Chapter II: Part 2

In summer time Chickadee deserts us and we must seek him in the fields, and that is how we came to find the fence-post. We sat waiting for birds to bathe, but waited in vain. They bathed up-stream and they bathed down-stream. We saw them drying their feathers, but they would not bathe by us. A dripping Chickadee flew overhead and sat preening his feathers in a sweetgum tree. How nearly we had come to seeing that bath! (a thing we had never achieved). In despair we crossed the road and hid behind the sassafras hedge. Presently something strange passed us and there was Dame Chickadee with a very queer burden. Imagine yourself with a mouthful of excelsior larger than your head, and you will have some idea of her comical appearance. She peered at us from behind her treasure first with one eye and then with the other. We were all attention. A dozen times she darted towards the old fence, but we were too alarming and she could not make up her mind to brave us. Each time she retreated to the sweetgum, holding tight to her bundle—it might have been a clematis blossom, I could not say. It was the first time I had ever seen a Chickadee look self-conscious. At the same time we saw that Boy-Chickadee had dipped in once more and was dripping wet. It was maddening. At last she made a wide curve towards us and disappeared. I sprang to the fence-post and discovered the round hole, and with an ecstatic catch of the breath I put one finger in. A bunch of indignant feathers hurled itself against my hand and out came the finger and out came she and whisked away with such lightning rapidity that we barely saw her. The hole was too deep and too well shadowed to tell us anything more than that it had a secret in its keeping and although we should have liked to camp by the post it was not to be.

At our next visit we found Dame Chickadee setting and Boy Chickadee feeding her; again, and the post had become a nursery. It seemed too ludicrous that such babes-in-the-woods should ever attain to the dignity of fatherhood and motherhood; but this time neither parent was there to be laughed at, and as I tapped at the door a perfectly intelligible “Day-day-day-day” came from the nursery; the babes had already learned to talk!

It was so long before we visited them again that we expected to find the post deserted. There was no sign of occupancy and I felt depressed because it was all over. But a gentle tap brought a tiny, angular cranium and a careworn baby face to the door. It didn’t seem possible that Boy Chickadee could have such a homely bairn! We withdrew in haste when he threatened to come out; but we had summoned him and the moment had come to seek his fortune. The youngster stepped into the door and set sail straight across the wide roadway. When we caught a rear view of the tiny sailboat our gravity was undone, for not a vestige of tail adorned it and he was the most unfinished fledgling we had ever seen.

This was the last sign of life the old fence-post yielded, but I cannot learn to believe it final. I am constantly expecting to see more Chickadees set sail, and its possibilities still haunt me.

Elizabeth Nunemacher.

THE STORY BIRD.

The parrot has been called the “bird-man” on account of its intelligence; but so many anecdotes are told of it that it might well be styled the Story-bird.

Of the four hundred and thirty different species known, America claims one hundred and twenty-six. Europe is the only large country that does not possess native tribes of parrots.

The parrot is the monkey of the feathered world, because of his imitative powers. He also uses one of his feet as a hand to carry what he eats to his beak.

A parrot possessed of remarkable linguistic powers, being able to speak in Spanish, Portuguese, French, German and English, was accustomed whenever a visitor was at all boisterous to imitate his laugh and then groan in anguish, exclaiming in tones of commiseration, “Poor, poor Polly!”

A cardinal is said to have paid a hundred crowns for a parrot that could recite without a blunder the Apostles’ creed and chant the Magnificat correctly.

An attempt was once made to reform a bad parrot which kept saying, in reference to his mistress, “I wish the old lady would die.”

The curate sent over his own bird, that had been religiously trained, hoping its influence would have a good effect on the bad bird. But whenever the latter said, “I wish the old lady would die,” the clergyman’s bird rolled up its eyes and exclaimed, “We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.”

Belle P. Drury.

THE BEAR.

Though the Bear is classed with the Carnivora, or flesh-eating animals, it is really omnivorous in the best acceptance of that word, for it will thrive on a vegetable diet for many weeks at a time. Bears will devour the various kinds of berries, grains, the succulent leaves of herbs and the fleshy roots, with evident relish. There is, perhaps, no more dainty morsel for them than the young and tender buds of trees and shrubs as they are prepared by Nature, wrapped in their winter covering and containing an abundant food, stored there for the nourishment of the growth of the coming season—a food useful to the animal as well as the plant. The young seem to depend entirely on vegetable food, but as they grow older, though still preferring the products of the plant, they will eat a variety of animal forms, such as insects, mollusks, crustaceans, worms, birds and their eggs. When driven by hunger they will kill and eat larger prey, such as deer and domestic cattle. They will also devour the dead bodies of animals freshly killed, but only before there is any taint or odor. Thus, though Bears have the structural characteristics of the flesh-eating animals, this classification is misleading to the untutored observer who watches them in our menageries or even in their native homes.

The Polar Bears are perhaps the most carnivorous of them all, living almost entirely on animal food, when in their natural homes. The Grizzly Bear is also a flesh-eating species, though it will subsist on a vegetable diet. It is an interesting fact that the nature of their food seems to determine the degree of strength and the ferocity that they possess. The influence of the diet is shown not only on the various species but also upon the individuals of the same species. The Bears fed only upon vegetable foods exhibit a much milder disposition and are less resentful when crossed.

