Chapter II: Part 2

Once this summer a blunderer smarter'n common came along by us. We had a nice place, too, in a dreadful blackberry tangle. A small sassafras threw a nice shadow over it when the sun got hot. Well, I shut up quick, I tell you. Was just tellin' Mrs. Chat a few things while she kep' an eye on our four eggs like. We kep' still as mice. But didn't that blunderin' rags march right up to our door and push and scratch till she saw what we had? Had a little rag blunderer with her. An' she held her up to look in, too. Every single feather we had stood on end! It was good riddance when they went along. Couldn't believe my specs when I saw they had left our eggs alone. Seven suns after, big rags came back. We're in a peck o' trouble. Our four bairns just out the shell. We both had to scratch round with all our toes to feed and keep 'em breathin'. Been rainin' for a solid week. Dame Chat said she just knew they'd get a chill and die. But the blunderin' party didn't stay long.

Well, sir, we hadn't got rid of that blunderer yet. The nex' time she brought another, bigger one, along. Both crowded up and looked in our door. You never saw such beauties as our bairns that day. Just gettin' so plump and featherin' right along. But it meant a sight o' work for us. They just sat and took in every mouthful we could rake and scrape. They kep' us busy. Well, when these blunderin' rags shook the house the bairns all up and spread their jaws wide open. Rags thought it was awful cute, but I'm thankful they didn't offer to feed 'em anything. Did bad enough, anyhow. Big one said, "Why don't you take their picture?" First rags said she couldn't. Second rags said she'd try, anyhow. With that, first rags began to snap off our best defenses--without so much as by your leave. They scratched her good, anyhow; for she said so. Well, she put some kind of square black gun right up to our door. Dame Chat went into hysterics and those little Chats just boiled over like a teakettle and went out the nest in four different directions! The two blunderers went off in a hurry, both talkin' at once and one suckin' her paw. Thankful to say ain't ever seen 'em since. But Dame Chat's a nervous wreck from the fright they gave her; and I'm worked to skin and bone takin' care of the little Chats. I just wish all the town's fenced in so's blunderers couldn't get loose to meddle round in their bunglin', elephant, rhinoceros way!

Elizabeth Nunemacher.

* * * * *

He comes--he comes--the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his
footsteps now
On the naked woods and the blasted fields, and the brown hill's
withered brow.

He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where their
pleasant green came forth,
And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have shaken them down
to earth.
--John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE LUNA AND POLYPHEMUS MOTHS.

The two silk-worm moths which we figure this month both possess a point of excellence far in advance of any other of our native silk-worm moths; Luna on account of its graceful form and delicate colors, and Polyphemus for the silk of its cocoons.

It seems that most persons who speak of the Luna moth (Tropaea luna) feel called upon to give a more or less poetic description of it. This, I hope, has been rendered unnecessary by the colored plate, so that it will suffice simply to mention that the beautiful shade of green is of very rare occurrence among our larger moths, and that no other has the long, graceful "tails" on the hind wings, a characteristic which adds greatly to the beauty of this insect.

This moth does not seem to be very abundant anywhere, but when once seen will long be remembered on account of its great beauty. The green and yellow colors are evidently very closely related, because either one may, to a greater or less degree, replace the other, so that some of the moths have quite a strong, yellowish tinge. One of our common swallow-tail butterflies (Iphiclides ajax) possesses a very similar green color in its wings, but does not seem to show this tendency to replace the green by yellow. On the wings are four eyespots which are also found in Polyphemus. These are remarkable in that they are transparent in the center. This clear area in Luna is quite small, while in Polyphemus it is about as large as the entire eye spot of Luna. The legs are brown and colored like the front edge of the fore wings. The hairs on the body and at the base of the wing are very long and are white or yellow. The wing expanse ranges from three and three-fourths to five and one-half inches.

During April or May the mother moth lays her dark-brown or chocolate-colored eggs upon hickory, walnut, beech, oak, and a few others of our forest trees. The limited number of food plants is doubtless one reason for the rarity of the moths, as compared with such a common and almost omnivorous larva as Cecropia. A single moth may lay about one hundred eggs, which are smaller than those of Polyphemus. These hatch in about ten or fifteen days, the larva making its escape by eating a circular hole in the shell. Occasionally a young larva may be seen crawling about for a short time, carrying upon its head or tail the empty shell.

The adult larva is about three inches long, of a delicate pale green, a color very difficult to preserve in the dead larva. Those on the plate have lost this delicate green and have become yellow, but show the form perfectly. This larva is very much like that of Polyphemus, but may be distinguished from it by possessing a longitudinal pale yellow lateral line, which is not found in Polyphemus. Since the cocoon is quite thin and contains but little silk, it is considered of but little value. This cocoon is spun among two or three weaves, and is about two inches long. Some authors claim that the cocoon falls to the ground with the autumnal falling of the leaves; others that it transforms on the ground among the fallen leaves. The cocoon is quite similar to that of Polyphemus, but not so firmly attached when fixed to a stem. The moths emerge in April and May, there being only a single brood in the north, while there are two in the south.

