Chapter II: Part 2

Mr. John Burroughs, in his little book, "Wake Robin," writes in an admirable manner of the song and habits of this little bird. He says: "Have you heard the song of the Field-Sparrow? If you have lived in a pastoral country, with broad upland pastures, you could hardly have missed him. Wilson, I believe, calls him the Grass-Finch, and was evidently unacquainted with his powers of song. The two white lateral quills of his tail, and his habit of running and skulking a few yards in advance of you as you walk through the fields, are sufficient to identify him. Not in meadows or orchards, but in high, breezy pasture grounds, will you look for him. His song is most noticeable after sundown, when other birds are silent, for which reason he has been aptly called the Vesper Sparrow. The farmer following his team from the field at dusk catches his sweetest strain. His song is not so brisk and varied as that of the Song-Sparrow, being softer and wilder, sweeter and more plaintive. Add the best parts of the lay of the latter to the sweet vibrating chant of the Wood Sparrow (Spizella pusilla), and you have the evening hymn of the Vesper-bird--the poet of the plain unadorned pastures. Go to those broad, smooth, uplying fields, where the cattle and sheep are grazing, and sit down on one of the warm, clean stones, and listen to this song. On every side, near and remote, from out the short grass which the herds are cropping, the strain rises. Two or three long, silver notes of rest and peace, ending in some subdued trills or quavers, constitute each separate song. Often you will catch only one or two of the bars, the breeze having blown the minor part away. Such unambitious, unconscious melody! It is one of the most characteristic sounds in Nature. The grass, the stones, the stubble, the furrow, the quiet herds, and the warm twilight among the hills, are all subtly expressed in this song; this is what they are at least capable of."

THE WORSHIP OF NATURE.

The ocean looketh up to heaven
As 'twere a living thing;
The homage of its waves is given
In ceaseless worshiping.

They kneel upon the sloping sand,
As bends the human knee,
A beautiful and tireless band,
The priesthood of the sea!

They pour the glittering treasures out
Which in the deep have birth,
And chant their awful hymns about
The watching hills of earth.

The green earth sends its incense up
From every mountain-shrine,
From every flower and dewy cup
That greeteth the sunshine.

The mists are lifted from the rills,
Like the white wing of prayer:
They lean above the ancient hills
As doing homage there.

The forest-tops are lowly cast
O'er breezy hill and glen,
As if a prayerful spirit pass'd
On nature as on men.

The clouds weep o'er the fallen world,
E'en as repentant love;
Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurl'd,
They fade in light above.

The sky is as a temple's arch,
The blue and wavy air
Is glorious with the spirit-march
Of messengers at prayer.

The gentle moon, the kindling sun,
The many stars are given,
As shrines to burn earth's incense on,
The altar-fires of Heaven!
John Greenleaf Whittier.

BIRD-STUDY.

To be intimate with Nature is as important to the investigator as the ability to technically classify the things found therein.

In this connection we copy, by permission, the words of Olive Thorne Miller, from the "School Room Methods and Nature Study:"

"Recognizing a bird on sight or hearing, knowing his nest and
eggs, when he arrives in the spring, and when he departs in the
fall, does not by any means imply that one is acquainted with the
bird himself. All these facts are easily acquired; they have been
set down in the books these many years.

But whoso really desires to know the little being so beautifully
enshrined; to see his home ways with his mate and little ones; to
find out his personal habits; his likes and dislikes; his tastes;
his disposition; in a word his personality, for him is something
very different from book study. He must go into the field and
observe for himself; for well as we may know our common birds
by sight, glibly as we can explain their anatomy, give their
scientific names, and their place in our classification, of their
lives and habits we are in almost total ignorance.

This is a field of inquiry as fascinating as it is fresh and
unexplored. Nothing but the greed of collecting and the passion
for classifying, could so long have blinded men to the charm of
studying life instead of death, the individual instead of the
skin. And this is the beautiful work left for us to do, to make
the world acquainted with the lives of our little brothers in
feathers.

For this work are needed, patience that knows no fatigue,
accuracy of observation, enthusiasm that scorns such trifles
as wet feet, torn garments, insect bites and stings, burning
sun or blistering wind, and above all--lacking which all else
is useless--truthfulness that will report correctly, without
exaggeration or coloring. To one possessing these qualities a
whole world of delight is open.

