Chapter II: Part 2

He also states that the Cormorants remained on the nests till he fired his gun and they lingered on the edge of the rock while he walked among the nests a few yards away. On the rock were many piles of sardines, evidently placed near the nests for the use of the sitting bird.

The nests are nearly circular when placed on top of the rocks, and are usually constructed of eel grass. They are generally placed in the most inaccessible places and at various heights above the surface of the water. The Cormorants frequent the same locality from year to year and experience considerable difficulty in constructing their nests because of the gulls which frequently carry away the material as fast as it can be gathered. The young, when first hatched, are entirely devoid of plumage and their skin resembles a “greasy, black kid glove.” It is said that the gulls feed upon these young birds.

Mr. Frank M. Woodruff relates the following observations, made during a recent trip to California. He says:

“The Brandt’s Cormorant is the common species wintering in Southern California. Like the California brown pelican and the surf ducks, only the juvenile birds are found in the bay close to the city of San Diego. As one rows about the harbor close to the shipping docks and by the old deserted fishermen’s huts along the slips, large numbers of Brandt’s Cormorants and pelicans can be seen perched on and almost covering the sunny sides of the roof tops. They sit in rows like sentinels with the head well down upon the shoulders, undisturbed by the noise of traffic and only by continued rapping on the building with an oar can they be induced to take to flight. They will usually circle for a short time in a lazy manner and then return to their old position. The older birds are rather more wary and usually feed a mile or so from the shore, in flocks of from three to ten. The loose kelp floating in the bay attracts the smaller fish. Such places form their feeding grounds. After they become gorged with fish, they fly to the rocks along the jetties and to the cross bars of the buoys, which mark the deep water channels. The birds are perfect gluttons, and as I lifted it into the boat there dropped from the gular sack of one specimen that I shot, over twenty small fish. The beautiful iridescence of the dark copper-green plumage of the adult Cormorant can only be appreciated when the freshly killed bird is seen.”

Seth Mindwell.

MATE, OR PARAGUAY TEA.

It is a trite saying, but a very true one, that one-half the world does not know how the other half lives. This will apply to food and drink, as well as to other things, so widely do customs vary in different regions.

While tea, coffee and chocolate, all products of warm climates, have come into general use as table drinks over the greater portion of the globe, so as to be universally known, there is a beverage of similar use, the favorite of millions, which is practically unknown to the world at large.

Mate (two syllables) is the name of the prepared leaves of a shrub or tree belonging to the Rhamses family, and has the scientific name of Cassine gonhonha, but is more generally known as Ilex paraguayensis, as it was first used by the Indians of Paraguay. It belongs to the natural order of the holly, to which it bears much resemblance. Its leaves are six to eight inches long, short stalked, oblong, wedge-shaped, and finely toothed at the margin. The small white flowers are borne in clusters at the axils of the leaves. It bears a four-seeded berry, but the leaves are used for decoction, except for a very fine quality, which is made from the dried flower buds.

It abounds in the forests of Paraguay and Brazil, where it is a tree of considerable size. It is cultivated to some extent, but in this state remains a shrub, and the quality is finer. It may be gathered at any season of the year, and the leaves must become dry enough to pulverize before they are fit for use.

Where it is cultivated it is dried in metal pans, after the manner of Chinese tea, but far greater quantities are gathered in the forests and dried in the primitive method adopted from the Indians.

A drying floor is prepared by clearing a space of ground and pounding it hard with a mallet. On this a fire is built, and after the ground is well heated, it is swept off clean and branches from the neighboring forests spread upon it. Afterwards they are placed upon a rude arbor made of hurdles and a slow fire beneath completes the drying process.

When quite brittle the leaves are pounded in a mortar and reduced to small particles, but not to a powder. The preparation of it consists in placing a small quantity of it in a vessel, with sugar if desired, and adding a little cold water. After a little while boiling water is poured on and it is then ready for use. As the leaf particles do not settle well, it must be sipped through a tube. The natives for steeping it used a calabash gourd called mate, whence its common name, mate yerba, or calabash plant. These gourds are still often used, and are convenient, as they have a handle. Cocoa-nut shells, with handles of silver or other metal, are also popular. A reed or a metal tube, with a small perforated bowl at the bottom is used to sip it through. This is called a bombilla.

It is customary with the Spaniards and Portuguese to offer mate to visitors.

In the gardens of that sunny region vineclad arbors are furnished with seats, where the family with their visitors will sit in the cool of the evening, each one supplied with a bombilla and a cocoa-nut or calabash bowl of mate. Through a small opening in the top of the vessel the tube is inserted and the grateful infusion is enjoyed while matters of interest are discussed.

Great virtues are ascribed to this drink. Its properties appear to be chiefly due to theine and caffeine.

In Chili and Peru it is in universal use, and is considered more necessary than meat. On the plains of Argentina the gaucho or cowboy washes down his dried beef with copious draughts of mate and is content with his meal. To northerners the taste is not agreeable. It seems weedy and slightly bitter. For shipment the leaves, when dried, are packed in oblong cases or bags made of rawhide carefully sewed. These packages contain 120 pounds each. Since the beginning of the seventeenth century this drink has been used in Paraguay, and its use now extends all over South America. It is estimated that the amount used annually exceeds 60,000,000 pounds.

