;None of your beautiful things that shine—Tackle so nice and so high in priceThat a trout would laugh to be taken twice.And sing like a Swedish scalderFor a jump at a sign of a thing so fine,And scorn rough implements such as mine;Only a line of the commonest twine—Only a pole of alder!
Only a line of the commonest twine,
Only a pole of alder;
None of your beautiful things that shine—
Tackle so nice and so high in price
That a trout would laugh to be taken twice.
And sing like a Swedish scalder
For a jump at a sign of a thing so fine,
And scorn rough implements such as mine;
Only a line of the commonest twine—
Only a pole of alder!
Wet to the skin in our raiment thin—Never a word of complaining,Never too late in the day to begin;Dropping a hook in the beautiful brookTill day was taking his farewell lookNo matter how hard it was raining!Ah! few, indeed, would fail to succeedIn the angling of life—if they’d only heedThe trout-boy’s patience, whatever impede,And his joy, both in seeking and gaining.—Belle A. Hitchcock.
Wet to the skin in our raiment thin—
Never a word of complaining,
Never too late in the day to begin;
Dropping a hook in the beautiful brook
Till day was taking his farewell look
No matter how hard it was raining!
Ah! few, indeed, would fail to succeed
In the angling of life—if they’d only heed
The trout-boy’s patience, whatever impede,
And his joy, both in seeking and gaining.
—Belle A. Hitchcock.
The Alaska Moose is the largest of the deer family in America. Alces gigas is a comparatively new species, having been described in 1899. At present it is still quite numerous along the Yukon and its tributaries, though the influx of prospectors and the settling of the Klondike region has already resulted in a marked falling off in Moose and an increase of Moose meat. In the winter this is the staple diet of both Indians and whites, and on account of the high price paid—one dollar or two dollars per pound—many prospectors have found Moose hunting even more remunerative than mining.
Alces gigas was first collected by Mr. Dall De Weese, of Canon City, Colo., who spent three months, in 1898, on the Kenai Peninsula, Alaska, in quest of large mammals for the United States Museum. From the six specimens of the Alaskan Moose which he collected it is seen that this animal differs considerably from the Moose (Alces americanus) inhabiting the east United States and eastern and central Canada, being larger and more richly colored and having a much heavier mandible. Its general color is a grizzle of black and wood brown, darkening along the spine and changing abruptly to clear black on chest, buttocks and lower part of sides.
The horns of the Moose are very characteristic, being of immense size and palmated before and behind so that an average full-grown pair weighs seventy pounds and shows a spread of forty-six inches between the points of the posterior branch as against a length of thirty-eight inches. Our illustration is a photograph of one with horns of remarkable size, measuring about seventy-one inches from tip to tip in a line across the head. It is not until the third year that the horns are palmated, and they increase in size from year to year. In the winter the old horns are cast, but they sprout again in the spring, and by June have shed their velvet and appear a beautiful white. Although so large and characteristic, it is not known that they serve any more useful purpose than as weapons during the rutting season. In running through the woods the Moose throws his head back, and, despite the spread and weight of his horns, he is able to move about without breaking a twig.
The clumsy shape of the head is accentuated by the hump on the nose, which is due to the excessive development of the nasal septum and of the upper lip, which is long and supple, and adapted to browsing rather than to cropping grass. The short neck of the Moose would in any case interfere with the cropping of grass, even if it were found in the snowy inlands of Alaska. Its common food is the twigs and bark of willows and birches, which it rides down to reach the tops, lichens and mosses and the aquatic plants of summer.
In winter the Moose herd together in the snow, forming great tramped-down places called moose yards by hunters. In summer comes the rutting season, in which the great males shake their antlers and attack any animal that comes their way. With summer comes mosquitoes also, and these pester the Moose to such an extent that they are galled to a greater fury. So it is that the Moose is a most dangerous animal in the time when the ground is clear, the swamps full of mosquitoes and his horns new-stripped of velvet for the fray.
When the snow lies so deep that he cannot travel even with his long legs, the enemies of the Moose have him at a disadvantage, and often the yards are attacked by wolves or bears or, worse yet, by agile men on snowshoes. Killing in the snow is not recognized as legitimate sport, and is resorted to only by skin hunters or men lacking in the higher ideals of sportsmen. The ordinary method of hunting deer in the summer is by imitating the rutting cry of the male, the reply of the cow and the defiant challenge of the male again, followed by the thrashing and scraping of the trees and branches where the hunter lies concealed. These cries are produced by blowing through a birchbark horn, and on account of the blind fury of the rutting males they are often very successful in bringing them to their death.