Nor is this world so difficult to enter as it seems at first.
Science--whose help is needed--has, to be sure, shrouded itself
in technicalities, buried its facts under scientific terms, and
hidden its names in a dead language. But all this, which perhaps
was necessary, can be got over. With a little courage, and some
perseverance, this bristling array of difficulties may be broken
through, and the charming goldfinch be as lovely and bewitching
under the name of Spinus tristis, as of thistle bird, or yellow
bird.

How shall we go to work? This is the first question always.
Let me give you a few hints: Some fine morning dress yourself
in modest-hued array, dull olive of medium shade best; discard
all conspicuous details of costume; take off ribbons and
veils, and all fluttering things; reject the spring hat with
its eccentricities of flowers, fruits, feathers, or general
fluffiness, and put on a plain shade hat, as near the color of
the dress as possible; leave parasol, bag or basket and book all
at home. Slip into a flat pocket on the outside of your gown or
coat, a small note book with sharpened pencil attached to it,
and suspend by narrow ribbon around the neck, so that it will
hang above the waist and be ready for instant use, an opera glass
without its case. On your left arm carry a light folding camp
stool--and start out.

Bid adieu to your friends, and go alone, for the temple of Nature
can never be entered in crowds, nor even in pairs. Turn your
steps to the best place you know of; an old orchard, a grove with
underbrush near a house, a ravine, a swamp, or the edge of woods.
Walk slowly and leisurely along, with little noise of footsteps,
and without swinging arms.

Arrived in your chosen spot look sharply around for the flitting
forms of the birds. When you see one, stop at once; quietly slip
your stool off your arm and sit upon it, with as little motion as
possible. If you place it against a tree trunk, to furnish a back,
you can be comfortable in that one position an hour without moving.

Now slowly raise your opera glass to your eyes, adjust the focus
to bring the bird clearly before you, and proceed to study him.
First you want his description so that you can name him. Look
very carefully at him, his size and shape, his coloring above and
below, his peculiar markings, the shape of his tail at the end,
and the color and shape of the beak. As you settle one point write
it in your note book, which you have quietly drawn out of its
pocket.

His description recorded, proceed to note his manners; whether
quiet or restless, whether he jerks his tail, or his head; walks
or hops. See what he is doing; picking up insects, digging them
from bark or ground, seeking them among flowers or leaves, or
whether he is eating seeds from the grass or weeds. Sit there as
long as that bird is in sight, and note down everything he does,
even his calls and his song as it sounds to you.

When you go home take your manual and look for a description that
matches yours. This is where troubles begin, not only the obscure
scientific terms, and the Latin names, but the knowing where in
that big book to start. You will be helped by observing what the
bird ate. If he hammered on the bark and picked his food from tree
trunk or limb, look among the woodpeckers; if he flew out, made a
turn or two and back to his perch seek him among the fly-catchers;
if he was eating seeds, look among the finches; and so on.

When by a little work you have passed this Rubicon--where so many
turn back discouraged--you will reap your reward, success. Having
persevered, and named your bird without help, you will feel a new
pleasure in his acquaintance, as if he belonged to you, and you
will never forget him.

Then go out and make acquaintance with another. You will find
him easier to identify, and as you will become familiar with its
idiosyncrasies the manual will lose its terrors for you.

Of course all this trouble will be avoided if you begin with the
study of scientific ornithology. But in that case you are in
danger of becoming absorbed in the science, and getting to care
more for the dry bones and the dead skin, than for the living
bird, and thus adding one more to the ornithologists, and taking
one from the students of life."

THE OREGON JUNCO.

Residents of the Atlantic, Middle, Southern and Middle Western States are, doubtless, well acquainted with the slate-colored Junco. This little feathered specimen is more familiarly known as "Snowbird."

The Oregon Junco ("Junco hyemalis var. Oregonus") is a sub-species, and is found throughout the Pacific coast region from California to Sitka. It is, by no means, confined exclusively to Oregon. Its darkest-hued plumage makes the bird very conspicuous when the ground is covered with a soft and spotless mantle of snow.

The sooty-black head, flesh-colored bill and white breast, sharply contrast in color. On the sides are pinkish colored feathers; the back is rufous-brown and the two outer tail feathers pure white, showing when the bird flies. In western Oregon it is a winter visitant, arriving with the first cool days of autumn.

As winter approaches these snowbirds become more plentiful, hopping about in the small bushes in quest of food. A great deal of pleasure and interest may be found in studying these birds, especially when the ground is covered with snow. By casting bread crumbs on the snow, the little fellows flock around, and are easily tamed. In winter their only note is a sort of chirp, sometimes uttered several times in quick succession when alarmed. With the warm days of spring they begin their song, sometimes many singing at once, and soon the majority disappear to a higher altitude to breed.