Bears are distributed throughout the world except in Australia. In the words of Brehm, “They inhabit the warmest as well as the coldest of countries, high mountains as well as the coasts of the Arctic Sea. Nearly all species select dense, extensive forests or rocky regions, generally lonely spots. Some delight in watery or damp situations, streams, rivers, lakes, swamps and the sea, while others prefer stretches of dry land. One species is confined to the sea-coast and seldom penetrates the depths of the continent, but still undertakes more extensive migrations than the others, traversing great distances on drift ice, crossing the northern Arctic Ocean and migrating from one continent to the other.”

Besides the bears of the present day there are extinct forms, remains of which occur in the later geologic ages. The Great Cave Bear, remains of which have been found in the caves of Central Europe, indicate that this species was even larger than our Polar Bear, which may measure nine feet in length.

The opinion is prevalent that the movements of the Bear are awkward and slow and that they are neither fleet nor active in locomotion. This is true, to a certain extent, in the case of the larger species, though they are endowed with great endurance. On the other hand the smaller species are notably quick and active in their motions. In fact all species when excited will pass over the ground at a rapid rate, their strides resembling a sort of gallop. All climb, especially when young or until their great weight prevents them from doing so.

A few of the species are excellent swimmers and can remain under water for some time. The Polar Bear well illustrates this characteristic, for it has been seen many miles from the shore, swimming easily and showing a wonderful power of endurance.

We are told that “some species are sensible and sagacious and may be trained to a certain extent; but they exhibit no high mental development. Some individuals become very tame, though they display no particular affection for their master and keeper. They always revert to their grosser animal instincts in old age, for then they become wicked, intractable and violent. The Bears signify their various moods by modulations of their remarkable voices, finding utterance in dull growling, snorting and murmuring, or grunting, whistling and sometimes barking sounds.”

A family of young Bears consists of from one to six, which are fed and protected in the most tender manner by their watchful and careful mother. Born naked and blind, it is usually five or six weeks before they can see and have a seasonable coat of hair. After this, they are full of life and very playful, and their antics are very amusing.

Bears may be classed under three groups; the Sea Bears, the Land Bears and the Honey Bears.

The Polar or White Bear is the only representative of the first class. This species has been wonderfully provided for by Nature. Living as it does in the regions of perpetual ice and snow, the pure white color of its fur becomes a protection, as it is less easily observed. It also, unlike the other species, has the soles of its feet covered with hair which enables it to move more freely and safely on the ice. They have been noted at a distance of fully fifty miles from the nearest shore, swimming without effort and showing no fatigue.

One of the best known of the Land Bears is the Brown Bear of Northern Europe and Asia. It varies greatly and some authorities divide it into several distinct species. It is easily tamed and because of the ease with which it supports itself on its hind feet it is often taught to step to the sound of music. Here also is classed the Grizzly Bear, which is nearly as large as the Polar Bear and much more ferocious. It has been known to attack the bison and carry a body weighing one thousand pounds or more to its den some distance away.

The Black Bear of our illustration is also a member of this class. It is a native of the wooded parts of North America. This species is timid though agile, strong and is of great endurance. Its fur is soft and even and shining black in color. It can run more swiftly than can a man and will escape in this manner if possible.

Though it principally feeds on herbs, fruits and grains, it will also devour live stock of the smaller kinds and may even attack cattle. In captivity they are much better natured than the other species. “They never make hostile use of their strength in their relations with their keepers, but completely acknowledge human supremacy and present no difficulties in their training. At any rate, they fear their keeper more than he does them.”

The third class is illustrated by a single species, the Sloth, or Honey Bear, also called the Aswal. It is a native of India and frequents hilly localities. It feeds upon fruits, honey and the lower animals, such as ants and the grubs of various insects. It also enjoys the comb and honey of bees. With its large and scythe-shaped claws it will destroy the strongly built homes of the white ants. In its native country the Sloth is trained by jugglers to perform many tricks and in captivity it is docile and comparatively good-natured.

BIRD INCIDENTS.

Wrens versus Sparrows: Some time since in the early spring, a pair of English Sparrows made up their minds to take possession of a bird house in our garden which a pair of Wrens had occupied for two previous years.

Mr. and Mrs. Wren had not yet arrived, so there was none to dispute the sparrows’ right or suspend operations. All went well and the nest was nearing completion, when one bright sunny morning, the former occupants arrived on the scene and trouble at once began. They evidently resented the action of the sparrows in taking the house which they anticipated using for a summer residence. An indictment of evacuation was at once served and being met by a show of sparrow impudence, forcible expulsion was next in order.

