Chapter II: Part 2

Mr. Langille has beautifully described the song of the Black-poll. He says, “That song, though one of the most slender and wiry in all our forests, is as distinguishable as the hum of the cicada or the shrilling of the katydid. Tree-tree-tree-tree-tree-tree-tree-tree, rapidly uttered, the monotonous notes of equal length, beginning very softly, gradually increasing to the middle of the strain and then as gradually diminishing, thus forming a fine musical swell—may convey a fair idea of the song. There is a peculiar soft and tinkling sweetness in this melody, suggestive of the quiet mysteries of the forest and sedative as an anodyne to the nerves.”

TRAGEDY OF THE AIR.

Sweet voices midst the blossoms;
Amidst the meadow-blooms;
Midst mallow-buds and sedges;
Midst flower-hearts by their looms;
Through vistas of the forests,
Round minaret and dome,
The mists of mountain torrents;
Through rainbows of the foam;
Above the rush of waters;
Above the swirl of seas;
Through labyrinths of maremma—
Ah yes, and more than these—
Yet flashes out a remnant
Of bird-wings on the air,
Or floats the song-birds’ rhythms
Midst slaughter and despair.
Is there no human pity?
In all the world so wide
Can nothing stay the slaughter,
Can nothing stem the tide
Before, from Nature’s pageant,
All bird-life joy is crushed;
Before the wings lie broken
Before the songs are hushed?
—George Klingle.

OFF FOR THE SOUTHLAND.

The first frosts of autumn are a warning to the summer songsters that it is time to prepare for their long trip to the southland. From pine and beech and shrub they come, lingering to catch a stray insect or to feast on the seeds so plentiful at this season of the year, steadily collecting until dozens and fifties and hundreds of a kind are grouped together.

Whether the smaller birds, such as the robins, blue birds and ground birds, select a leader for the trip south, it is difficult to say. Some birds do so, and follow their leaders, as the sheep of olden time followed their shepherd. However this may be, these fine-feathered travelers are careful to remain in a squad as compact as possible, and a note of alarm from one puts the whole legion to flight.

All birds of short flight travel by night only, perhaps because it is a time less beset with dangers from the enemy; perhaps instinct is more in control at night, when there is naught but dreams of the southland to claim their attention. Some authorities have surmised that the birds, like the mariner, are familiar with the heavens and, taking some star or constellation as their guide, fly straight to the summerland of the world. But this last is not a safe conclusion, for the blue birds and robins have been known to err in their choice of a wintering place, some stopping in northern Georgia and perishing there because of their blunder. Others have remained in the Middle States throughout the winter, which grave error the best students of bird-nature have been unable to explain.

But we must not infer from this that birds, as a rule, travel at random and trust to what man calls “luck.” These little perching birds are the ones most liable to mistakes, and a sudden change in the weather or an unusually tempting food supply may lure them to pause too long in these more northern regions, delaying them until it is impossible for them to finish their trip. They have a very short flight, compared to other birds, and it is no slight task for them to accomplish a journey of a thousand miles or more. Yet they go and come with remarkable precision, and there are many instances of a pair nesting in the same tree or crevice or broken limb for several years in succession. When spring returns, some happy experience of the year before brings them back to the loved spot, and there they linger till time for the fall migration.

The birds which are most unerring in their time and course of flight are the water birds. The wild geese are first in this particular, flying high in the air and with the leader ever in full view of the flock, remaining on the wing for from twenty-four to forty-eight hours. To be classed next to these are the herons, the wild ducks and the bittern, the long-legged waders, and the little sand-pipers. All these follow the water courses, the Mississippi and its tributaries being their principal highways.

The ground birds usually follow the prairie countries, though the clearing away of forests has induced them to frequent eastern Indiana and Ohio in recent years. But the western prairie states are their acknowledged summer homes, from whence they gather in companies when autumn comes and, like their fellows, flee to a warmer clime till their favorite dunes and marshes are again habitable.

Claudia May Ferrin.

TURQUOIS.