It is being introduced into other countries and the time may come when the bombilla and the bowl of mate may become a rival of five o’clock tea in English and American parlors.

Anna Rosalie Henderson.

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all his works,
Has left his Hope with all!
—John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE AMERICAN BUFFALO.
(_Bison americanus._)

The supremacy of man over the lower forms of animal life has no better illustration than that furnished by the rapid extermination of the American Buffalo (Bison or Bos americanus.)

Much less than a century ago, in immense herds, this animal swarmed over the prairies of the United States, unmolested except by the Indians who sought it for food and for the economic value of its hide. It was free to seek those localities which would furnish it the best and most abundant food supply. Even as late as the sixties of the last century the American Buffalo was represented by thousands upon thousands of individuals, whose numerous paths leading from the feeding grounds to a supply of fresh water were known to the frontiersman as “Buffalo trails.” “In 1889 Mr. William T. Hornaday estimated the number of survivors to be eight hundred and thirty-five, inclusive of the two hundred then living in the Yellowstone Park under the protection of the government.”

The passing from the face of the earth of this, the largest of the native animals of North America, has taken place within the last thirty years and this extermination may be laid at the door of the zealous hunter and trapper who systematically shot and destroyed them in order to obtain the small profit that their skins would bring. It is said that one of the railroads crossing the continent from the Mississippi river to the Pacific coast carried about two hundred thousand skins within a year after it was opened to traffic. One writer records the reception of over forty thousand pelts by a single firm in the year 1875. Many instances of the wanton butchery of this noble and useful animal might be mentioned, but it is much better illustrated by the absence of the Buffalo at the present time, from all localities, except where it is protected by the same hand which has brought about its destruction. In 1858, when a party was traversing the country by wagon train from the state of Missouri to Mexico, they were continually surrounded by large herds of Buffaloes. An eye witness said, “In bands, in masses, in hosts, the shaggy, black creatures thundered along in front of us, sometimes from north to south, sometimes from south to north; for forty consecutive hours we had them in sight, thousands upon thousands, tens of thousands upon tens of thousands, an innumerable mass of untamed animals, the flesh of which, as we believed, was sufficient to provide the wigwams of the Indians unto all eternity.”

The American Buffalo belongs to the ox tribe of the family of horned animals (Bovidæ). Among its immediate relatives are the musk ox of the Arctic regions of America, the yak of the mountainous regions of Tibet, the zebu, an East Indian species, the Cape buffalo, a ferocious animal of the central and southern portions of Africa, the Indian buffalo living in southern Asia and the European bison.

The European bison, like its American relative, has suffered from the hunter and the advance of civilization and is practically exterminated. It now exists only in a few forests on the Caucasus and in the famous forest and game preserve of the Czars of Russia called Lithuania. Here, protected by stringent laws through several centuries, the European bison has been saved from absolute extermination. “In former times this was different, for the bison ranged all over Europe and a large portion of Asia.” In the time of Cæsar, according to his own record, they abounded in Germany and Belgium.

So it is with the American Buffalo. Were it not for government and private preserves this, one of the largest of living quadrupeds, would be unknown to future generations except by museum specimens. Correctly speaking, the American species should be called Bison. So universal, however, is the use of the term Buffalo that the word Bison would puzzle many people. Strictly speaking, the name buffalo should be applied only to designate the Cape and Indian species.

The original range of the American Buffalo extended from but little west of the Atlantic coast westward to the Rocky Mountains and from Mexico on the south northward to about the sixty-fifth degree of north latitude. By the trappers the Buffaloes were placed in two classes. Those that frequented the mountain ranges were called Bison. They were seldom seen on the plains, the home of the other class. Their limbs were shorter and stouter and better fitted for a rough country. There existed in former ages two other species entirely distinct from the animal with which we are familiar. They were much larger, possibly as large as an elephant, and were probably associates of the mastodon and the mammoth.

A fully adult male Buffalo will measure about nine or ten feet in length from the muzzle to the tail. Its height at the fore quarters is from five to six and one-half feet. The female is much smaller and weighs from seven to eight hundred pounds less than the male, the weight of which averages eighteen hundred pounds.

The Buffalo’s massive head, with its short, curved horns which are set far apart on the broad forehead, is connected with the body by a short deep and narrow neck. From the neck the body rises, forming a large hump on the back over the forelegs, which gives the animal an odd and unwieldy appearance. This hump consists of fat and strong muscles which control the movements of the massive head. From the hump the body tapers downward so that the hind quarters are low and narrow. The anterior portion of the body, the forelegs and the head are covered with long hair. On the forehead and back the hair is curly and matted. In the early spring most of the long hair is shed, resulting in a modification of the color of the Buffalo. The new coat is a uniform grayish brown, deepening into black-brown in the mane, which covers the top part of the head, forehead, neck and under surface of the throat.