The Oregon Junco builds its nest in hollows in the ground under low bushes. The nest is constructed flush with the surface and in holes among the roots of bushes and trees, and under woodpiles. Usually, the nest is made of dry grasses rather loosely placed together, with a lining of cowhair, and contains four and sometimes five handsome greenish-white eggs, spotted and wreathed with purple.--J. Mayne Baltimore.

* * * * *

Olive Thorne Miller, in her fascinating little book, "The First Book of Birds," speaking of how the birds work for us, says: "Chickadees like to eat the eggs of cankerworms; and for a single meal one of these tiny birds will eat two hundred and fifty eggs, and he will take several meals a day. Now, cankerworms destroy our apples. When they get into an orchard in force, it looks, as Miss Merriam says, as if it had been burned over. Robins, cat-birds, and shrikes, and several others, like to eat cutworms, which destroy grass and other plants. As many as three hundred of them have been found in the stomach of a robin, of course for one meal. Ants are very troublesome in many ways, and three thousand of them have been taken from the stomach of one flicker."

Why kill these birds that are so useful to us and so beautify nature? Many others are just as useful and some that occasionally do damage amply repay us in other ways.

THE CALICO BASS.

The Calico Bass (Pomoxys sparoides) is so called because of the mottled and variegated coloring of the body and fins. It is also called the Strawberry Bass, the Grass Bass, the Bitter Head, the Lamp-lighter and the Barfish.

It is abundant in all the lakes and ponds of the region of the Great Lakes and the upper Mississippi river, where it shows a preference for quiet, cool and clear water and grass covered bottoms.

The Calico Bass is closely related to the Crappie (Pomoxys annularis) of the lower Mississippi valley. It is, however, seldom seen where the Crappie is abundant, as the latter prefers muddy sloughs and bayous and is not found as far north as the former.

The body of the Calico Bass is elongated, is much compressed and of a bright, silvery olive-green color. The sides and fins are mottled with a darker green or brownish-green, the blotches being gathered into irregular bunches. The vertical fins also have markings in the form of a network surrounding paler spots. The mouth is large and oblique. The usual length of the adult is about twelve inches.

The Calico Bass obtains its food largely from the lower forms of animal life, such as crustaceans, worms and insects.

It is said that "from the fact that it thrives well in slow-moving waters, it deserves the favorable consideration of owners of large mill ponds, where there is a steady flow of water, as it requires very little care, except the first planting of it in waters suitable to its nature. It is not averse to an occasional minnow, but is not regarded as peculiarly aggressive, though provided by nature with an armature that enables it to defend itself against all comers."

* * * * *

"Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and bay
With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals
Of fish, that with their fins and shining scales
Glide under the green wave, in sculls that oft
Bank the mid sea: part single, or with mate,
Graze, the seaweed their pasture, and through groves
Of coral stray, or, sporting with quick glance,
Show to the sun their waved coats, dropt with gold."
--Milton, "Paradise Lost."

THE GROWTH AND VARIATION OF FISH.

How can you tell the age of a fish? This question is often asked and just so often is the answer unsatisfactory.

A fish is a cold-blooded animal; that is, his temperature is nearly the same as that of the water in which he lives. His circulation is sluggish and his appetite is a variable quantity. He has the capacity to take in large quantities of food at one meal and properly assimilate it; on the other hand he is able to fast for weeks at a time. He has his own notions about eating, and it is quite impossible to induce him to change them, and all this has considerable influence on his rate of growth. It is out of the question to expect him to grow when he is fasting; on the other hand he must draw on the fat he has stored up in his body to furnish him energy for his muscular movements and to carry on the ordinary functions of nutrition. The fish here has an advantage over the warm-blooded animals, for he does not need to generate heat to keep his body at a constant temperature. The amount of food often eaten at one time is quite remarkable. I remember once of taking nearly one pound of sunfish from the stomach of a Large-mouthed Black Bass. This does not indicate that a bass must eat such meals three times each day, it only shows his capacity to make use of a large quantity of food when it is abundant and his stomach feels the need of it. A trout is a good feeder; his stomach and mouth are large, much in size like that of the black bass. From experiments conducted at Neosho, Missouri, by Mr. Page, he found that a young trout did best on a daily ration of solid food equal to about seventy-five per cent of its weight. On this amount the trout would reach an average length of six inches in one year. The average amount of solid food consumed daily by a man is from one and one-half to two per cent of his weight, or more than twice that consumed by our active, growing young trout. As mentioned before, the trout is relieved from generating heat to keep his body at a constant temperature, and at one usually much higher than the medium in which he lives.