POLYPHEMUS MOTH.
(Telea polyphemus.)
Pupa.
Adult Male. Eggs on Maple Leaf. Adult Female.
About 1/2 Life-size.
Larva. Cocoon.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]

The color of the cocoon seems to be influenced in some way by the kind of food eaten by the larva. Cocoons made by larva which have been fed on hickory leaves have a darker color. In the true silk worm moth this same influence has been noticed; larvae fed upon the vine producing red cocoons, on lettuce emerald green cocoons, while those fed upon white nettle produce yellow, green or violet cocoons. It is necessary in order to procure these results, that the larvae be fed upon the mulberry till about twenty days before the formation of the cocoon.

Polyphemus. The life history of this native silk worm (Telea polyphemus) is by far the best known, because many years ago it was very carefully studied with the hope that it would prove an important silk insect. This hope unfortunately has not been realized.

The moths, as shown by the plate, are really beautiful; the large eye spots on the hind wings contributing much towards this effect. The transparent, window-like centers in the eye spot are also of quite rare occurrence among our moths. These transparent areas do not possess the very minute scales found on the other parts of the wing. Almost all of the wonderful variety of colors found in the wings of butterflies and moths are due either to coloring matter in these scales, or to the breaking up of the white light by minute lines on these scales, such as are seen in the play of colors on a soap-bubble. These fine lines on the scales are only on the upper side, and are about one-sixteen-thousandth of an inch apart.

The eggs of Polyphemus are very much flattened, about the size of those of Cecropia, and are deposited on leaves and twigs singly or in small groups. These hatch in about ten days and usually in the morning. The young larva often devours the shell which a few moments before afforded it shelter. This larva feeds upon oak, hickory, apple, maple, elm and a variety of other trees, and thus has a larger range of food plants than the Luna larva. The rate of growth is prodigious, as has been shown by Mr. Trovelot. When the larva hatches it weighs about one-twentieth of a grain; in ten days it weighs one-half of a grain, or ten times its original weight; in twenty days it weighs three grains, or sixty times its original weight; when a month old it weighs thirty-one grains, or six hundred and twenty times its original weight, and has consumed about ninety grains of food; after fifty days it weighs two hundred and seven grains, or over four thousand times the original weight. At fifty-six days the larva has eaten eighty-six thousand times its original weight in food! It is therefore not surprising that these larvae can often be easily detected upon trees by the large number of leaves which they have devoured.

To provide for this great change in size, the larva moults five times, but the time between these moults is not always the same; there is usually about ten days between the first four moults and about twenty between the fourth and fifth. The larva stops eating a day before the moult, spins a few threads upon the leaf to which it attaches its hind legs, and waits for the transformation, which usually takes place in the afternoon. The larva, when mature and ready to spin its cocoon, is about three inches long. It is sometimes influenced in its color by the food plant; the normal larva being of a golden green, although it has been known to show more yellow coloring when found on red maple.

A short time before beginning its cocoon the larva ceases to eat and selects a place for its cocoon. These cocoons are usually found upon the ground among the leaves, but are frequently attached to twigs. After about a half day's work the larva spreads over the inside of the cocoon a gummy, resinous substance, which binds together the threads. After four or five days more of almost continuous work, another coating is smeared over the inside, which renders the cocoon practically air-tight. The silk fibres become considerably finer as the cocoon nears completion and the supply of silk begins to run low. For this reason the inner layers of the cocoon are only about half as strong as the outer ones. The larva, as the supply of silk diminishes in the silk glands, becomes perceptibly reduced in size. It has been estimated that the larva, in attaching the continuous thread of its cocoon, makes two hundred and fifty-four thousand back and forward movements. The cocoons are very strong and dense, of a dirty white color and generally coated with a white powder, the female being the larger.

There is but a single brood in the north, while in the south there are two.

In order to see if the pupa needed air, Mr. Trovelot sealed up some cocoons over winter in shellac, but the moths emerged in due time after being in an air-tight space for nine months. He also delayed the emergence of the moth till twenty-one months after entering the cocoon by placing it upon ice.

The silk in the spinning glands before it is spun is a clear, transparent fluid. These glands seem to be of excessive size when compared with that of the larva, since, when fully expanded, they reach the great length of twenty-five inches, or about eight times the length of the full-grown larva. These glands are paired, one being found on each side of the body, are considerably folded and taper at each end. The ducts leading from the anterior end of the glands unite to form a single duct which opens below the mouth. The thread is double, being really composed of two different fibres, one from each gland, as may be shown by separating them. The silk in these glands is prepared and sold as silk "gut" to anglers. On account of its transparency when in water, it becomes invisible and thus aids in deluding the wary fish, who does not see any connection between the line and the baited hook. The "gut" is prepared as follows: Larvae which are ready to spin their cocoons are cut open and placed in strong vinegar for eighteen hours; the glands are then taken out, stretched and dried in the shade.