Mr. Wren took up his position on the front porch of the little house, and by a series of savage attacks and much loud scolding, succeeded in keeping the pair of sparrows off, while Mrs. Wren, working with desperate determination, proceeded to tear the nest apart and carrying the materials out the little back door, scattered them in all directions. My! what a shower of hay, straw, feathers, sticks, etc. This was continued until the house was entirely cleared. Then, without delay, began the process of reconstruction. During this time the sparrows did not sit idly by and see their work destroyed, but there was a continuous battle between them, and when the action became too pressing, both Wrens would make a grand charge which invariably resulted in driving the enemy back. By and by the new nest was finished, and although bad feeling existed for several days afterward, with frequent passages at arms, the sparrows finally gave up the fight as hopeless, and Mr. Wren mounted the chimney, standing guard, and at the same time giving vent to his feelings in loud and spirited song. Of course, our sympathies were with the victors.

Cat Bird and Cherry Stone: During one of my many rambles through the woods, I discovered the nest of a Cat Bird in a thick clump of briars and upon drawing near found it contained four little ones. Retreating for a short distance, I stopped and watched the mother bird who was greatly excited at first, but seeing that I meant no harm to her little family, she proceeded with household matters.

After giving the young ones two or three worms and other choice morsels, she brought a good-size red cherry and offered it to one of the nestlings. The little bird could not swallow it, so what did the mother do but take the cherry out of its mouth, remove the stone with her beak and feet, and then give it back to the nestling in a crushed state. This time it disappeared in a trice. The incident impressed me as being not only amusing but an excellent illustration of “bird sense.”

Chippies Dividing Crumbs: While sitting under a shade tree in the yard, I observed a pair of Chippies eating two crumbs of bread. One crumb was much larger than the other, and of course the bird having the smaller one finished first. Then what! Simply this, the other Chippy at once broke his crumb in half and proceeded to place a portion of it within reach of his mate. In this way each had nearly an equal amount. Beautiful incident; well might man take this lesson home to himself; what an exhibition of love and generosity; what a different world this would be if people acted more on the principle of these innocent little birds!

Berton Mercer.

SEA-MEWS IN WINTER TIME.

I walked beside a dark gray sea,
And said, “O world, how cold thou art!
Thou poor white world, I pity thee,
For joy and warmth from thee depart.

“Yon rising wave licks off the snow,
Winds on the crag each other chase,
In little powdery whirls they blow
The misty fragments down its face.

“The sea is cold, and dark its rim,
Winter sits cowering on the world,
And I, besides this watery brim,
Am also lonely, also cold.”

I spoke, and drew toward a rock,
Where many mews made twittering sweet;
Their wings upreared, the clustering flock
Did pat the sea-grass with their feet.

A rock but half submerged, the sea
Ran up and washed it while they fed;
Their fond and foolish ecstasy
A wondering in my fancy bred.

Joy companied with every cry,
Joy in their food, in that keen wind,
That heaving sea, that shaded sky,
And in themselves, and in their kind.

The phantoms of the deep at play!
What idless graced the twittering things;
Luxurious paddlings in the spray,
And delicate lifting up of wings.

Then all at once a flight, and fast
The lovely crowd flew out to sea;
If mine own life had been recast,
Earth had not looked more changed to me.

“Where is the cold? Yon clouded skies
Have only dropped their curtains low
To shade the old mother when she lies,
Sleeping a little, ’neath the snow.

“The cold is not in crag, nor scar,
Not in the snows that lap the lea,
Not in yon wings that beat afar,
Delighting, on the crested sea;

“No, nor in yon exultant wind
That shakes the oak and bends the pine.
Look near, look in, and thou shalt find
No sense of cold, fond fool, but thine!”

With that I felt the gloom depart,
And thoughts within me did unfold,
Whose sunshine warmed me to the heart:
I walked in joy, and was not cold.
—Jean Ingelow.

SNAILS OF POND, RIVER AND BROOK.

Many of my readers have doubtless kept an aquarium at some time in their life and have stocked it with several goldfish, a small turtle and some fresh-water snails. They have also, without doubt, stood in front of the aquarium and watched the strange antics of each of the three kinds of animals and have wondered at the swiftness with which the little snails progressed about the glass sides of the artificial pond. It is of these molluscan denizens of fresh water that I shall write in this article.

In the fresh-water species the shell is not often rounded like that of the land snails, but is more frequently long and pointed, the spire resembling a church steeple. The animal, too, differs very greatly, the tentacles being either flat and triangular or long and very tapering. The eyes are not placed at the end of the eye-peduncles, as in the land shells, but are generally situated on little swellings at the base of the tentacles. They may be found in almost any body of water, adhering to stones, sticks, and other submerged objects, or crawling over the sandy or muddy bottom.

Our fresh-water snails may be divided into two classes; first, those which breathe by means of a lung and which must come to the surface at regular intervals to take in a supply of air, and, second, those which breathe by means of plume-like gills which take the oxygen directly from the water.