This mineral differs from nearly all others held in favor as gems, in not being transparent and never occurring in the form of well defined crystals. The opal is perhaps the only other gem of which the same may be said. In composition Turquois is a hydrous phosphate of aluminum, the percentages being: Of water, 20.6 per centum; of alumina, 46.8 per centum, and of phosphoric oxide, 32.6 per centum. Thus in composition as well as opacity Turquois differs from most other gems, they being usually silicates or some form of silica. Besides the above ingredients Turquois always contains a small percentage of copper oxide and usually iron, calcium and manganese oxides in small amount. It is the copper compound which undoubtedly gives Turquois its inimitable color, that color to which it owes its chief charm as a gem. The color varies from sky-blue through bluish-green and apple-green to greenish-gray.

Of these colors the pure sky-blue or robin’s-egg blue is by far the most highly prized and is in fact the only standard color for the gem. Green is, however, the most common and the most lasting color of the mineral, and it is one of the faults of the gem that the blue shades often fade to green after being exposed to the light for a time. In a stone of first quality, however, especially a Persian Turquois, such fading of color is exceptional. A good Turquois also maintains its color in artificial light. The hardness of Turquois is 6, in the scale of which quartz is 7. It is therefore somewhat more easily scratched than other gems. Its specific gravity varies from 2.6 to 2.8, being about that of quartz. It does not fuse before the blowpipe, but turns brown and assumes a glossy appearance. By the copper of the Turquois the blowpipe flame is usually colored green. When heated in a closed glass tube the mineral turns brown or black and gives off water. Almost any of these tests will serve to distinguish true Turquois from stones used to imitate it. It has a conchoidal fracture and waxy lustre. On account of its opacity it is almost never cut with facets like most other gems, but in a round or oval form with convex surface. The pieces desirable for cutting rarely reach a large size so that big gems of Turquois are comparatively unknown.

Much of the so-called Turquois used in former times was bone-turquois, or odontolite, made from fossil bone colored by a phosphate of iron. It is obtained mostly from the vicinity of the town of Simor, Lower Languedoc, France. It is sometimes known as Western or Occidental turquois, in distinction from the Oriental turquois, most of which came originally from Persia. It does not retain its color by artificial light as does true Turquois and may be further distinguished by giving off an offensive odor when heated, owing to decomposition of animal matter. Further, it is lighter than true Turquois and does not give a blue color with ammonia when dissolved in hydrochloric acid, as does true turquois.

The finest Turquoises have long come from Persia, from a locality not far from Nishapur, in the province of Khorassan. Here the mineral occurs in narrow seams in the brecciated portions of a porphyritic trachyte and the surrounding clay slate. There are several hundred mines in the region and the entire population of the town of Maaden derives its livelihood from mining and cutting the stones. It is said that $40,000 worth of stones are taken from these mines annually. A pound of stones of the first quality sells at the mines for about $400 and is worth more than double that price in Europe. There are other Turquois mines in Persia, but their product is comparatively small. “Persian Turquoises” have, however, the highest value of all. Other Oriental localities from which the gem Turquoises are obtained are Sinai, in Arabia, the Kirgeshi Steppes, in Siberia, and the Kara-Tube Mountains, in Turkestan. Egypt also furnishes large quantities of Turquois, which does not as a rule retain its color well.

Left column:
Indian Amulet.
Artificially polished.
Natural.
Center column:
Waterworn.
Waterworn.
Right column:
Artificially polished.
Artificially polished.
Natural.