Six or eight days after beginning the cocoon, the larval skin is moulted and the real chrysalic or pupal stage begins. This stage normally lasts till the following spring or summer. A few days before the time of emergence a pair of glands which open into the mouth become very active and secrete an acidulated fluid which escapes and wets the fore end of the cocoon, causing the resinous material binding together the fibres to become soft. Even cocoons sealed up in shellac and starch have been dissolved by this fluid, and thus the moths have been able to escape. When the cocoon has become sufficiently soft, the moth pushes its way between the fibres, but in doing so often breaks some of the threads, thus making the silk of such cocoons useless for commercial purposes. The moth at the time of emergence, with its folded and crumpled wings, is quite a forlorn-looking object. These wilted wings soon begin to fill up with fluids from the body, which is very large at this time. In some cases, the fluid is driven into the wings with so much force that they swell up, and if such a wing is punctured, thus allowing some of the fluid to escape, the mature wing will be of a smaller size than one from which no fluid has been lost. It must be remembered that it is possible to inflate a butterfly or moth's wing, because the wings of insects are not composed of a single layer, but are sacs of two layers which are closely applied. It is thus possible to split the wing into upper and lower halves, but this can only be done at the time of emergence, when these two layers are not so firmly cemented together as they are in a few hours after emergence.

The enemies of Polyphemus are numerous. Birds prey upon the larvae, in addition to numerous parasitic insects which are very similar to those which destroy Cecropia. The cocoon itself is not a complete protection because rats and squirrels plunder them. We thus see that the life of even an insect is full of dangers, and that it is really a wonder that so many are able to become mature and reproduce.

The silk-worm moths are excellent illustrations of what is called complete metamorphosis in insects. An insect like the grasshopper, when it hatches from the egg, is very much like the adult insect in its general form and appearance; the most evident difference being the lack of wings. An insect which shows such slight changes in its growth to maturity is said to have an incomplete metamorphosis. It is incomplete in the sense that the change is not of a very radical nature. But in the case of the silk worm moths, and moths and butterflies in general, the larva which hatches from the eggs has not even the most superficial resemblance to the adult insect, the fully-developed moth. This necessitates a complete change or metamorphosis in the form and structure of the insect before it can become mature. This great change is accomplished during the quiet pupal stage in the cocoon. Because the pupa is apparently passive when viewed from the exterior, one must not conclude that it is so internally; far from it; the digestive organs of the larva must be completely made over from those of a chewing leaf eater to those of a moth which can only take liquid food.

Charles Christopher Adams.

CASTLES IN THE AIR.

In a little bend of the San Joaquin River, where the current, attempting to straighten its course, has left a bank a few feet wide, there is a small grove of tall cottonwood trees, perhaps a dozen in number, whose branches lean far over the stream and whose tops reach almost to the level of the bluff or rather the floor of the valley 250 feet above, for this swift river has, in the course of ages, cut thus deep a channel for itself.

The place is not easy of access, for the shore narrows above and below the bend to a few inches where one with difficulty keeps from crumbling away the sand with his feet and falling into the water, and the cliff is so nearly perpendicular that in many places it is inaccessible to a climber, being of soft sand whose different stratas are clearly defined where they have been sliced off by the cutting stream.

The valley above is a vast grainfield out almost to the edge of the bluff, and along the edge and face of the bluff, wherever root can cling or tendril hold, grow beautiful wild flowers in the early spring days--their last refuge between the cultivation and the deep sea, or rather, river.

In the tops of the cottonwoods live a number of baronial families in castles huge, gray and ugly, overlooking the sweep of the stream. They are the Great Blue Herons whose Latin title, (Ardea herodias), gives one some idea of their ancient lineage. They claim to be older than the storks of Egypt, and indeed, they look older as they stand humpbacked and sleepy on one leg by the side of their nests, the long fringe of light-speckled neck feathers underneath looking like a long gray beard sweeping over their recurved neck and breast. There is a wise look about them, too, for the black markings of the head sweep back over the eye and prolong into the appearance of a quill extending behind their ears.

Though they are almost four feet long and spread their wings to six feet and over, the herons' large blue-grey bodies are often almost indistinguishable from the bark of the cottonwood branches and the blue of the sky against which they are silhouetted so oddly. One's eyes open with astonishment when these sticks or excrescences of the tree-tops slowly unfold an enormous sweep of sail and, extending their long stilts behind them, flap off across the stream with a creaking sound like the pulleys of a vessel when the halliards are running through them. Standing or flapping they are not handsome birds and one who comes suddenly upon a large heron for the first time as he stands in the shallow water of the brookside, will be convulsed with laughter, for if there is an utterly clumsy and awkward form or motion in bird-life it belongs to this heron.

Their homes are big baskets of nests made of twigs as large as a man's finger, closely intermeshed. From year to year they use the same nest or build over it until it has two or three stories or more and is bigger than a bushel basket. There are probably two dozen nests in the dozen cottonwood trees, some of the larger trees having three or four or even six away up in their tops where the branches seem scarcely strong enough to bear such heavy burdens. From the top of the bluff one can look down into the nests and in early March see the big blue eggs, almost as large as hens' eggs, reposing like amethysts in their rough brown setting. Some authors state that not over three eggs are laid, but I have seen four about as often as three and, on one occasion, five in a nest.