As an example of the ability of fishes to go for some time without eating, we need only mention our Pacific salmon. There are five species of these large fishes on the Pacific coast. In the early spring (April) many of the largest species, the Chinook, start up the Columbia river for the purpose of spawning. They reach the headwaters of the Columbia in Idaho early in September. During this journey they eat nothing. We know they do not eat, for of the thousands caught each year for the canneries none are found with food in their stomachs; besides, this organ has become much shrunken. If they did eat on this journey there would not, I believe, be enough animal and plant life in the Columbia to furnish each salmon with more than one meal. Now many of them make the journey against a strong current for more than one thousand miles, and reach an elevation of about eight thousand feet above the sea. When they leave the ocean they are in excellent condition, by the time they have reached their journey's end they are thin and haggard, their vitality is so reduced that soon after spawning they die--literally die of starvation. Their eggs hatch during the winter. By the next winter the young salmon are from four to five inches in length, and by the following fall or early winter they go to the sea, having reached an average length of about ten inches. After leaving the fresh water, which only afforded them a scant subsistence for nearly two years, the generous ocean gives them plenty of sea room and an abundance of food, which in a few years prepares them to repeat the long journey of their parents. We are, in case of most fishes, ignorant of their life histories, as we are of the salmon's. We know the average rate of growth of the salmon for the first two years, but we know nothing more of them until they return to fresh water to spawn.

I mentioned that trout in the Neosho Fish Hatchery grew, under favorable circumstances, to a length of six inches in one year. It must not be taken for granted, however, that trout six inches in length are one year old. In their native streams, in cooler regions, they will not often attain this length in two or more years.

In general we do not find large fishes in small bodies of water; neither do we find the fish in our small aquaria growing at an alarming rate. The fish disdains to outgrow his surroundings; he may feel his importance, and consider himself in many ways superior to the other fishes in the pond with him, but he will not permit himself to grow to such a size as to make the question of securing a living a difficult or irksome one.

Fishes spawn but once each year, and the time and length of the spawning season is not the same for all species. With some species the season is short, while with others it may extend through three or more months. In the latter case those produced the first part of the spawning season are at the end of six months much larger than those which appear at the close. It is therefore evident that the fishes of any single brood by the end of the year will vary greatly in size, often to such an extent that the broods of one season cannot be separated from those of the preceding season; especially is this true of our smaller species. Mr. Moenkhaus, in making a study of the two species of darters, the Sand Darter or "Johnny," and the Log Perch, found by collecting a large, miscellaneous lot of these fishes, from a given locality, that it was possible to separate them in groups according to size of one, two or three years of age, which indicates a quite uniform rate of growth for these two species.

Mr. Voris collected a miscellaneous lot of over five hundred specimens of the Blunt-nosed Minnow from Turkey Lake in Indiana, varying from one to three inches in length. These, when separated as far as possible, according to sizes, did not fall into distinct groups of different ages. In my own collecting and study of fresh water fishes I have always been impressed with the difficulty of recognizing the age of fishes, except that the smallest taken was considered to be the product of the preceding spawning season. Here is an interesting question to which but little attention has been given. Any one will find much interest in studying the rate of growth of fishes under different circumstances. We know that the rate of growth is in no way uniform, as is the case with our warm-blooded animals. We also know that among fishes there is no uniform adult size, as there is in case of warm-blooded animals (birds and mammals). In general, we cannot speak of a fish as being full-grown; at the same time there seems to be a limit of size for each species in each body of water, beyond which only a few go. The Chinook salmon we mentioned reach an average weight of twenty to thirty pounds, although individuals are occasionally taken of forty, sixty or even one hundred pounds weight. These large fishes are by no means common, the other species of salmon never attain the size of the Chinook.