One of the most common and best known of the first class is the Limnaeidae, comprising the pond snails. These animals have generally a long, graceful shell, horn-colored for the most part, but sometimes greenish without and reddish within the aperture. The animal has a broad, flat foot, an auriculate or eared head, and flat, triangular tentacles. The habits of these animals are very interesting. They will wander about the sides of an aquarium, eating the growths of green scum which have collected. At this time the mouth may be seen to open, exposing the radula and the operation of eating is not unlike the motions of a cat lapping milk. They are such voracious eaters that the dirtiest aquarium will be cleansed by them in a very short time. It is interesting to note that the young animals breathe air through the water for a long time, and finally acquire the normal characteristic of the family of breathing the air directly. While submerged, the mantle chamber containing the “lung” is tightly closed so that no water can possibly get in. It is thought by some that the species of Limnaea living at great depths retain the early habit of allowing the water to fill the mantle cavity and so breathe oxygen through the water and are not, therefore, compelled to come to the surface for air.

Limnaea lives under many varying conditions, being found in the arctic regions of Greenland and Iceland as well as in the tropics, in thermal springs and those containing mineral matter, as sulphur, as well as in brackish and fresh water. They have been found at a height of over fourteen thousand feet in Thibet and at a depth of eight hundred feet in Lake Geneva, Switzerland. During times of drought when the streams are dried up and the surface of the mud is sun-cracked, the species of this family bury themselves deeply in the mud and cover the aperture with an epiphragm, in much the same manner as the land shells. This fact accounts for the apparent disappearance of all life from a pond when it dries up, and its sudden and seemingly unaccountable reappearance when the pond is again filled with water.

A genus of pond snails closely allied to Limnaea, but having discoidal or spiral shells, is Planorbis, the flat-orb shells. Instead of dragging their shells after them, as in the last genus, they carry them perfectly perpendicular, or perhaps tilted a little to one side. The animals are very rapid in movement, more so than Limnaea, which are rather sluggish. They delight in gliding rapidly about, their long, filiform tentacles waving about like a whip in the hands of an impatient driver.

Top row:
Physa gyrina (U. S.)
Melania tetrica (Viti Islands.)
Angitrema verrucosa (U. S.)
Second row:
Planorbis trivolvis (U. S.)
Third row:
Pleurocera elevatum (U. S.)
Ampullaria depressa (U. S.)
Limnaea stagnalis (U. S.)
Bottom row:
Vivipara contectoides (U. S.)
Campeloma subsolidum (U. S.)
Limnaea megasoma (U. S.)

The Limnaeas of which we have been speaking have mostly dextral or right-handed shells, that is, have the aperture on the right side when you hold the shell in the position pictured on our plate. In the family Physidae the shell is left-hand or sinistral. The members of this family have shining, horn-colored shells, more or less fusiform. The tentacles are long and filiform and are constantly moving about as in the allied genus Planorbis. The animal is very active and moves about with a steady, gliding motion. It is very interesting to watch a number of Physae in an aquarium; as they are crawling along the bottom, one will be seen to rise suddenly to the top of the water and move along with the foot applied to the surface, the shell hanging down. Again, they may be seen descending, suspended by a thin thread of mucus. When the animal rises suddenly, the branchial cavity which contains the lung is heard to open with a faint, clicking sound, which is probably due to the pressure of air in the lung being suddenly liberated. Several of the species of Physa inhabit water as cold as the freezing point and they may be frequently seen in winter gliding over the bottom of a stream or pond when the surface is frozen. The little glairy, transparent masses of jelly-like matter which are seen attached to stones and the under side of sticks, are the eggs of Physa or Limnaea.

Not all of the fresh-water pulmonates have spiral shells. A whole family, the Ancylidae, have a conical shell formed like a rounded shield, and resembling the limpets, hence called the river limpets. They are generally quite small and live attached to the interior of dead river shells and to submerged plants and to rocks. They are very interesting, but hard to find on account of their small size and inconspicuous habitat.

The second class of mollusks or those that breathe air through the water, have a respiratory cavity instead of a lung, in which is placed a series of leaflets, arranged like the teeth of a comb in two series of lines, forming the so-called gills. The mouth, also, is placed at the end of a long rostrum, or proboscis, and not in the lower plane of the head, as in the first class. Among the most common of this class are the river snails, known as Strepomatids. There are about three hundred species in this family, and with two or three exceptions they are confined entirely to the United States in geographical distribution. The shells are more or less graceful, having long, turreted spires and small apertures. The color of the shells is generally a uniform greenish or yellowish, although some species have color bands, and the aperture is frequently tinged with purple or reddish.

The animal is very interesting in captivity. It is not very bold and will lie on the bottom of an aquarium with its head and foot half protruding from its shell, and its rostrum and tentacles slowly moving about. Frequently it may be seen moving along with its head and rostrum bent down and moving about like a hound on the scent.

A family closely allied to the last is the Melaniidae, the animals of which inhabit the entire world, except North America. They may be distinguished from the last family by the presence of little finger-like digitations on the edge of the mantle. The shells are generally larger and more highly colored than those of the last family, many of them being of a dark chocolate color and some are of a beautiful glossy black; some shells are smooth, while others are ornamented by knobs and spines. The genus Melania, a species of which is illustrated on the plate accompanying this article, is the most characteristic form.