From their high-placed towers the herons watch the small fry in the river below and make forays among the young trout, pike and catfish and the frogs. They listen to the complaining voices in the twilight and in the morning give them cause for still further complainings. They keep in terror the big wood rats whose homes in the clumps of elder berries below surpass in size those of the herons. And the gophers and field mice of the grain fields never know at what moment an ungainly shadow shall fall upon them and end their harvestings. There was a conceited young frog who sang loud and shrill at sunset on the edge of the river and who had an ambition to be, not an ox like the one in the fable, but a Patti. And she had her wish after a fashion, for that connoisseur, the heron who dwelt on the farthest branch over the water, attracted by her vocal abilities, sought her out, and the little herons thought her the nicest _paté de foie gras_ they had ever eaten.

There they dwell, this ancient race of high-born philosophers, stalking the shallows of sunny baylets, or dreaming in the breeze of the tree-tops of traditions old as the sequoias. What an authority would you and I be if we could read the unwritten history of their race!

Charles Elmer Jenny.

* * * * *

Boughs are daily rifled
By the gusty thieves,
And the Book of Nature
Getteth short of leaves.
--Hood, "The Seasons."

THE PRONG-HORNED ANTELOPE.

(_Antilocapra americana._)

The antelope family comprises many of the most beautiful and graceful species among horned animals. When we behold the curiously twisted horns of the sasin, the long, sharp horns of the pasan, the large, spiral horns of the koodoo and the shorter horns of the eland, not to mention the graceful bodies and limbs of these animals, we are led to wonder at the extravagance of nature in furnishing such a variety of appendages to these creatures.

By far the larger number of species of this family live in Africa and Asia, where they have reached the highest development of structure. They are not, like some families of mammals, confined to any one particular locality, but are found on the plains and high up on the mountains; in a country sparsely covered with vegetation and in the thick forests; in marshes and bogs. In fact, they seem to inhabit all varieties of country. While the family is thus diversified in habitat, the different species are by no means so widely distributed, for while some species, like the sasin, live only on the open plains, others, like the chamois, live high up on the mountains, frequently above the snow-line.

The subject of our sketch, the Prong-horned antelope (Antilocapra americana), is not as large nor so strikingly horned as the other animals which have been mentioned. In fact, so different is its structure, having hollow, pronged horns which do not increase by continuous growth, as do those of the true antelopes, but are shed like those of the deer family, and having a somewhat different structure of feet and different texture of hair, that a family has been made for it known as Antilocapridae.

The Prong-horn ranges throughout the western part of North America from the Missouri river to the Pacific ocean, and from the Saskatchewan river south to the Rio Grande. It is not confined to the plains, but has been found in the wild valleys of the Rocky mountains to a height of over eight thousand feet above sea level.

The daily life of this interesting animal is thus described by Canfield, who made an exhaustive study of them and who also kept them in captivity: "From the first of September to the first of March one always sees them in larger groups composed of bucks, does and yearlings. Shortly afterward the does individually retire from these herds and give birth to their young. After a short interval they again unite with other suckling does and their little calves, possibly with a view to common defense against the wolf and coyotes. The adult bucks roam about singly or two together, leaving the mothers with their latest progeny to their fate, the young Prong-horns in the meantime gathering in groups of their own apart from the older animals. Apparently tired of the world and bored by society the old bucks wander about for one or two months, frequenting localities in which they are not ordinarily seen. Two or three months subsequently the adolescent bucks again join the old does and their calves, and finally the old bucks also put in an appearance, so that one can observe herds, numbering hundreds, or sometimes even thousands, after the first of September. A herd never leaves its native locality or roams over more than a few miles of range. In dry summer weather they seek water and go to drink regularly once a day or twice in three days; but if the grass is fresh and green, as is the case during the greater part of the year, the Prong-horns do not drink at all."

The food of the antelope consists to a great extent of the short, succulent herbage of the prairie, of moss, and also, to a limited extent, of the young and tender branches of trees. Like many other ruminants, this animal is passionately fond of salt and they will remain about saline deposits for many hours, satisfying themselves by licking the salty ground.

The antelope is the swiftest runner of any animal in North America, though perhaps less agile and speedy than some of its relatives in the old world. It has been said by competent observers that so swiftly do they run that it is absolutely impossible to distinguish their limbs.

The senses of the antelope are unusually developed. Their sight is exceedingly keen and their hearing very acute. Their sense of smell is so well developed that no danger can possibly approach from the windward side. When a herd is feeding, sentinels are placed on the outskirts to scent any impending danger, and to give due warning to the herd. Their curiosity is one of their most peculiar qualities and seems to overshadow every other sense.