There is an interesting family of fishes in our fresh waters known as Minnows; these fishes are too small and too full of bones to become a favorite for the table. They are the most helpless of all our fresh water fishes, being soft, and, as they are slow swimmers, they become an easy prey to larger fishes, and form a large part of their food supply. They have been constantly driven into smaller streams and shallow water, until they have become exceedingly dwarfed. Their only use in the economy of fish life seems to be to assimilate small organisms, converting them into such shape that they can be taken by the larger fishes. Now the Minnows of all the United States east of the Rockies are small and, except in case of a few species, they are less than six inches in length. The predatory fishes, such as the Sunfishes and Perches, Pike and Pickerel, are their worst enemies. In the Rocky Mountains there are none of these fishes, and many minnows there grow to a length of two feet or more. The only enemy of importance they have is the trout, but the minnow finds a more congenial climate in the larger bodies of water, too warm for the trout. The struggle for existence has been a severe one, especially so in our streams where species of fish are the more numerous. It has greatly limited the growth of most species beyond an average size, and is in many places responsible for the fact that often a species may become dwarfed in certain bodies of water. In the Salmon river in Idaho it was not an uncommon thing to catch trout of three or four pounds weight. In the smaller tributaries and in the smaller mountain lakes it was unusual to catch one weighing over one-half pound, the average being less than one-fourth pound. I have no doubt that many of those from the small lakes of one-half pound were as old as the large ones taken from the Salmon river.

Fish eat and grow very irregularly. The average size of individuals, which we would ordinarily call adults, for some species, is different in different bodies of water. Their growth is influenced largely by the size and depth of the body of water in which they live, also by its temperature and the amount of suitable food it contains. The value or extent of each of these influences is imperfectly understood.

The forms of fishes are very numerous. Some are extremely long and slender, as many of the species of Eels, Pipe-fishes and the like, while others are extremely short, like Sunfish of the ocean. Others, like the Trunk Fishes, are nearly equal in all dimensions. The average form and the one which best suits our idea of a fish, is the Black Bass, or other fishes of similar pattern. To know the advantages of these forms one must study the fishes in their native element. The peculiar forms which many species take are the most noticeable in those found in the tropics. The struggle for existence there is the most severe, and it seems as if each species had labored to take on some peculiar form which would assist most in its preservation. In this respect color also plays an important factor. It is in the tropics and among the many species of corals that we find the most highly-colored fishes.

Many fishes have the power to change their color, and this they can do in a very short time. The flounders are a peculiar family, the young when born are symmetrical. Early in life they take on the habit of their parents and lie on one side, the eye on the underside disdains to look downwards and so begins to move toward the other side. The bones of the head suit themselves to this change and soon our flounder has both eyes on the same side of the head. The upper side is colored much to resemble sand, and the under side becomes nearly white. The flounder protects himself by covering his body, except the eyes, with sand. Flounders live on sandy bottoms, some in shallow water, while others are found in deepest parts of the ocean. If flounders are placed in an aquarium and arranged so the light can fall on the under side of their bodies, this, too, becomes dark, much like the other side.

It is interesting to study the habits of fishes in a small aquarium, and to especially notice their ability to change color, and how rapidly they do it. So many persons seem to be saturated with the idea that an aquarium must have in it one or more gold fish. This seems to me to be a mistake when our streams contain so many species suitable for the aquarium which are far more handsome than the gold fish, and which, if you give them half a chance, will teach you something of interest. Mr. Ford, of Berwyn, Illinois, has a small aquarium, in his house, in which he keeps from fifteen to twenty-six species of native fishes. Among these are several species of Darters, the most beautifully colored and the most interesting of all our fresh-water forms. Then there are Minnows, Suckers, Catfishes, Sunfishes, the Pike, Mud Minnow, Top Minnow, and so on. To one who would know fishes, any one of these species is more desirable than gold fish. The study of fishes in an aquarium, such as the one possessed by Mr. Ford, is extremely interesting. They will teach you much about their habits, besides giving you many lessons showing their ability to change color and adapt themselves to their surroundings.

The Blind Fishes, which inhabit caves in this country, are very interesting. They have lost their color, if they ever had any, being white. In many the eyes have become so degenerated as to be entirely of no service when the fish is in the light. The head is furnished with tactile organs, which enables them to feel their way in the dark. In fact, they are well adapted for the life they lead. Dr. Eigenmann tells us that Blind Fishes were not accidentally swept into caves or driven there by their enemies, "but entered them deliberately and avoided coming out into the light." In other words, they preferred "darkness rather than light." Having simplified eyes and highly developed sense organs, they were able to live in the dark. The many ages they have lived in the caves has better fitted them for their existence in total darkness. The Blind Fishes were not always blind, but have become so because of their own preferences.

The readers are, if they will only study fishes, sure to find them extremely interesting. There are a wonderful variety of fishes, each well adapted for the life it leads. You will find them in the brooks, creeks, rivers and lakes or ocean, wherever you happen to be, and you are sure to be highly repaid for all the study or attention you may give them. Seth E. Meek.

THE ORIGIN OF THE FISH.

A BIRD-FISH STORY.