The largest and handsomest of the fresh-water snails belong to the two families Viviparidae and Ampullariidae, the shells of the latter family frequently attaining a length of three inches. The animals of the first family prefer a sandy beach in a large lake or river, while those of the second generally live in more or less muddy rivers, ponds and creeks. A single genus of Viviparidae (Campelona) is confined solely to the United States, east of the Rocky Mountains. Their shells are generally of a rich grass green and in certain localities they may be collected by the thousands. Unlike many of the snails of which we have been writing, this family is viviparous, that is, brings forth its young alive, instead of laying eggs, as in the family Limnaeidae. This character has given the family its name, which is certainly well chosen. When born the shell is about one-sixteenth of an inch in length and is perfectly transparent. The animal is very active and eats voraciously of any vegetation within reach. Another handsome shell belonging to this group is the Vivipara contectoides, which is about an inch in length and is encircled by several color bands. It is a common shell in many of our ponds.

Somewhat larger and handsomer than the Viviparas are the Ampullarias, or apple-shells (also called idol-shells and pond snails). These animals live mostly in tropical and subtropical regions and are noted for the tenacity with which they retain their hold on life. So tenacious of life are they that instances are known of their living for several years away from the water, in this respect resembling some of the land snails. It is also recorded that hollow pieces of logwood from Honduras have frequently contained specimens of this family alive after a journey of thousands of miles. They may be said to be truly amphibious.

The writer has collected in Florida the large Ampullaria depressa in considerable numbers. It was noted particularly that this species furnished the principal food of the Everglade Kite, a bird inhabiting the southern part of Florida. Large quantities of these shells were found about the nesting places of these birds, from which the animal had been neatly extracted without damaging the shell in the least. The bird is, curiously enough, provided with a curved bill which easily fits into the aperture of the mollusk and extracts the animal with little difficulty, and the feet and claws are so constructed that the shell may be firmly held during the operation. This shell is figured on the plate.

In Central Africa there is a lake, Tanganyika, having a length of four hundred miles and a width of from ten to fifty miles, and at an elevation of twenty-seven hundred feet above sea level, which has one of the most interesting and peculiar fresh-water molluscan faunas known. It is thought that at some remote period in geological history this lake formed a part of the ocean and that in the course of time it was cut off from the sea, gradually became fresh and was finally raised to its present elevation. The reason for such a theory is the presence in the lake of certain molluscan organisms whose shells closely resemble those of the salt water family, Littorinidae (Periwinkles). The fact that certain species of the family inhabit brackish water and are even subject to the influence of fresh water, adds additional weight to this theory. The shell of this species (Limnotrochus thomasi) also resembles certain of the top-shells (Trochus), which are marine in habitat. Most of the other species inhabiting this lake are like the fresh water Viviparas in form.

The animal of Ampullaria depressa is very curious and interesting when studied alive. The foot is very wide, almost square in some positions; the head is narrow, separated from the body by a neck and the region of the mouth is produced into two long, cylindrical, tapering, tentacular processes, which are probably tactile organs like the elongated lips of Glandina, described in the last article. On the top of the head are placed the two whip-like tentacles, which are longer than the length of the whole animal and are always waving about when the animal is in motion. Just back of the tentacles the eyes are placed at the end of two short, rounded prominences or peduncles. From the left edge of the aperture extends the long, hollow, cylindrical siphon formed by two extensions of the mantle. On the upper side of the posterior end of the foot is placed the horny, concentric operculum or door. When the animal withdraws into its shell the head first disappears with its appendages and the siphon, and the foot is doubled up in the middle, the operculum shutting in last and closing the interior against all enemies.

All of the different groups of the mollusca have their giants and their pigmies and the fresh-water mollusks are no exception to the rule. We have thus far studied the animals of normal size and the giants. Let us now turn our attention to some of the pigmies among the fresh-water snails. One of the commonest of these small mollusks is the Bythinia tentaculata, the shell of which does not exceed half an inch in length, and is formed in a graceful, tapering turret. This species, like many other European animals, has been introduced into this country and bids fair to eclipse many of the native species in the number of individuals. It probably first came over with some merchandise, which was shipped west by the way of the Erie canal. The snail, once established in the canal, has had every opportunity to spread over the entire United States. The canal is emptied every year and cleaned and the water, with its organisms, is allowed to flow into the little streams and the larger rivers and thence into Lake Ontario. From this lake this species has spread so that it is also found in Lakes Erie and Michigan, and will eventually spread over the entire northern portion of the United States. This is but one of the many examples of different species being carried by human agencies from one part of the world to another.

But there are many species of these smaller fresh-water snails that are pigmies, indeed, whose tiny shells do not exceed an eight of an inch in length and which require the aid of a microscope to adequately study their delicate organisms. These minute animals live on water plants and on any submerged object. They vary from long, pointed, steeple-like shells to those which are perfectly rounded like a miniature apple. In our own country these little creatures may be found in any of our ponds or streams, and the lively little animals are well worth a closer acquaintance. They are known scientifically under the difficult names of Paludinella, Amnicola, Somatogyrus, Fluminicola, with many others, and do not bear any specific English titles.