For a number of years this graceful animal has been considered royal game for the sportsman and a good round-up of antelopes is considered a great achievement among hunters. Mr. G. O. Shields, in his interesting book, "Hunting in the Great West," very vividly describes a hunt for antelopes, and we cannot better illustrate the peculiarities of the animal than by giving his pen sketch:

"We had heard from some ranchmen along the way that the buffalo herd was at this time grazing about fifteen to twenty miles up the Big Porcupine, and knowing that antelopes are nearly always found hanging on the outskirts of every large herd of bison, we were on the look-out for them, for it would not seem at all strange to find them near the stage trail on which we were traveling. We scanned the country closely with the field glass and were finally rewarded by seeing a number of small white spots on the dead grass away up the Porcupine, that seemed to be moving. We rode toward them at a lively trot for perhaps a mile, and then stopped to reconnoitre again. From this point we could plainly distinguish them, though they looked to be about the size of jack rabbits. We again put the rowels to our donkeys and rode rapidly up to within about a mile of them, when we picketed our animals in a low swale, took out our antelope flag--a piece of scarlet calico about half a yard square--attached it to the end of my wiping stick, and were ready to interview the antelopes.

"I crawled to the top of a ridge within plain view of the game, and planted my flag. The breeze spread it out, kept it fluttering, and it soon attracted their attention. They were then near the bank of the river, grazing quietly, but this bit of colored rag excited their curiosity to a degree that rendered them restive, anxious, uneasy, and they seemed at once to be seized with an insatiable desire to find out what it was. An antelope has as much curiosity as a woman, and when they see any object that they don't quite understand, they will travel miles and run themselves into all kinds of danger to find out what it is. They have been known to follow an emigrant or freight wagon with a white cover several miles, and an Indian brings them within reach of his arrow by standing in plain view wrapped in his red blanket. Some hunters "flag" them by lying down on their back, holding one foot as high as possible, and swinging it to and fro. A piece of bright tin or a mirror answers the same purpose on a clear day. Almost any conspicuous or strange-looking object will attract them, but the most convenient, as well as the most reliable at all times, is the little red flag, such as we employed in this instance.

"Huffman went to the top of another ridge, to my right and some distance in advance, and Jack crawled into a hollow on the left, and well in advance, we three forming a half circle, into which it was our intention if possible to decoy the game. When they first discovered our flag they moved rapidly toward it, sometimes breaking into a trot, but when they had covered half the distance between us and their starting point, they began to grow suspicious and stopped. They circled around, turned back, walked a few steps, and then paused and looked back at the, to them, mysterious apparition. But they could not resist its magic influence. Again they turned and came toward it, stopped, and gazed curiously at it. The old buck who led the herd stamped impatiently, as if annoyed at being unable to solve the mystery. Then they walked cautiously toward us again, down an incline into a valley, which took them out of our sight, and out of sight of the flag. This of course rendered them still more impatient, and when they again came in sight on the next ridge, they were running. But as soon as their leader caught sight of the flag, he stopped, as did the others in their turn when they reached the top of the ridge. There were seven in the herd, two bucks, three does and two fawns. They were now not more than a hundred yards from me, and still less from the other two of our party. Their position was everything we could wish, and though we might possibly have brought them a few yards nearer, there was a possibility of their scenting us, even across the wind, which, of course, we had arranged to have in our favor, and I decided that rather than run the risk of this and the consequent stampede, I would shoot while I had a good chance. It had been arranged that I was to open the ball, so I drew my peep and globe sights down very finely, taking the white breast of the old buck for my bull's-eye, and pulled. Huffman's Kennedy and Jack's carbine paid their compliments to the pretty visitors at almost the same instant, and for about two or three minutes thereafter we fanned them about as vigorously as ever a herd got fanned under similar circumstances. The air was full of leaden missiles; the dry dust raised under and around the fleeing herd as it does when a team trots over a dusty road. Clouds of smoke hung over us, and the distant hills echoed the music of our artillery until the last white rump disappeared in the cottonwoods on the river bank.

"When the smoke of battle cleared away, and we looked over the field, we found that we had not burned our powder in vain. Five of the little fellows, the two bucks and three does, had fallen victims to their curiosity. The two fawns had, strangely enough, escaped, probably only because they, so much smaller than their parents, were less exposed."

The antelope have a curious way of protecting their young, when on the open prairie. This is accomplished by placing a ring of sharp-pointed cacti about a spot which has been beaten smooth by their hoofs. Inside this ample protection the animal cares for its young and secures ingress and egress for itself by jumping over the ring of cacti. This serves to protect them from the majority of their foes, which inhabit the open country.

The antelope does not thrive well in captivity, the older ones soon killing themselves in their attempts to escape. The young taken soon after their birth generally die early, unless very special care is bestowed upon them, and even if they survive the juvenile state, they are very likely to die when three or four months old, from pyaemic sores or inflammation of the limbs.

PLANT PROTECTION.