Once upon a time, and that was in the long ago, there lived a Koko-bird along the forest shores of the Boozoo river. I am not quite certain in what country this river is but I believe it is somewhere in Gazazuland. It does not matter much where it is or was, but of one thing I am absolutely certain, and that is that the river did exist, else how could the bird have lived along its shores? Now this bird was quite beautiful, could sing quite well, and could fly quite gracefully; accomplishments which all of the other birds of the community willingly admitted, but the Koko-bird was very boastful. In a loud, arrogant voice he would proclaim himself the handsomest, the most musical and the most graceful of all the feathered tribe. At first his neighbors tried to ignore these boasts, hoping that the Koko-bird would in time learn better manners, but he did not; on the contrary, he became more boastful every day, in fact every minute, so that his presence became almost unbearable, causing great mental irritation and a feeling of nausea in those who were obliged to listen to him. A bird committee was therefore appointed to obtain an audience with the Golden Eagle, who was then the ruler of all the birds, and petition his majesty to convene the bird council in order that suitable punishment might be meted out to the boastful Koko. The very next day the meeting was called by special and very swift bird messengers. The Koko-bird was brought a prisoner before the king of the birds, the bird council and a vast concourse of birds from far and near, who had come to witness the trial. In a measured and stentorian voice the king asked the following questions of the culprit:

"Are you the handsomest of birds?"

"I am," replied the Koko-bird.

"Are you the best singer among birds?"

"I am," again replied the boastful bird.

"Are you the most graceful and the highest flyer among birds?"

"I am," replied the braggart for the third time.

The king of birds then flapped his right wing and there came forth the gorgeous bird of paradise, with the beautiful and wonderful tail feathers and crown, at the sight of which the members of the bird council individually and collectively flapped their wings in admiration. The eagle once more turned to the Koko-bird and in a terrible voice demanded:

"Are you still the handsomest among birds? Heed well your answer."

The Koko-bird gave one sidelong squint at the beautiful bird and said:

"I am," in a very indifferent tone of voice; whereat the assembled birds were astonished.

The king of birds then flapped his left wing and there came forth a nightingale which began to sing so sweetly that some of the listeners fell from their perches out of sheer ecstasy and they would have been hurt by the fall had they not caught themselves in the air by means of their wings. Even the king of birds was greatly moved, for he was seen to brush a tear from his right eye before he turned to the Koko-bird and spoke in a thunderous voice:

"You have heard this marvelous singer. Are you still the best vocalist among birds? Heed well your answer."

The Koko-bird merely yawned and said, "I am," and again the birds were greatly astonished.

The king of birds now nodded his head and there arose out of the multitude of birds a blue crane, whose home was near the Gingago river in farthest India. Its wings moved in even, silent, graceful undulations. It gradually rose higher and higher. All of the birds, with the exception of the Koko-bird, watched it spellbound until it appeared a mere speck in the distance. The Koko-bird gave one glance at the high flyer, then curled one foot up in his feathers, shook his head, closed his eyes and dozed peacefully.

For the third time the king of birds turned toward the Koko-bird and spoke in a voice even more terrible than on previous occasions.

"Are you the most graceful and highest flyer among birds? Answer me quick and heed well your answer."

The Koko-bird merely opened one eye and said sleepily, "I am," whereat the vast concourse of birds were astonished for the third time. Some opened their bills in amazement at such unheard-of audacity; others hooted and screamed, clamorously, demanding that the wicked Koko be severely dealt with.

The king of birds now flapped both wings to demand silence and attention. Those who had their bills open closed them with a snap and the clamorous ones became perfectly quiet. The king then turned toward the council and spoke in an even, stentorian voice, as follows:

"Gentlemen birds of the council. The prisoner, otherwise known as the Koko-bird, stands before you, self-accused and self-condemned. I commit him to your judgment. Let his punishment be as severe as the bird law will permit."

The bird council then adjourned to the large council tree where they remained in closed session for one hour. They then returned to the bird assembly and the leader thus addressed the king of birds:

"Your majesty, the grand council of this bird assemblage, convened by you, find the prisoner guilty and fix upon the following punishment:

"1. Because of his boast that he is the handsomest of birds his tail and wing feathers shall be pulled out and all other feathers shall be shorn close.

"2. Because of his boast that he is the best singer among birds he shall be struck dumb.

"3. Because of his boast that he is the most graceful and highest flyer among birds, he shall forever be prevented from moving in the atmosphere in which we move."