Much more might be written concerning the habits and variations of the freshwater snails. The best way to become acquainted with these interesting animals is to collect them alive and study their various modes of life in an aquarium. This receptacle need not be an elaborate or expensive affair. A fish globe six or eight inches in diameter makes an admirable aquarium and even a quart Mason fruit jar has been successfully used by the writer. The bottom should be covered to a depth of an inch or more with clean, fine sand and several stones should be introduced for the snails to “roost” upon. If the aquarium is large enough a few water plants like water cress might be introduced to assist in purifying the water.

The best Mollusks for this purpose are the Limnaea, the Planorbis, the Physa, the Vivipara and some of the “pigmies” just mentioned. Much can be learned concerning the habits of our common snails if a record is kept of everything the animal does, such as its mode of eating, what it will eat and the increase in size from day to day of the little snails after they are hatched from the egg. If these creatures could be considered by the majority of people as living, breathing animals, performing many of the functions carried on by our own bodies they would be regarded with more favor and hence aquaria would become more numerous and they would also be studied more intelligently. The writer has been frequently amused (and sometimes pained) by the careless question of some otherwise intelligent person, when he has been exhibiting the shell of some interesting mollusk, “Well, really, now, was that thing ever alive?” It is to be earnestly hoped that this series of articles will reach many of this class of people and lead them to a better understanding of these lowly creatures.

Frank Collins Baker.

THE ORANGE.
(_Citrus aurantium._)

The tree which produces the well-known Orange of commerce is closely related to the lemon, the citron and the lime, and with them belongs to the genus Citrus.

By some it is supposed that Linnaeus selected this name, deriving it from a corruption of the Greek word meaning cedar-tree, because, like the cedar, it is an evergreen. By others it is held that the name was chosen in honor of the city of Citron in Judea. In ordinary language the name citron is applied to another species of the genus, the fruit of which is oblong, about six inches in length and with a thick rind.

Many consider that the name Orange is a direct corruption of the Latin word aureum, meaning golden; but our best authorities on the derivation of words believe that the name, though a corruption, reached its present form in the following manner: “The Sanskrit designation nagrungo, becoming narungle in Hindustani, and corrupted by the Arabs into naranj (Spanish naranja), passed by easy transitions into the Italian arancia (Latinized aurantium), the Roman arangi, and the later Provincial Orange.”

In regard to the original home of the Orange there is a great diversity of opinion, yet there is little doubt that it was in some portion of southern Asia. Both the Orange and the lemon were unknown to the Romans, hence they must have been indigenous in a country not visited by this people. The region traversed by them was great and they even penetrated India. They were a people who were inclined to please the palate and would surely have used the Orange and taken it home with them if discovered and would doubtless have recorded the finding of so important a fruit. These facts tend to prove that the Orange was not then cultivated in India unless in the remoter parts. Other portions of Asia were unknown to the Romans but, with the exception of the southeastern portion, climatic conditions would not have permitted the growth of the Orange.

De Candolle, an eminent botanist and one the truthfulness of whose investigations cannot be questioned, held that the original home of the Orange was the Burmese peninsula and southern China. Throughout both China and Japan this fruit has been cultivated from very ancient times.

Though not found by the Romans in India it was later cultivated there and without doubt it was carried from there by the Arabs to southwestern Asia previous to the ninth century and from there into Africa and to some of the European islands. The Arabian physicians were familiar with the medicinal virtues of the Orange and have spoken of it in their writings. It was probably afterwards introduced into Spain and possibly to other portions of southern Europe by the same agency as it seemed to follow the spread of Mohammedan conquest and civilization. Thus in the twelfth century we find that the bitter Orange was a commonly cultivated tree in all the Levant countries. There is no reference to the sweet Orange in the literature of this time and it must have been introduced at a later period. It was certainly cultivated in Italy as early as the sixteenth century.

In more recent years the cultivation of the various varieties has spread throughout the world wherever the climate and the conditions of the soil will permit the ripening of the fruit.

Risso, in his valuable history of the Orange family, enumerates one hundred and sixty-nine varieties with distinct characteristics. Of these he classes forty-three under the Citrus aurantium.

Besides the sweet and bitter varieties the more common ones are the Mandarin Orange of China, a flat and spheroidal fruit the rind of which easily separates from the pulp; the Tangerine, which is very fragrant and originally derived from the Mandarin, and the Maltese or Blood Orange, commonly grown in southern Italy and notable for its deep red pulp. There are many other varieties that bear geographical or local names.

Few forms of plant life present to the beholder more beautiful characteristics than an Orange tree in full bearing. Such a tree, in addition to the unripe and ripe yellow fruit has also numerous white flowers, which give off their wonderful perfume, and its symmetrically arranged branches are covered with rich dark green leaves. It is a tree that appeals not alone to the sense of taste but to the esthetic nature as well.

THE MUSICAL SWAN.
(_Cygnus musicus._)

“What moonlit glades, what seas,
Foam-edged, have I not known!
Through ages hath not flown
Mine ancient song with gathered music sweet—
By fanes o’erthrown,
By cities known of old, and classic woods,
And, strangely sad, in deep-leaved northern solitudes?”

If those living Avian gems aglow amid the trees that form Earth’s emerald diadem, are the jewels of Nature’s crown, then is the great white swan afloat upon the ripples of her glistening lakes and seas, a shimmering pearl amid the chasing of her silver breastplate.