Turquois is not an uncommon mineral in the United States and many gems of fine quality have been obtained from mines within our borders. The oldest and best known mines are those at Los Cerrillos, New Mexico. This locality was long worked by Indians and Spaniards, as shown by the great extent of the excavations. There are pits two hundred feet in depth and piles showing that thousands of tons of rock have been broken out. Fragments of Aztec pottery, vases, cooking utensils, stone hammers, etc., are found at the mines, and trees of considerable size have grown over the once worked portions. Hence the beginning of the mine workings must at least date back prior to the discovery of America. The mines were worked more or less by Spaniards in the early part of the seventeenth century with the consent of the Indians, or at least without hindrance from them. In 1680, however, a large landslide occurred on the mountain at the mine, and many of the Indian miners were overwhelmed. Believing the Spaniards to be in some way responsible for the accident, and perhaps fearing that their gods were displeased, the Indians rose in their might and expelled the Spaniards from the region. It is one of the few instances in the history of Spanish conquest in America in which the Indians came off victorious. The Indians seem to have prized the Turquois highly as an ornament, rudely polishing it and using perforated pieces like the one shown in the plate for necklaces. They also decorated their idols and other objects of worship with pieces of Turquois. The mountain at which the Los Cerrillos Turquois mines occur is called Mount Chalchihuitl, in allusion to an Indian name that is supposed to have been applied to Turquois. The mountain is evidently of volcanic origin. The color of most of the Turquois from this locality is apple-green rather than the highly prized blue, but some gems of a good blue have been obtained. Mr. Geo. F. Kunz, writing in 1890 of the sale of gems from this locality, says that the Indians usually dispose of them at the rate of twenty-five cents for the contents of a mouth, which is where they usually carry them. Several other localities in New Mexico are worked for Turquois. In Cochise County, Arizona, is a locality known as Turquois Mountain, where considerable mining is carried on. Turquois is also mined in Gila County, Arizona; Lincoln County, Nevada, and San Bernardino County, California. Several of these localities have been opened up recently, the present popularity of the gem perhaps having stimulated its output.

The much higher price commanded by Turquois of a blue color has led to a counterfeiting of this color by staining green Turquois or other stones with Prussian blue.

Mr. Geo. F. Kunz in his “Gems and Precious Stones of North America” describes a method of detecting this stain. It consists in washing the stone with alcohol and, after wiping it, to remove any grease, laying it for a moment in a solution of ammonia, when the blue color, if artificial, will largely disappear.

At how early a date Turquois began to be prized as a gem is not known. The word Turquois is a French word meaning Turkish, or a Turkish gem, and came to be applied because the gem was introduced into Europe by way of Turkey. It is probable that the gem has been in use from the remotest past among Oriental peoples and it is certainly still highly prized by them. Not the least of the reasons for which it is held in high esteem by them as well as by many Occidental individuals is the good fortune it is supposed to bring to its possessor. One of the proverbs of the Orientals is, “A Turquois given by a loving hand carries with it happiness and good fortune,” and another, “The Turquois pales when the well-being of the giver is in danger.” Numerous other superstitions cling around the Turquois. One of these, due probably to slight changes of color which the stone may undergo under certain climatic influences, is that if the owner of a Turquois sickens it will grow pale, and at his death lose its color entirely, but it will regain its color if placed on the finger of a new and healthy master.

In Germany the Turquois is said to be in much favor for engagement rings, owing to the belief that if either party prove inconstant the stone will make the fickleness known by weakening in color. It is curious that of the two non-crystallized gems, Turquois and Opal, one should be considered lucky and the other unlucky. Both are more liable to changes of color than other gems, and this fact has probably led to the ascription of good or ill fortune to them. In the folk lore of the months Turquois is connected with the month of December, as the following rhyme bears witness:

If cold December gave you birth,
The month of snow and ice and mirth,
Place on your hand a turquois blue,
Success will bless whate’er you do.
Oliver Cummings Farrington.

TO THE MEADOW LARK.

Up from dewy grass, while yet ’tis dark—
On trembling pinions, soars the meadow lark;
His brilliant vest like ruddy orange glows;
From slender throat, the liquid music flows.
Dear flute-like warbler of the wood and field,
Before him all his rivals bow and yield!
The ambient air, with fluttering wing he beats;
With song ecstatic, early morn he greets.
High, high he rises; and his peans float,—
While listening Nature revels in his note.
—J. Mayne Baltimore.

THE OUTRAGED BIRD.

Once upon a time, nearly seventy years ago, a little boy in a New England town was given a gun on the condition that he must not shoot any birds except those that robbed the corn fields. In those days farmers thought that the crow, brown thrasher and crow-black-bird stole so much grain that it was right to kill them and therefore a bounty, large for that time, of twenty-five cents was offered for every crow destroyed. Nowadays we are wiser and this very boy who has grown into a tall, gray haired, tender-hearted man, says that there is not a bird living that is not more of a blessing than a curse.