No sooner had the speaker finished when the handsome feathers of the Koko-bird disappeared. This so surprised Koko that he actually awoke from his slumber. He tried to say, "Well! well! what has happened," but could not utter a sound. The king of birds now flew away, which was the signal for the adjournment of the assembly, for, you see, their work was done. All of the birds began to depart for their respective home trees, but before doing so each one said something sarcastic or insulting, hoping to humiliate the forsaken culprit. This merely annoyed Koko a little. He tried to retaliate by boldly declaring that he was the handsomest, the most musical and the most graceful of all birds, as he had often done before, but he could not, for had not the council decreed that he be "struck dumb?" He tried to catch the little sparrow, who, by his derisive twitterings, annoyed him even more than the vulture, by his coarse insults, but his wings would not carry him. He merely succeeded in falling into the Boozoo river.

"Now I shall be drowned," he thought, for you remember he could not talk. But behold! he did not drown; by means of his featherless wings and tail he could swim beautifully on top of the water as well as in it. His body feathers being gone, they did not become water-soaked and give him the snuffles, a severe cold, or perhaps pneumonia. Koko was astonished to find that water, which he had formerly feared, was not bad at all. He could drink whenever he wanted to without having to stand at the edge of the river bank, as he formerly did and get his feet all mud. In time his wings and feet became fins and the feather stumps became scales; in other words, the erstwhile boastful Koko became a fish.

The Koko-fish (for so must the Koko-bird be called now), would have lived in the Boozoo river peacefully had not an owl noticed him one day.

"O, ho! What is this?" said the wise one, blinking both eyes. "Such a creature was never seen before. I must investigate closer." So saying he flew to a lower limb and looked hard at Koko. Koko, in turn, stared at the owl out of one eye; he did not wink or blink but simply stared and said nothing.

"By my wisdom," said the owl, "if this isn't Koko. I know him by his eye. Well! well! what may not happen next?"

That night the wise owl repaired in all haste to Urtzook in Tartary, where the bird council was again in session, and reported his wonderful find, whereat the king of birds and all present were greatly astonished for the fourth time. They expressed a fear that Koko would some day leave his watery element and return to them. The king turned to the wise one and said:

"How know you that the creature which you beheld in the limpid waters of the Boozoo is the erstwhile Koko? and let me remind you, heed well your answer."

"Uh! how do I know, indeed," replied the owl, "by his eye, by his cold stare."

"Our enemy, the Boa, also hath an eye with a cold stare; is he therefore also a metamorphosed Koko? Again heed well your answer," continued the king in a somewhat sarcastic tone.

The owl winked and blinked, adjusted his spectacles and made answer.

"The undeniable evidence that the creature referred to is the metamorphosed Koko-bird is as follows: All the wise birds of your kingdom, including your humble servant, have searched far and near and have found no Koko-bird. We, ahem, I, have found this creature with the cold stare; therefore, it follows that this staring, scaly, wingless and featherless creature must be the metamorphosed Koko-bird, for how could it be otherwise?"

All doubt vanished at such display of wisdom and the king of birds at once dispatched the Flipflap bird to the banks of the Boozoo river, instructing him to keep a sharp lookout on the now scaly Koko and to drive him back into the water should he attempt to leave it. Even to this day the guardian of fish may be seen perched upon a stump, closely watching the rippling waters. As soon as one of the finny tribe approaches near the surface he makes a dash for it, compelling it to return with all speed. For his faithful services the Flipflap bird has been dubbed Kingfisher, which is a much nicer name. Albert Schneider.

THE BANANA.

Tall and stately, capped by a gracefully arched group of leaves and a nodding spike of numerous flowers, the banana is noted alike for its beauty, its nourishing fruit and its many qualities of economic value. Some one has said, "The banana is the queen among ornamental herbs, and the household god of the laborer's cottage."

To him who dwells in the tropics the banana is as wheat and rice are to the inhabitants of more temperate regions.

Nearly all the authorities on the distribution of plants believe the banana to be a native of Asia and that it was not found in the New World previous to its introduction by man. An argument which strongly supports this theory is the lack of native names for the plant in Mexico and in South America. It was mentioned by the early Latin and Greek writers, but seems to have been unknown to the ancient Egyptians.

Botanical authorities quite generally agree that the numerous varieties of our common banana are produced from Musa sapientum. The generic name, Musa, is by some claimed to have its origin in the Arabic word Moux, their name for this group of plants. Others claim that the name was given in honor of Antonius Musa, a physician who cured Augustus Caesar of a disease that had been considered incurable. The specific name has its origin in the myth that the groves of the banana plant were used by the sages or wise men (sapientes) of India for their councils and for rest, they also partaking of the fruit.