Yet it was not the beautiful Mute Swan, most beautiful, most stately, and most silent of all created beings, that typified to the men of old the reincarnation of the poet’s soul; neither the Trumpeter, with its loud clarion, but the more slender Singing Swan of song and story, that “thro’ its deathless music sent a dying moan.” It was to this swan alone that the ancients could attribute the power of melody—the singular faculty of tuning its dying dirge from among the reedy marshes of its final retreat, where “in a low, plaintive and stridulous voice, in the moment of death, it murmured forth its last prophetic sigh;” and it was this swan, too, that inspired the philosopher Pythagoras to teach that the souls of poets passed at death into swans and retained the powers of harmony they had possessed in their human forms.

M. Antoine thinks that it is not improbable that the popular and poetical notion of the singing of the swan was derived from the doctrine of the transmigration of souls; yet the traveler Pausanius, who spake as one having authority, affirmed the swan to be “the glory of music,” at the same time preserving the following testimony to the repute of the swan as a bird of prophecy: “In the night before Plato was to become the pupil of Sokrates, the latter in a dream saw a swan take refuge in his bosom. Now the swan has a reputation for music, because a man who loved music very much, Kuknos, the king of the Ligyes beyond the Eridanus, is said to have ruled the land of the Kelts. People relate concerning him that, through the will of Apollo, he was changed after his death into a swan.” From this evidence Pausanius thus subtracts the weight of his private opinion: “I am willing to believe that a man who loved music may have ruled over the Ligyes, but that a human being was turned into a bird is a thing impossible for me to believe.”

Mr. Rennie cites, also: “In his Phaedro, Plato makes Socrates thus express himself: ‘When swans perceive approaching death, they sing more merrily than before because of the joy they have in going to the God they serve; but men, through fear of death, reproach the swans, saying that they lament their death and sing their grief in sorrowful tones.’ After digressing to assert that no bird sings when either hungry or sorrowful, he resumes, ‘Far less do the swans sing out of grief, which, by reason of their belonging to Apollo, are diviners, and sing more joyfully on the day of their death than ever before, as foreseeing the good that awaits them in the other world.’”

Charles de Kay wrote: “Not the magnificence merely, but the element of superstitious reverence accounts for the frequency of the swan as a crest and charge of coats of arms,” stating that in heraldry the swan runs back through heraldic devices to totemism, and that among the “oath-birds” which wizards of Lapland called upon in their incantations, the swan often figured.

It is also asserted that German local legends retain the idea of the swan as an uncanny bird, prophetic of death or the under world, and that the Klagesee, or Lake of Complaining, near Liban, was so named from the numbers of musical swans that congregated there.

Pliny says, “Some affirm that swans sing lamentably a little before death, but untruly, I suppose, for experience of many has shown the contrary.” But Aristotle says, “Swans are wont to sing, particularly when about to die, and mariners in African seas have observed many of them singing with a mournful voice, and expiring with the notes of their dying hymn.”

Cicero affirmed that Lucius Crassus spoke with the divine voice of a swan about to die; while Homer makes no allusion to their singing, but mentions their “flying round the springs of Cayster, clanging on sounding pinions.” Oppian asserts, “They sing at dawn before the rising of the day as if to be heard more clearly through the still air. They also sing on the sea-beach, unless prevented by the sounds of storms and boisterous weather, which would not permit them to enjoy the music of their own songs. Even in old age, when about to die, they do not forget their songs, though they are more feeble than in youth, because they cannot so well erect their necks and expand their wings. * * *

“They are invited to sing by Favonius, and as their limbs become sluggish and their members deficient in strength when death approaches, they withdraw to some place where no bird can hear them sing, and no other swans, impelled by the same cause, may interrupt their requiem.”

While on the one hand Julius Scaliger vituperates Cardan for “lauding the nonsense of the poets, and the mendacity of the Greeks about the singing of the swan,” Aldrovand cites on their behalf the testimony of one Frederico Pendasio, a celebrated professor of philosophy and a person worthy of credit, who told him that he had frequently heard swans singing melodiously while he was sailing on the Mantuan Lake; also that one George Braun had heard the swans near London “sing festal songs.”

Besides this, Mr. Rennie says, Olius Wormius professed that many of his friends and scholars had heard them singing, and proceeded to give the experience of one John Rostorph, a student in divinity, and a Norwegian by nation. “This man did, upon his credit, and with the interposition of an oath, solemnly affirm, that once in the territory of Dronten, as he was standing on the seashore early in the morning, he heard an unusual and sweet murmur, composed of the most pleasant whistlings and sounds; he knew not at first whence they came, or how they were made, for he saw no man near to produce them; but looking round about him, and climbing to the top of a certain promontory, he there espied an infinite number of swans gathered together in a bay, and making the most delightful harmony—a sweeter in all his life-time he had never heard.”