Captain Doyle in an article published in the American Naturalist says, “White Buffaloes have frequently been seen and killed. All the Indian tribes regard them as ‘big medicine,’ but they have different superstitions regarding them. For instance Catlin, the painter, while among the Mandans in 1832, saw a white buffalo robe erected on a pole in their village as a sacrifice to the Great Spirit. It had been purchased from the Blackfeet, who killed the Buffalo, for eight horses and a quantity of goods. On the other hand, the Comanches believe it very dangerous to see a white Buffalo. In 1869 I saw a young Comanche, who had seen a white Buffalo, return to his camp almost dead with fear. He was taken into his tent, the medicine man was sent for and they smoked him and kept up incantations over him day and night for a week. When he came out he believed that he had had a very narrow escape from death. In 1859 a white Buffalo was killed by a white man on the north fork of the Red river. He desired to have it dressed to preserve it, but failed to get any Indian to undertake the task for a long time. At last he prevailed on a Comanche chief, named ‘Horseback’ to have the operation performed. ‘Horseback’ selected one of his squaws, had the medicine man of his band go through various ceremonies over her to preserve her life and then placed her in a tepee some distance from his camp, where the hide was taken to her by a soldier and brought away by him when dressed. No other Indian would look at the hide, much less touch it. Her food was left for her at some distance from the tepee and when the robe was dressed, medicine ceremonies were held over her before she was allowed to join the camp.”

These gregarious animals, during the period of their supremacy, rarely remained for any great length of time in any given locality. Frequently, as if moved by a sudden and general impulse, the whole herd, made up of many smaller companies, each with its leader, would start, all the individuals moving in the same direction. No barriers seemed too great to overcome. Moving in a straight line they would swim or ford rivers, find some means of crossing chasms, but still move on as if led by some irresistible impulse.

These migrations, in many instances, may have been due to the necessity of seeking a more plentiful supply of food, especially when the pastures in the more northern regions became covered with snow. This caused them to move southward. The northern tribes of Indians did not believe that the same individuals returned, as the climatic conditions permitted, but that the Buffaloes were produced in immense numbers under ground and that in the spring they came forth from a great mountain far to the south, a herd of new individuals coming north each season. Since the Buffaloes have disappeared from the plains, some Indians claim that the holes in the southern mountains, in which the Buffaloes were formed, have been closed by some evil spirit.

Dr. Brehm tells us that “among the Buffalo’s perceptive senses those of smell and hearing rank first. In its mental qualities it does not differ from its other relatives. It is little gifted, good-natured and timid, incapable of rapid excitement, but when it is irritated it is apt to forget all considerations which generally influence it and it will then oppose an enemy with courage.”

It would seem that the Buffalo depends upon the sense of smell rather than that of sight, for when running from danger it holds the muzzle near the ground and rushes with incredible swiftness in the opposite direction. Obstinacy is one of the most marked characteristics of the Buffalo. When once moved to a certain action nothing seemed to sway a herd from its decision. Boats on rivers have been known to stop and wait for the passing of a herd that was swimming across the stream. Railroad trains have also been brought to a standstill by the herds crossing the tracks.

The American Buffalo was in reality an inoffensive beast and its ferocious appearance was due to its great bulk. “They are not intractable to domestication, readily entering into friendly relations with individuals who treat them kindly; at least they learn to recognize their keeper and to love him to a certain degree.”

Years ago the Buffalo was the friend of the American Indian. It furnished him not only with food but its skin served him as a blanket and as a covering for his tepees. Its skin also provided the leather from which he made his clothing and footwear. At this time, as Moellhausen has said, “The Buffalo could, in a certain sense, be considered a domestic animal of the Indians, no diminution of the innumerable herds could be noticed; on the contrary, they throve and multiplied on the rich pastures.” Ever content if all their wants were satisfied, the American Indians killed only those that were required for their present needs. It was not till the white man visited them with his stock of glittering trinkets, so attractive to the red man, that he began to kill indiscriminately. He learned that the white man was pleased with their robes and that the flesh of the Buffalo delighted his taste; that he was willing to trade his trinkets for robes and flesh. It was then that the Indian’s whole demeanor toward the Buffalo changed and he became the weak servant of the trader, bartering the lives of thousands of noble animals for valueless things which pleased his eye or caught his fancy.

The value of the Buffalo to the Indian’s welfare can be shown in no better way than by quoting the words of Captain Butler. “‘What shall we do?’ said a young Sioux warrior to an American officer on the Upper Missouri. ‘What shall we do? The Buffalo is our only friend. When he goes, all is over with the red man. I speak thus to you because, like me, you are a brave.’ It was little wonder that he called the Buffalo his only friend. Its skin gave him a house, its robe a blanket and a bed, its undressed hide a boat, its short, curved horn a powder-flask, its meat his daily food, its sinew a string for his bow, its leather a lariat for his horse, a saddle, bridle, rein and bit. Its tail formed an ornament for his tent, its inner skin a book on which to sketch the brave deeds of his life, the medicine robe of his history. House, boat, food, bed and covering, every want from infancy to age and after life had passed; wrapped in his Buffalo robe the red man waited for the dawn.”

MR. CHAT, THE PUNCHINELLO.
A TRUE STORY.