In the last number of this journal it was shown how plants seek to avoid the visits of unsuitable insects to their flowers. This is one means of protection, but there are many others which are even more striking and vital. It is supposed by many that plants are helpless beings, which must submit to all sorts of unfavorable conditions which come upon them. This is far from true, for while plants as a rule are fixed and unable to escape from danger by flight, still they have very many ways of helping themselves.

Prominent among the dangers which come to active green plants are those which arise from too intense light, which may destroy the delicate working substances. Since the leaves are the great working organs in the manufacture of food, they are especially equipped for protection. Those leaves which must work in exposed places have many details of structure which are evidently for guarding them against the ill effects of too intense light. The most striking adaptations, however, are those which have to do with protective positions. Under ordinary circumstances leaves are placed so that their flat faces are exposed to the most intense light. In some cases this is so great a danger that the leaves are set edgewise, the edges being directed upwards and downwards. When a plant assumes this habit, the leaves are said to be in a profile position, and the plants are sometimes called "compass plants." The latter name has come from the fact that such leaves usually point north or south, and once it was assumed that this position was in response to some mysterious magnetic influence. It is found, however, that it is merely an effort on the part of the plant to protect its leaves from the intense light of midday, and at the same time to expose them to the morning and evening rays of much less intensity. If a leaf is to be placed with its edge upwards and its flat faces east and west, it follows of necessity that it will point either north or south.

Some leaves, however, have the power of shifting their position according to their needs, directing their flat surfaces toward the light, or more or less inclining them according to the danger. Perhaps the most completely adapted leaves of this kind are those of the "sensitive plants," whose leaves respond to various external influences by changing their positions. The sensitive plants abound in dry and hot regions, and one of the best known is represented in our illustration. It will be noticed that the leaves of this Mimosa are divided into very numerous small leaflets, which stretch in pairs along the leaf branches. When the time of intense light and dryness approaches some of the pairs of leaflets fold together, slightly reducing the surface exposure. As the unfavorable condition continues, more leaflets fold together, then still others, until finally all the leaflets may be folded together, and the leaves themselves may bend against the stem. It is like a sailing vessel gradually taking in sail as a storm approaches, until finally nothing is exposed, and the vessel weathers the storm by presenting only bare poles. These are but a few illustrations of the very numerous devices for escaping too intense light and the dangers which accompany it.

One common danger in temperate regions comes from the lowering of the temperature each night, which sometimes may chill the living substances to the danger point. This is particularly dangerous to seedlings, whose tender structures have not yet developed the ordinary protective coats. In the spring the seed leaves of numerous seedlings may be seen at the approach of night to rise upward and come together, just as the palms of the hand may be placed together over one's head. This reduces the surface of exposure and the danger of chill at least one-half. Darwin experimented upon these seedlings, and discovered that by preventing some of the seed leaves from moving, the seedlings were seriously injured. The leaves of very many plants assume a peculiar night position which tends to meet the danger of loss of heat. Often the three leaflets of the common clover, if growing in an exposed place, may be observed to fold together into a sort of tent-like arrangement.

Many plants are also observed to protect themselves against rain, as it is necessary for leaves to avoid becoming wet. If the water is allowed to soak in, the work of the leaves is at once interfered with. Hence it will be noticed that most leaves are able to shed water, partly by their position, partly by their structure. In many plants the leaves are so arranged that the water runs off toward the stem; in other plants the rain is shed outwards as from the eaves of a house. Some of the structures which prevent the rain from soaking in are a smooth epidermis, layers of cuticle, hairy coverings, etc. Interesting experiments may be performed with different leaves to test their power of shedding water. If a gentle spray be allowed to play upon different plants it will be observed that the water glances off at once from the surfaces of some leaves, runs off more slightly from others, and may be more or less retained by others.

Perhaps the most general preparation for protection in our region is that which is made for the coming of the winter's cold. In many cases plants do not attempt to protect their delicate structures from the severity of winter, but disappear entirely, leaving only well-protected seeds to carry them over into the next growing season. This results in the so-called "annual habit," which has been learned by many plants in order to escape a season of danger. Other plants do not disappear so completely, but everything above the surface of the ground dies, while the plant continues in the form of underground bulbs, tubers, or various thickened structures. This habit of seeking a subterranean retreat at the approach of some dangerous season is a very good one, and is found in many of our early spring plants. This subterranean habit has a great advantage over the annual habit, since a seed is very slow in bringing the plant back again, while a bulb can produce its plant very rapidly.