But to go on with my story. The little gunner went out one day to see what he could hit with his new gun. About a quarter of a mile from the house he spied a little bird in a tree on the edge of the woods. He took aim and fired. He did not kill the bird, did not even seriously wound it, only injured one of its wings. The bird dropped down at his feet and began chirping and scolding as if to demand an explanation.

The boy tried to get away but every time he moved aside the poor little outraged creature hopped in his path, never ceasing his vehement, indignant protest against the unwarrantable deed.

Finally the conscience-smitten boy, seeing that there was no escape for him and pitying the wounded condition of the bird, killed it outright, carrying away in his throat a great lump and in his heart a sharp pain that will never die out. Although he is now over eighty years of age he says that he would gladly give all the money he owns if he could undo that one thoughtless act.

When a bird can say so plainly that his life is his own and no one has a right to wantonly take it from him, what must have been the thought of that bird’s loving Creator, without whose knowledge and pity not even a sparrow falls to the ground!

Fannie Skelton Bissell.

NICODEMUS.

Nicodemus was a pet blackbird. A sleet storm broke the bough on which the nest was built, and all the birds, save one, were killed in the fall. This one, Nicodemus, was placed in an old hat lined with wool, and kept near the fire until he was ready to fly about the room. He was an apt scholar, and soon knew his name, responding readily to every call. When the weather became warm he was allowed the freedom of the yard. Whenever his mistress saw a stray cat about she would go out on the porch to his cage, strike upon it, and call: “Nicodemus!” “Nicodemus!” whereupon the bird would fly into his cage for safety.

One day an aged gentleman called at the house. Nicodemus came into the parlor. At first he nestled upon his mistress’ shoulder, but his curiosity seemed much excited, and he soon flew to the old gentleman, alighted upon his bald head, when he began a vigorous scratching.

“For shame, Nicodemus! Come here at once,” cried the lady. He obeyed, but with a really abashed look.

Belle Paxson Drury.

A WEED PICTURE.

To one who cares little for natural objects a bit of bottom land in autumn has few attractions, but to the botanist of experience or to a student of nature, from late July till the first frost comes, such a place is a continuous delight.

Perhaps you have seen this very picture. If so, have you studied its details?

A half acre of swamp, which in the springtime presented a dainty background of yellowish green willows and a foreground of green pasture dotted with dandelions and blue violets, has now transformed itself into a Persian effect of gorgeous color. Blue, pink, brown, green, red, purple, white, lavender, yellow, orange brown, and these through tintings and shadings that a modern Titian would never produce, even should he wear his brush to a stub, for the very simple reason that he couldn’t.

Plant life has here run riot and because of their dense growth the varieties are almost unaccountable.

Among the showier members of this very mixed growing effect, in color, brightest is purple iron weed and the helianthus.

But joe-pye weed tosses up his woolly pink head and flauntingly asks, “With that big yellow and black butterfly on my crown am I not more showy than they?” He has to be gently reminded that all his brothers are not wearing butterflies, which fact leads to a negative decision—still he is a beauty.

Then the corners festooned with clematis, hop bindweed and even dodder give to the raw edges a finish that cannot be excelled. Little dots of cardinal, here and there, show a belated cardinal flower and bitter sweet just ready to open hangs over the elder bushes, which form one edge of this picture.

The paler asters in eight or ten shadings, with the exception of the New England variety, begin to fill in the neutral patches, and golden rod is waving yellow plumes here and there. It is a beautiful color, but looks rather pale compared to the later sunflowers. Bone-set and yarrow and spurge each have a place, and great bunches of bedstraw fill up the crannies till not a square inch of earth is visible.

Some of the plants which help complete the perfect whole but which are less numerous and showy, are the tall dead stalks of angelica, parsnips in seed, milkweed, ragweed, mallow, nettles, vervain, blackberry, and wild rose with scarlet bolls; and this flanked on another side by the densest of willow and thorn.