If Mr. Chat were an ordinary performer he would doubtless select a spot in the center of the village square; he would put up his little stage and his drop-curtain and would send small boys all through the village with his flaming posters:

ATTENTION, EVERY ONE!
This Afternoon—in the Village Square
At Two O’clock,
Mr. Yellow-Breasted Chat will give one of his
REMARKABLE PERFORMANCES

Mr. Chat is acknowledged by all to be the best imitator, the most gifted singer, the finest elocutionist, the cleverest ventriloquist, the greatest athlete in all bird-dom.

MR. CHAT
Orator, Singer, Gymnast and Punchinello!
Don’t fail to see him!

and by two o’clock the village square would be alive with people, and after the show the dimes would rattle into the hat and no one would go away disappointed, as Mr. Chat’s poster would be nearer the truth than most posters of its kind.

All this if Mr. Chat were an ordinary performer, but he is not. His performance is so far ahead of anything that was ever advertised on a poster, that there are not dimes enough in all the world to buy it. You may set a day for him and invite all your friends, or you may take your friends and go seek him in his own haunts; you may try to coax, hire, threaten; you may do everything in your power; but Mr. Chat is a happy creature of inspiration, and makes dates with nobody.

When he will, he will—
You may depend on’t;
And when he won’t, he won’t—
And there’s an end on’t!

His only tent is the blue sky; his stage-setting a jungle of trees near a swamp; his stage a thick bough near the top of a tree; his curtain the leaves of a white birch, or willow, or butternut; his orchestra and curtain-raiser the wind, and his audience his wife sitting patiently on the eggs in her nest, and—you, if you belong to Nature’s elect and happen to be near the swamp at that moment and have the kind of eyes that really see and the kind of ears that really hear. Mrs. Chat can command the performance with one little bird sigh. You could not buy it with the wealth of the world. After the entertainment is over, Mr. Chat drives his wife from the nest and takes her place on the eggs while she flies out over the tree-tops for a little outing. Not many bird husbands are so considerate.

Once upon a time (you see the story is just beginning now) I happened to find myself in a pasture; not a tame, every-day, green pasture tacked on one end of a nice smooth farm—not at all! but a pasture on top of a high hill, with beautiful fields stretching out below it, and all pink and white with laurel. The cows, who, they say, do not care either for laurel or scenery, may not have liked this pasture, but I did. So when I had climbed the bars and seated myself on the top one to view the country, I saw at the far edge of the pasture, a jungle of trees, and I liked it still more, and determined to explore it. On the way I flushed a brown thrasher in a laurel bush, and he flew into the jungle. There seemed to be but one bird singing in all the neighborhood, and this song which was a peculiar one, lured me into the thicket. On I went very cautiously till the sound seemed to be directly overhead. I paused and listened and peered into the tree tops.

“Caw-caw!” cried the bird harshly.

“Nothing but an old crow,” said I in disgust.

I started to go, when from the same spot overhead came a loud, clear double note, and again I waited.

“Meow! meow!” remarked my new friend.

“How stupid of me!” said I. “I might have known it was Mr. Catbird.” But immediately there came a glorious trill—first over my head, then almost under my feet, then at my right hand, then at my left; though there was no flutter of wings or other sound in all the jungle. At last the fallen branch upon which I had been sitting gave way and I went into the swamp with a splash of mud. “Look out, look out!” came a sarcastic voice from the tree top.

“It is an escaped Poll-parrot,” said I, to reassure myself, but I took out my handkerchief and mopped my heated brow. The unknown then proceeded to bark like a dog, quack like a duck, and squeal like a pig, with occasionally a measure of song in between. At last in desperation I seized a young sapling near at hand and shook it with all my might, thinking to frighten him into showing himself.

“Haw-haw-haw!” rang out clearly from the top of the very sapling itself.

“That is no bird,” I announced to the swamp; “it is an imp of the forest trying to lure me to destruction in the jungle,” and I turned and fled.

I felt better when I met a cotton-tail rabbit, though he did not stop to be greeted; and still better when I reached the sunlight and the pink and white laurel pasture; and when I neared the bars and saw my horse grazing patiently on the other side, I was quite myself again. On an upright stake at the side of the bars sat a strange, yellowish bird. I did not know him, for I had not so many bird friends then as I have now. Suddenly he rose in the air with a shriek, his legs dangling helplessly. “Is this a magical pasture,” I said to myself, “where birds are shot without the report of a gun?” and then with legs still dangling, he made a beautiful gyration in the air, and calling out: “That’s it—that’s it—tut—tut—tut!” disappeared in the direction of the thicket. This was my first attendance upon one of the remarkable performances of Mr. Yellow-Breasted Chat, and I can without hesitation pronounce it the most wonderful in all bird-dom.