To this testimony Goldsmith appends his personal opinion in the following words: “Thus it appears that our modern authorities in favour of the singing of swans are rather suspicious, since they are reduced to this Mr. George Braun and John Rostorph, the native of a country remarkable for ignorance and credulity.” Goldsmith’s own belief was that the ancients had some mythological meaning in ascribing melody to the swan, “and as for the moderns, they scarcely deserve our regard. The swan must, therefore, be content with that share of fame that it possesses on the score of its beauty, since the melody of its voice, without better testimony, will scarcely be admitted by even the credulous.”

This better testimony is furnished by Charles de Kay, who says that modern bird-lovers have heard the swans of Russia singing their own dirge in the North, when, having lingered too long before migration, reduced in strength by lack of food, and frozen fast to the ice where they have rested over night, they clang their lives out, even as the ancients said.

Inasmuch as we have record of the Singing, or Whistling Swan from Egypt to Alaska and the Aleutian Isles, with testimony of modern scientists as well as ancient poets in proof of the vocality of this, the largest of singing birds, the question becomes one of quality of song rather than of the actuality of the song itself. M. Montbeillard’s opinion of the whistler’s vocal exertions is thus expressed: “The bursts of its voice form a sort of modulated song, yet the shrill and scarcely diversified notes of its loud clarion sounds differ widely from the tender melody, the sweet, brilliant variety of our birds of song.” And M. Morin even composed a memoir, entitled “Why swans that sang so well in ancient times now sing so badly.” It is probable that the ancients, with due consideration for the difference in size between the swan and all other songsters, may have also given consideration in the same ratio to the theory of the enchantment that distance lends; and it is more than probable that all of this confusion of testimony resulted from confusion of species; for, as Charles de Kay explains, observations of the Mute Swan caused people to assign the song of the dying swan to the most fabulous of fables; while Hearne, who observed the Trumpeter, makes the following vigorous statement: “I have heard them in serene evenings, after sunset, make a noise not very unlike that of a French horn, but entirely divested of every note that constituted melody, and have often been sorry that it did not forebode their death.”

Aldrovand, referring to the structure of the organs of voice as countenancing the poetical creed of the singing swan, says, “For when we observe the great variety of modulations which can be produced from a military trumpet, and, going upon the axiom that Nature does nothing in vain, compare the form of such a trumpet with the more ingenious mechanism of a swan’s windpipe, we cannot but conclude that this instrument is at least capable of producing the sounds which have been described by the ancient authors.”

In distinguishing between the Whistling and Tame or Mute Swans, Bingley describes this strange form of windpipe, “Which falls into the chest, then turns back like a trumpet, and afterwards makes a second bend to join the lungs. The curve being inside the neck of the Whistler or Hooper, instead of being an external adornment, as in the case of the graceful Mute, in whom

‘Behold! The mantling spirit of reserve
Fashions his neck into a goodly curve,
An arch thrown back between luxuriant wings
Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs,
To which, on some unruffled morning, clings
A dusky weight of winter’s purest snows——’

while with the Musical Swan the gift of voice is balanced by a corresponding detraction from personal appearance; for the straight neck and smaller stature impart, we are told (alas!), a certain goose-like suggestion.”

This aesthetic obstacle is, however, successfully surmounted by the fact that their songs are uttered mostly at night, when flying far overhead in the darkness; but there is no help for the statement of Albertus Magnus, which must needs be taken for better or for worse, that “When swans fight, they hiss and emit a sort of bombilation, not unlike the braying of an ass, but not so much prolonged.”

The Abbe Arnaud, whose observations were said to be very minute, completes the list of odious comparisons as follows: “One can hardly say that the swans of Chantilly sing; they cry, but their cries are truly and constantly modulated; their voice is not sweet; on the contrary, it is shrill, piercing, and rather disagreeable. I could compare it to nothing better than the sound of a clarionet winded by a person unacquainted with the instrument.”

Proceeding then to depict the manner of their dual concerts, he continues: “The swan, with his wings expanded, his neck stretched and his head erect, comes to place himself opposite to his mate, and utters a cry to which she replies by another which is lower by half a tone. The voice of the male passes from A to B flat; that of the female from G sharp to A. The first note is short and transient, and has the effect which our musicians call sensible, so that it is not detached from the second, but seems to slip into it. This dialogue is subjected to a constant and regular rhythm, with the measure of two times. Observe that, fortunately for the ear, they do not both sing at once!”

Nuttall is likewise arrayed with the witnesses for quantity rather than quality of sound. Of the dying song, he says, “These doleful strains were heard at the dawn of day or when the winds and waves were still, and, like the syrinx of Pan, were in all probability nothing more than the murmurs and sighs of the wind through the marshes and forests graced and frequented by these elegant aquatic birds.” Speaking of the natives of Iceland comparing their notes, “very flatteringly,” to those of a violin, he suggests that “allowance be made for this predilection, when it is remembered that they hear this cheerful clarion at the close of a long and gloomy winter, and when, at the return of the swan, they listen to the harbinger of approaching summer; every note must be, therefore, melodious, which presages the speedy thaw and return of life and verdure to that gelid coast.” He adds that “it emits its notes only when flying or calling on its companions—the sound being very loud and shrill, but by no means disagreeable when heard high in the air and modulated by the winds.”