Another species of the genus Musa is called paradisiaca from the mythical story that it was the forbidden fruit of Paradise. The common name of this species is the plantain and by many it is considered the parent of the numerous varieties in cultivation in Asia and the adjacent islands and also in the New World. Many eminent authorities believe that both the banana and the plantain, with the numerous varieties of each, are the same species.

The banana plant is herbaceous and dies down to the ground after fruiting. The true stem is underground and perennial, sending up new shoots each season, which grow rapidly and in a few months bear ripened fruit.

The stalk that bears the flowers grows to a height of from fifteen to twenty feet and is surrounded by the sheathing bases of the leaves. The flower cluster or spike is terminal and from two to four feet in length and nodding. The oblong leaves are dark green in color, from five to ten feet in length, and from one to two feet in width. The beautifully arching leaves and the pendulous cluster of flowers or fruits forms an attractive foliage and makes the plant a noted ornament for the garden.

The many varieties of both the banana and plantain, which vary in taste, color, form and size, are very widely distributed throughout the world, being usually found in a zone bounded by 38 degrees North and 38 degrees South latitude. It is said that a single plant will produce, on the average, in one year three bunches of fruit weighing fifty or more pounds. The amount of labor required in its cultivation is very small, especially in the older plantations.

The number of bananas on a single stalk of the ordinary variety varies from about one hundred to two hundred, with an average of about one hundred and thirty. When a plantation is fully developed growth is so rapid and so constant that ripe bunches of fruit may be gathered each week.

For the best results a good, fertile soil is required. It is interesting to note that but little moisture is needed, for the plants attract water, either from the air or the waters deep under ground, and the surface of the ground is always moist even in a time of unusual drought.

The stalk that bears the heavy bunch of fruit, occasionally weighing as much as eighty pounds, may be easily cut down by a single stroke of a scythe or a machete.

Under cultivation the fruit seldom produces perfect seeds, but if developed in a state of nature it is said that they will mature and that many varieties are produced.

The banana is frequently used in coffee plantations to make the necessary shade for the young coffee plants and at the same time it yields an income while the planter is waiting for the production of the coffee berry.

Natives of the tropics have found the leaves a cool and useful thatching for the roofs of their huts.

The unripe fruits contain a large percentage of starch and the pulp, when dried and reduced to a powder, makes an excellent and nutritious flour or meal. The ripe fruit contains about twenty per cent of starch, the remainder having been changed into sugar during the process of ripening. Even intoxicating drinks are made by the Africans from the juice, known as "banana beer" and "banana wine." It is not the fruit alone that is used as food, as also the pith, the top of the flower cluster and the young and tender shoots delight the taste and nourish the body.

The economic value of the fibers of some of the species was known to the Chinese and Japanese from remote times. The fiber obtained from the leaves of both the banana and the plantain are valuable in the manufacture of paper and fabrics of various kinds.

One of the most interesting and valuable of the species of Musa is the Wild Plantain (Musa textilis) of the Philippine Islands. The fiber obtained from this plant is the Manila or Cebu hemp of commerce, which is used, in this country, mainly for the manufacture of binding twines, cordage and mats. In France the finer fibers are quite extensively used for the manufacture of fine veils, crapes, hats, delicate underclothing and many other articles of apparel. The natives of the Philippines call this fiber Abaca. It is called Manila because most of the fiber is exported from the seaport of that name. We are told that "Manila hemp began to be used extensively in this country, in Salem and Boston, in 1824 to 1827."

Probably the most peculiar of all the species is the Chinese banana (Musa Cavendishii), which is extensively cultivated in China and throughout the South Sea Islands. It is a dwarf, the plant seldom attaining a height of more than six feet. It is robust and yields a great harvest of fruit, a single bunch bearing from two hundred to three hundred bananas, the flavor of which is excellent.

The opposite of the Chinese form is the Abyssinian (Musa ensete), which may be called the giant plantain. It attains a height of thirty or more feet and the leaves are sometimes twenty feet long by three feet wide. The fruit is pulpless and dry, but the inner part of the stalk and the young stalks are boiled and used for food. It is without doubt the most handsome species of this wonderfully useful and beautiful group of plants. William Kerr Higley.

+----------------------------------------------------------------- +
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. |
| |
| Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant |
| form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. |
| |
| Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. |
| |
| Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, |
| _like this_. |
| |
| The Contents table was added by the transcriber. |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+