The next day I invited some skeptical friends to prove the truth of my story. So at the same time of day we drove up the long hills till we spied the pink and white of the laurel, and halted at the gray bars. The pasture which had been deserted the day before, was now spotted with cows, the laurel had begun to fade, and though we waited one long, weary hour, not a sight or sound of a bird of any description did we see. The towhee and the shore lark whom I had seen the day before, seemed to have dropped out of existence, and those disagreeable people hinted that even the brown thrasher was a myth. But as I ventured alone into the dark swamp, hoping still to stir up Mr. Chat, I came face to face with the beautiful purple-fringed orchis—the large, early variety—blooming alone in the damp thicket, so straight and stately, and of such a delicate, refined beauty, I fell on my knees beside it, and felt it to be ample compensation for any disappointments. So you see it is true that there is not wealth enough in all the world to force a bird-song at the moment when you want it, but at the same time and in the same swamp the purple orchis may be blooming for you.

Nell Kimberly McElhone.

Center Column
BANDED AGATE (Lake Superior).
MOSS AGATE.
Bottom Row
BANDED AGATE (Brazil).
CLOUDED AGATE.

AGATE.

Agate is a form of the common mineral quartz. From other forms of that mineral it differs in being made up of minute layers and in being variegated in color. The colors may appear in the form of bands or clouds. The banded agates appear to be made up of parallel layers, sometimes straight, but more often wavy or curved in outline. These layers or bands differ in color from one another, exhibiting shades of white, gray, blue, yellow, red, brown or black. To the naked eye they appear to vary in width from the finest lines to a width of a quarter of an inch or more. In reality, all the bands visible to the naked eye are made up of finer ones, to be seen only with the microscope. Thus in a single inch of thickness of agate Sir David Brewster, using the microscope, counted seventeen thousand and fifty layers. Besides differing in color, the layers differ in transparency and porosity, and these properties add to the variegated appearance of the agate.

On account of their beauties of color and outline, agates have been known and prized from the earliest times. They are mentioned by many of the ancient Greek writers, and the name agate is a corruption of the name Achates, a river in Sicily, whence the first stones of this kind used by the Greeks were obtained. This and neighboring localities continued to be the source of supply until the fifteenth century, when agates were found to occur in large quantities near Oberstein and Idar on the banks of the river Nahe, in the duchy of Oldenburg.

The industry of cutting and polishing the agates on a large scale was soon established there, and these places are to this day the center of the agate industry. The agates used most extensively at the present time are not, however, those found about Oberstein, but come from a region about one hundred miles in length extending from the Province of Rio Grande do Sul, of Southern Brazil, into Northern Uruguay.

The agates in this region, first discovered in 1827, so surpass in size and beauty those from any other known locality, that they form at the present time almost the only source of supply. They are shipped in large quantities as ballast to Oberstein and Idar, and here the work of cutting, polishing and coloring them is performed. The discovery that the attractiveness of agates could be enhanced by artificial coloring was made about the beginning of the nineteenth century. The natural colors are rarely of a high order, being often only variations of white and gray or dull yellows and reds. Through the difference of porosity of the different layers, however, and the consequent different absorption of coloring ingredients, methods of artificial coloring can be employed, which produce lasting and pleasing effects. Most agate used for ornamental purposes at the present time is therefore artificially colored.

Agates of considerable beauty, though not of great size, are found in many places in the United States. Those of Agate Bay, Lake Superior, have rich colors and make attractive charms and other ornaments. Agates are found in the beds of many streams in Colorado, Montana and other regions of the Rocky Mountains. They occur all along the Mississippi River, especially in Minnesota, also along the Fox River, Illinois, in the trap rocks along the Connecticut River, and on the coast of California. While many of these agates are of great beauty, their use and sale is not likely to be anything more than local, since the Brazilian agates can be supplied so cheaply from Germany. The moss agates of Colorado and other localities in the Rocky Mountains are, however, equal to anything in the world.

The layered structure of agates is due to successive depositions of silica by water flowing through cavities in rocks. Rising and falling alternately through the rocks the water leaves a mark of each advance or retreat in the form of an additional layer deposited upon the interior walls of the cavity. Agates, therefore, grow from the outside inward. The process may go on until the cavity is entirely filled or may cease at any time. If water remains in the cavity for some time crystals, such as are sometimes seen, will be formed. The nodule of silica or agate formed by the percolating waters is harder and more resistant than the surrounding rock. Hence it remains after the surrounding rock has been worn away. We can thus understand why agates should be found, as they usually are, on sea or lake beaches, or in the beds of streams.

The different colors seen in the natural agates are produced by traces of organic matter or of oxides of iron, manganese or titanium contained in the waters which formed them.

The beautiful moss-like inclusions seen in the moss agates are due to a partial crystallization of oxide of manganese or iron contained in the waters. The particles of oxide in these cases arrange themselves in arborescent forms, just as do the particles of frost crystallizing on a window pane.

Agates are not used as extensively as they once were for ornamental purposes. In the years of 1848-50 agate jewelry was very fashionable and was extensively worn. At the present time, however, the principal use of agate in jewelry is for breastpins and watch charms. For ornamental purposes it is used in pen-holders, knife handles, and vases. Its use for large marbles was once quite common, but glass marbles of the same size and still called “agates” are now generally substituted. In fine mechanical work, such as bearings for delicate instruments and in tools for polishing and grinding, agate is still extensively used.