Still other plants preserve more of their structures than either the annuals or the ground-loving plants. For example, most of our trees have cultivated what is known as the deciduous habit, that is, they merely drop their leaves, which are the endangered structures, at the approach of the unfavorable season, and renew them again when the favorable conditions return. It should be remarked that these leaves do not fall because they are broken off, but that in a certain sense it is a process of growing off, which is carefully prepared for. One of the most prominent features associated with the deciduous habit is the autumnal coloration. The vivid colors which appear in the leaves of many trees just before the time of falling have attracted a great deal of attention, but although it is so prominent, the causes for it are very obscure. It will be noticed that this autumnal coloration consists in the development of various shades of two typical colors, yellow and red. It is known that the yellow is due to the breaking down of the green substances, so that it simply indicates a post mortem change, as may be noticed in connection with the blanching of celery in which the leaves and upper part of the stem may be green, the green may shade gradually into yellow, and finally into the pure white of complete blanching. The red coloring matter, however, is very different. Certain experiments upon plant colors have indicated that the presence of the red slightly increases the temperature by absorbing more heat. It is suggested that the red color may be a slight protection to the living substance which is ceasing to work, and which is in danger of exposure to cold. If this be true, it may be that the same explanation will cover the case of the red flush so conspicuous in buds and young leaves in early spring. It must not be supposed that the need of protection has developed the coloring, but since it is developed it may be of some such service to the plant. Even the conditions which determine autumnal coloration have not been made out certainly.

It is instructive to notice how differently the so-called evergreens, as pines, spruces, etc., have answered the problem of protection against the cold of winter. The evergreens, instead of dropping their leaves, have undertaken to protect them, giving them a small surface and very heavy walls. In this way protection has been secured at the expense of working power during the season of work. Reduced surface and thick walls are both obstacles to leaf work. On the other hand, the deciduous trees have developed the working power of their leaves to the greatest extent, giving them large surface exposure and comparatively delicate walls. It is out of the question to protect such an amount of surface during the winter, and hence the deciduous habit. The evergreens are saved the annual renewal of leaves, but lose in working power; the deciduous trees must renew their leaves annually, but gain greatly in working power.

To obtain the most striking instances of protection, however, one must examine plants which belong to permanently dry regions, such as may be found in the United States along the Mexican border, or in the regions of tropical deserts. In the first place, it will be noticed that the plants in general produce smaller leaves than in other regions. That this holds a direct relation to the dry conditions is evident from the fact that the same plant often produces smaller leaves in dry conditions than in moist. One of the most striking features of an arid country is the absence of large leaves. These reduced leaves are of various forms, such as the needle leaves of pines, or the thread-like leaves of certain sedges and grasses, or the narrow leaves with inrolled margins such as is common in many heath plants. The extreme of leaf reduction has been reached by the Cactus plants, whose leaves, so far as foliage is concerned, have disappeared entirely, and the leaf work is done by the surface of the globular, cylindrical, or flattened stems. A covering of hairs is an effective sun screen, and it is very common to find plants of dry regions characteristically hairy. In such regions it is to be observed also that dwarf growths prevail, so that the plant, as a whole, does not present such an exposure to the drouth as in regions of greater moisture. One of the most prominent measures of protection in dry regions is the organization of what are known as water reservoirs. Nearly all plants of such regions have leaves which are known as fleshy, that is, they are thick and juicy, being reservoirs of stored up moisture which is doled out cautiously according to the needs of the plant, without any wastefulness.

The whole subject of plant protection is an immense one, and the illustrations given above are merely intended to suggest that there is such a subject, and to lead to some observation of the various schemes of protection which are to be seen plainly on every hand.

John Merle Coulter.

* * * * *

Nature is but a name for an effect
Whose cause is God.
--Cowper, "The Task."

THE BIRTH OF A TREE.

Once I lay 'neath quilt of green,
All unthought of, all unseen;
Little thinking of the world
Out of which I had been hurled.

By and by, when quilt grew hot,
Mother Nature touched my cot,
Whispered softly in my ear,
"Higher, higher, higher, dear."

Painted lovely scenes for me,
Saying, "Child, climb up and see."
I was lazy, so I said,
"Please, ma'am, let me stay in bed."

Something whispered, "Child, I fear
Life will be but meager here."
Golden sunbeams bade me start,
And a purpose filled my heart.

I would leave my bed of ease,
I would join the forest trees;
Shelter travelers passing by,
Hide squirrels in the branches high.

Purpose, mighty power, led,
Ever, ever on ahead,
Till I grew up here so high,
Near the sunlight and the sky.

Mother Nature, mother dear,
I am glad you called me here.
Thus the mighty forest oak
From his wooded homeland spoke.

And I thought a lesson this--
We, to reach the highest bliss,
Must arise from beds of ease,
Growing like the forest trees.
Lucia Belle Cook.

THE ALMOND.

(_Amygdalus communis L._)

And it came to pass that on the morrow Moses went into the tabernacle of witness; and behold, the rod of Aaron for the house of Levi was budded, and brought forth buds, and blossomed blossoms, and yielded _almonds_.--Numbers 17:8.

The almond is the fruit of a small tree (Amygdalus communis) belonging to the Rose family (Rosaceae). The plant is believed to be a native of northern Africa, Persia and Turkestan. It occurs wild in Sicily and Greece and is cultivated throughout temperate Europe, including England.