Oliver Cummings Farrington.

MARTYRS OF THE WOODS.

Would we miss them, you and I,
Would we care if soon should die
Every single singing bird
You and I have ever heard?
Would we miss them from the grass,
Through the tangled, deep morass;
From the bushes and the trees—
Robin, wren and chickadees—
Birds of blue and crimson wing;
Would we miss the notes they sing;
Would we miss the call and cry;
Chattering talk as we go by;
Nests amid the reeds and grass,
Nests swung high above the pass?
Do we care that birds must die,
Slaughtered daily as they fly?
Men will kill while people choose
Wings of birds to buy and use;
Soon the woods must quiet be;
Scarce a bird for minstrelsy.
—George Klingle.

A PANSY BED.

There is ever so much fun in a pansy bed. If you have never had one, ask your papa or mamma to let you have one this summer. A few dozen plants will give you much pleasure.

There are so many little faces to know among them, and so many little family groups. Some grin at you like monkeys, others scowl, some seem to wink, some smile shyly, while others are curious and open-eyed. There is a white family delicately blue-veined—Colonial Dames, I call them. There are negroes of the darkest hue, Indians, and those that the sun seems to have bronzed. There are groups of Chinamen with their little “yellow kids.” Some are tattooed, and some have striped skin. Many wear ruffled bonnets, and some have beards. The little clusters are so erect and alert on a morning after a heavy dew that they seem like families off for an outing or school children waiting for a snap shot. There are lovely grandmothers wearing purple caps with white frills, and with faces though crinkled and wrinkled yet full of smiles and wisdom. There are sweethearts too, their little heads close together, and they whisper, whisper when the wind goes by.

What do you think? One day from out of my bowl of pansies which I had placed on the lunch table skipped two frisky “yellow kids.” I discovered them hand in hand skipping away. Their little figures were reflected in the polished surface of the table, and they seemed partners out of a Virginia reel. As I put them back in the bowl among their elders, I felt that I had wantonly interrupted a runaway.

Watch how the pansies love the rain! As they seem praying for it with bent heads in dry weather, so they seem a-quiver with thanksgiving after a shower.

There are many things you can do with your pansies. First, though, you must love them. You must teach pussy and the dog not to tramp over them. Every day you must take off all the faded flowers. You must water them and weed them. You will enjoy gathering a bouquet daily for the house, and if anybody is ill, papa or mamma or some one else you love, by all means carry them a bunch of your pansies.

In midsummer, when the fairies have pitched their tents about the sweet-scented bed, the blossoms will have become so many that if grandpa or grandma has a birthday, you can gather seventy or eighty (possibly ninety if you need so many) for a birthday gift. You will not see the fairies about the bed, for they come at midnight, but the dew-sprinkled tents are there, and the cluster of toadstools that the brownies like so well.

Do not forget to give some flowers to the poor children who stand outside your gate, and who wish for some for their very own. The children who have no garden love to look at yours.

Perhaps you have an older sister or brother who paints. If so, they may like some of your pansies to sketch, and to keep in the house in the winter when your real ones are tucked under the earth and snow.

You will find several live things in your flower bed; the bees, the butterflies, and once in a while a humming-bird. Sir Bumble, the bee who looks so heavy and clumsy, touches lightly the pansies, and the pansies like to have him about, for he is so lively and cheery, so do not drive him away. The light yellow and the deep yellow butterflies seem like the pansies themselves, flying off from their stems for a journey about the country. Who knows what the butterflies and the bees tell the flowers, or what messages the flowers send by the flying creatures that pay them visits? When you have pansy beds of your own perhaps you will be able to write me some stories, and then perhaps you can tell me what the butterflies, bees and pansies talk about.

Grace Marion Bryant.

THE MULLEN.

Most of the familiar or useful plants have had their origin or characteristics accounted for by myths or legends, whereby the ignorant and superstitious have attempted to explain such features as attracted their attention. Some of these ideas were creditable to the plant, while others were quite the contrary. The Mullen appears to have led a dual existence, seeking an alliance with the spiritual world and at the same time aiding and abetting the witches in their nefarious undertakings.

A very pretty story concerning the Mullen is attributed to the American Indian, but in some regards it seems to be a variant of the Scandinavian Tree of Life myth. It appears that the Great Spirit of the red men lived at the top of a high tree whose branches reached to the heavens; as no mortal could attain to this high attitude, a spirit of the woods, in the guise of a beautiful maiden, took pity upon the people and so fashioning a ladder from the stems of the wild grape vine, she fastened it to a star. In order that the Great Father might not be disturbed, the fair sylvan carpeted the steps of the ladder with the velvet leaves of the Mullen, upon which she noiselessly ascended and descended, bearing the petitions of the red men or bringing to them advice or admonitions.

Of the one hundred and twenty-five species of Mullen that are native to the old world, five have become naturalized in the United States. The Great Mullen (Verbascum thapsus), so familiar in dry, open fields, was originally christened by Pliny and has since received over forty English names of a less classical origin and significance. The name Verbascum is supposed to be derived from Berbascum, meaning a beard. Pliny doubtless selected this name, either because of the hairs on the stems of the plants or on account of the silky character of the leaves. The specific name, thapsus, is said to have been added, as the plants grew in considerable numbers in the vicinity of Thapsus.

One of the significant but impracticable common names of the Great Mullen is Hag-taper. The plant gained this unpleasant appellation by reason of the fact that if any one steps on a young Mullen plant after sundown, the witches will ride him as a horse until morning, lighting the way with Mullen stalks used for torches. These torches were also employed at the meetings of the hags and witches, when the leaves of the plant were an important element in the concoctions prepared in their cauldrons. Another name is Hare’s Beard, illustrating a class of plants that have weird names because of some fancied likeness to animals. The name Cow’s Lungwort, arose from the resemblance between the leaf and the dewlap of a cow, from which it was argued that the plant must be a specific for lung diseases. In England, where the Mullen is known as Blanket Leaf, the dried leaf is tied around the throat in cases of colds. It is believed that the leaf sets up a mild irritation which will be beneficial. The dried stalks of the plants were often used for torches at funerals which gave rise to the names High or Hedge Torch. The Great Mullen varies in height from two to seven feet. The stem is stout, very woolly, with branching hairs. The oblong, pale green, velvety leaves form a rosette on the ground or alternately clasp the stem. The flowers, which are about an inch in diameter, are clustered around a thick, dense spike, and have two long and three short stamens, so arranged as to materially assist the process of cross fertilization which is largely carried on by bees. It is interesting to note in connection with the thick woolly covering of the plant that many vegetable forms are so protected when exposed to intense heat or cold. This is true of most alpine and desert forms and the value of such a protection to the Mullen will be seen when it is remembered that the plants are always found in open, dry, stony fields exposed to the fierce heat of the sun, and afforded no protection for the rosettes of year-old plants which must survive the winter in order to send up the flower stalk the second spring.

The Moth Mullen (Verbascum blattaria) is a far more attractive and graceful plant than the form previously described. The specific name was derived from the idea that the plant would kill the cockroach (Blatta). It was supposed that moths would not go near the plant, and it was quite a general custom in New England to pack these plants or flowers with clothing or furs in order to keep out moths. The stamens are similar to those of the Great Mullen, except the filaments are tufted with violet hairs. The flowers are yellow or white on long, loose racemes. The erect, slender stem is usually about two feet in height, and as a rule there are no leaves present at the flowering time.

Charles S. Raddin.

THE CALL OF THE PARTRIDGE.

The fields are wet, the fields are green,
All things are glad and growing,
And fresh and cool across the pool
The gentle wind is blowing.
Tho’ humid clouds yet fill the sky,
The rain has ceased its falling,
And from his rail across the swale,
I hear the partridge calling,
The spotted partridge calling.

Through the silence not a note
His listening ear is greeting.
But hear! O hear—how loud and clear
His call he is repeating,
What pleading lingers in his tone,
What tenderness revealing.
O, soft and sweet across the wheat,
A timid answer’s stealing,
The timid answer’s stealing.
—Belle Hitchcock.

JIM CROW AND HIS COUSINS.

While much can be said about the beauty and grace of birds of brilliant plumage and those of soul-stirring song, there is as much to be written concerning those noted for their sagacity and cunning. Some have selected the parrot as the model in this particular and the choice is not a mistake.

There is, however, a tribe which all may observe more or less, while a story relating to their habits or pranks will ever find willing listeners. The Crow is the best known of this genus, and grouped with him are the chough, the raven, the rook and the jackdaw. All of these may be tamed, and afterward may be taught to use the language of man.

The plumage of the Crow in the northern parts of the world is black, and we are so accustomed to that color that to speak of a white or of a spotted Crow might subject one to ridicule, yet in many parts of the world such Crows are found. Some are gray and black, and some species are larger than others. They are characterized by a comparatively short tail, long wings, and a strong, rather conical beak.

Crows are distinguished from ravens by their smaller size, and by the feathers of the neck blending with those of the body, while on the ravens, the neck feathers are pointed and distinct. The Crow family is widely distributed, but Crows, as properly understood, are mainly inhabitants of the north temperate zone. They are intelligent, wary birds (when persecuted), and are practically omnivorous, feeding upon fish, fowl, eggs, snakes, frogs, crabs, shell-fish, grubs, fruits, seeds and berries. The common Crow of North America is particularly abundant in the Eastern United States, and is looked upon as the inveterate foe of the farmer on account of the amount of injury he inflicts on growing crops, and especially upon corn. There is, however, a credit side to the account in the destruction of grubs; but as the Crow is by nature such a pilferer, he must be regarded as harmful in many ways.

In the fall and winter these glossy birds assemble by thousands in great roosts, or rookeries; one of these roosts on the Potomac above Washington has been estimated to harbor 40,000 Crows, while others are still larger. In the gray of the morning the birds leave in clamorous crowds for their feeding-grounds, often many miles away, and in the afternoon may be seen winging their way homeward in long lines, high above the earth in fair weather, low down in foul. The eastern fish crow, frequently found in company with the others, is a smaller bird, and can readily be distinguished by its hoarse caw.