The leaves of the almond tree are simple, broadly lanceolate, margins serrate, bright green and stalked. The flowers are nearly sessile, mostly solitary, petals bright pink; otherwise similar to the flowers of the rose family as seen in the apple blossom, cherry blossom and the wild rose. The fruit is a drupe or stone fruit, resembling the peach in its general structural characters. It is, however, much smaller, measuring about one and one-half inch in length. As in the peach the outer portion of the fruit coat (sarcocarp) is fleshy, the inner portion (endocarp or putamen) is hard and encloses the kernel or seed to which the term almond is usually applied. The plant is very ornamental, producing its beautiful flowers in March before the leaves are developed.

Two natural varieties of almonds are quite universally recognized, the sweet (A. communis var dulcis) and the bitter (A. communis var amara). They resemble each other so closely in general appearance that it is practically impossible to distinguish between them. The principal difference lies in the chemistry of the kernels or seeds themselves. In the bitter variety amygdalin is found, which is practically wanting in the sweet variety. Some botanists describe quite a number of varieties. Karsten, for instance, describes five varieties of A. communis, namely, dulcis, amara, fragilis, macrocarpa and persicoides. Boissier in his Flora Orientalis describes as many as seventeen distinct species.

The almond tree is one of the oldest of the cultivated plants. It was a great garden favorite in and about Palestine. It is frequently mentioned in the books of Moses. In Exodus 25:34, we find that the "candlestick shall have four bowls made like unto almonds." As explained in the 8th verse of chapter 17 of Numbers the blossoming rod of Aaron was from an almond tree. Even to this day Jews carry rods bearing almond blossoms to the synagogues on great festival days. The Romans designated the almonds (the kernels or seeds with the hard endocarp or shell) Nuces graecae (Greek nuts), from which it is concluded that the almond tree was brought to Italy from Greece. Almond oil was known to the ancient Greek and Roman writers. Plinius and Dioscorides make reference to the gum which exudes from the bark. Karl der Grosse (Charlemagne) recommended the cultivation of almonds in Germany. In view of the fact that some authorities state that the sweet variety is a product of cultivation, it is interesting to note that the two varieties have been known equally long. The bitter variety was described by Scribonius Largus and Plinius. Alexander Trallianus described the medicinal virtues of the oil of bitter almonds. Palladinus gave directions how to convert the bitter variety into the sweet variety by methods of cultivation. Later experiments have, however, proven this to be a false conclusion.

Description of Plate:--A, B, branch with flowers and fruit; 1, 1a, flowers from different trees; 2, 2a, petals; 3, stamens; 4, pollen; 5, stamen; 6, 7, ovary; 8, 9, seed with shell; 10, seed without shell; 11, 12, sections of seed.

The fruit and seeds of several other plants are known as almonds. The seeds of the African shrub Brabejum stellatifolium are known as African almonds. Country almonds is a name given to the fruit of the East Indian tree Terminalia Catappa. The fruit of Canarium commune is known as Java almonds.

At the present time the sweet almond is extensively cultivated in northern Africa, southern Europe and in the warmer parts of the United States, particularly in California. Climatic conditions and cultivation have a great influence upon the quality of the almonds and we have as a result quite a number of commercial varieties, just as we have commercial varieties of coffee, tea, oranges, etc. The more important commercial varieties are the Jordan, Valencia, Barbary and California almonds. These vary somewhat in size, form and thickness of the kernel and the hardness and thickness of the shell (endocarp). The Jordan almonds are imported from Malaga (Spain) and are said to be the finest. They differ from the others in the greater length of the kernel (seed), for which reason they are also known as long almonds. These are official in the English Pharmacopoeia because they are not readily confused with other sweet varieties and the bitter almond. The Valencia almonds come from the Balearic islands (Majorca); they are characterized by a comparatively soft shell and are less highly prized than the Jordan or the California almonds. The Barbary almonds from northern Africa are quite small and unsightly and for those reasons have comparatively little commercial value. In the United States the principal commercial variety is the California almond. The kernel is shorter and flatter than that of the Jordan almond, but almost equal to it in quality. It is extensively cultivated, about one hundred trees being planted to the acre. The trees attain a height of fifteen to twenty feet and begin to yield when three years old. In California it is customary to bleach the almonds by exposing them to the vapor of burning sulphur, which also destroys insect parasites which attack almonds very readily.

Other less important sweet commercial varieties are the Provence almonds of southern France, the Florence and Ambrosia almonds of Sicily, the Pitti almonds of Portugal and the small Puglia almonds of Italy.

The bitter almond seeds are as a rule somewhat shorter, broader and thinner than those of the larger, sweet varieties. Those found upon the market are largely from northern Africa, Sicily and southern France.

The principal constituents of sweet almonds are a fixed oil, sugar, some albuminoid substances, and perhaps a small quantity of amygdalin or a substance akin to it. The purified fixed oil from both varieties of almonds is a bland, thin, pale yellow liquid, having a faint taste and odor of the almond. When exposed to the air it becomes rancid quite readily. Medicinally it finds use as an emollient in external applications. Taken internally in small doses it is nutritious; in large doses laxative. Mixed with mucilage or yolk of eggs and sugar it is found useful in allaying troublesome coughs due to irritation of the throat. It also finds a table use similar to that of olive oil.