The Carrion Crow of Europe and Asia closely resembles the North American Crow in form, size and habits, but is perhaps a little more destructive, attacking and killing lambs, or even weakly sheep. The Hooded Crow, found in northern and eastern Europe and in many parts of Asia, is gray, with black head, throat, wings and tail. The Gray-necked Crow of India is a small but bold and mischievous species, often stealing the very food from the table. On the other hand, it does much good as a scavenger, forming an able adjunct to the vultures in this respect.

An interesting story is told of a Crow of this species which had been tamed and petted until it behaved much as would a spoiled child. “Old Crusty,” as he was called, would actually take the food away from the dog while he was eating, not by open encounter, for that would have deprived him of his fun. But he would tease the poor canine until he barked from vexation, then snatch up the prey and triumphantly bear it off to a neighboring tree, where he ate it at his leisure, while the dog stood looking at him and uselessly venting his rage in loud, threatening barks.

The annual “muster” of the Crows, like that of blackbirds, is a scene very amusing, as well as mysterious. It has been my privilege to witness a few such gatherings, but to me there seemed more noise than meaning. It is said by naturalists, however, that the most extraordinary meetings of the Crows occur in northern Scotland. There they collect in great numbers, as if they had all been summoned for the occasion; a few of the flock sit with drooping heads, and others seem grave as judges, while others again are exceedingly active and noisy. One authority says: “These meetings will sometimes continue for a day or so before the object, whatever it may be, is completed. Crows continue to arrive from all quarters during the session. As soon as all have arrived a very general noise ensues, and shortly after the whole fall upon one or two individuals and put them to death. When the execution has been performed they quietly disperse.”

The Chough is a red-legged Crow and is one of the most mischievous birds of his genus. He carefully examines everything he finds, then carries it away if he can. And if there be a collection of anything to which he has access, he is sure to scatter it in all directions. Those which have been converted into pets have proven very affectionate, but they are easily offended and will often vent their spite in a most annoying yet very amusing manner.

The Raven is very much like the Crow in his habits, but is more given to fighting and to burglary than his shy cousin. He is a great tease, also, and will often attack children and even grown up people just for fun. By this it can be seen that the Raven is more susceptible to taming than the Crow, while no old Crow can steal so many articles or hide them as completely as the Raven. They are quick to make friends with dog or man, but, like the Chough, are very troublesome foes when once offended.

The Rook is a European bird, and though the farmer recognizes in him a destroyer of his young crops, he must admit that without the Rook he would save little or none of his crop. Worms constitute the favorite food of this bird, wherefore many a husbandman has learned that it is best to endure the disadvantages of a rookery merely for the sake of his harvests. For one queer habit of Rooks is that they will frequent the same spot all their lives, and it is next to impossible to dislodge them from their abode.

The Jackdaws are the boldest of the genus, and have a very remarkable “don’t care” look. They frequent high towers, hollow trees, and even appropriate to their own use the loftiest parts of the English castles. They choose their mates for life, and do not live in communities. They assemble in flocks, however, when cherries begin to ripen and will soon rob a tree if the owner is not on guard.

An amusing story is told of a tame Jackdaw. While pilfering one day he found a half-glass of whisky which had been left upon a table, and on tasting it, he liked it so much that he drank a quantity. In a few moments symptoms of intoxication began to appear; his wings dropped and his eyes were half-closed. He staggered towards the edge of the table, probably intending to fly to the floor, but he had either lost the power of his wings or he was afraid to trust them. He stood, seemingly meditating what he should do, all the while reeling like a drunken man about to lose his balance. Presently his eyes were shut and he fell over on his back with his legs in the air, exhibiting every sign of death.

An attempt was made to put some water down his throat, but he could not swallow it. He was then rolled in a piece of flannel, laid in a box and locked away in a closet. All the family, with whom he was a great pet, never expected to see him on his legs again. Next morning about six o’clock the door was opened, with the expectation of finding Jackie dead, but he had freed himself from the flannel and as soon as the door was open he flew out and hurried away to a basin-shaped stone, out of which the fowls drank, and copiously allayed his thirst. He repeated this several times that day and was none the worse for his exploit, but, with more forbearance than those who are endowed with reason, he never again would touch whisky.

Claudia May Ferrin.

COCOA.
(_Theobroma cacao_, L.)

The wretch shall feel
The giddy motion of the whirling mill,
In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow,
And tremble at the sea that froths below!
—Pope, “Rape of the Lock,” ii, 135.

The cocoa-yielding plant is a tree varying from fifteen to forty feet in height. The main stem or trunk is much twisted and knotty, from which the branches stand out almost horizontally. The bark is thick, rough and of a cinnamon brown color. The leaves are alternate, large, smooth, entire, and of a deep green color. Flowers occur singly, more usually in clusters, from those parts of the branches and trunk formerly corresponding to the axils of leaves. Calyx deeply five-cleft, pale red. Petals pink. Fruit solitary or several together, pendulous, large, pear-shaped; each pericarp enclosing numerous brown seeds about the size of a hickory nut or almond, from which the chocolate and cocoa are made.