Some of the finishing touches to this composite picture are the huge green dragon flies, the brilliantly colored butterflies and moths, and the catbirds and bird kindred which live in the heart of all this magnificence, but manage to keep well on the wing, especially when the sun shines bright and the air is soft and cool, and on days when a deep blue sky with great white clouds is the canopy.

Mary Noland.

The air is full of hints of grief,
Strange voices touched with pain—
The pathos of the falling leaf
And rustling of the rain.
—Thomas Bailey Aldrich, “Landscape.”

THE STRIPED HYENA.
(_Hyaena striata._)

The first Hyena in which I became interested lived in a zoölogical garden connected with a well known park.

I cannot claim that she was a beautiful creature for, if all must be told, she had the same ugly appearance of every other Striped Hyena. And yet her very ugliness made her somewhat interesting. She would look at me from her slanting eyes with an unsteady, uncanny expression. Her thick head and neck, her stout body, her shorter hind legs and longer front ones, causing her back to slope from shoulder to tail like a small toboggan slide, gave her an extremely awkward look, I admit; and then she had but four toes on each foot as is the case of all members of the hyena family. Her body was covered with rather long coarse hair of a yellowish gray color striped with black, her tail was short and bushy, and along the spine the hair grew long and stiff, making a sort of mane. Her ears were large, erect and devoid of hair, and her voice—well! it was something to startle the uninitiated. There were shrieks, murmurs and growls, sometimes hoarse and sometimes shrill, and yet I am told that it is mild and musical compared with the ghostly laughter of her cousin, the spotted hyena, and yet her voice is not pleasant to hear.

In spite of all these characteristics I was interested in Mrs. Hyena, perhaps on account of her unhappy lot, for she was not loved as were other animals around her. There was Duchess, the elephant, Major, the lion, and other favored ones whose personality was recognized, as they all had names and they received much attention. But Mrs. Hyena had no name, for the keeper declared that she was such a miserably cowardly mean creature that she was not worth one. She was only the “Hyena” to him, though he had cared for her for many years and sometimes had been obliged to put her in the hospital because her mate had mauled and punished her so badly.

And was she not to be pitied because she was so far from those of her own kind? for hyenas are not native in the new hemisphere and to seek her own, she would be obliged to cross the ocean to the coast of Africa. There she would find many of her own kind and should she cross into southern Asia as far as the Bay of Bengal she would still find many friends, while in central and southern Africa her cousin, the spotted hyena, would be plentiful, and at the south, along the western coast, her other cousin, the brown hyena, would be found.

In spite of the large area in which the various members of the family may be found a traveler may be in the country some time without seeing one, for they are nocturnal in their habits, hiding by day in their haunts among the rock-cut tombs in Syria and Palestine or among holes and caves in the rocks in other countries, sometime lurking among ruins, but more often inhabiting a den made by digging a hole in the side of a cliff or ravine.

But at night it is heard, if not seen, as it goes forth to seek its food. It prefers food already killed and only attacks a living animal when driven to it by lack of carrion. Its powerful jaws enable it to crush the bones which other animals leave. As the cleaning up of the world must be done in some way for the good of all, can we not believe that the hyena has an important mission to fulfil in spite of the strong feeling against it? It takes what other animals leave and is the vulture among beasts.

There seems to be little known about the brown hyena. It is found in a comparatively small region and is in some respects like the spotted hyena though it is smaller, being about the size of the Striped Hyena.

The spotted hyena is the largest of the three, the most ferocious, stupid and cruel. Owing to the legs being nearly of the same length it is less awkward than the striped species.

There are no animals about whom there are so many superstitions. Even Pliny, writing in the first century, tells us that it “imitates the human voice among the stalls of the shepherds; and while there learns the name of some one of them, and then calls him away and devours him.” It is also said that coming in contact with its shadow, dogs will lose their voice, and that, by certain magical influence “it can render any animal immovable round which it has walked three times.” The Arabs “believe that people who partake of the brain of the hyena become insane, and the head of a hyena is always buried lest it should be used by wicked sorcerers for their diabolical charms.”

They also believe that the hyena “are sorcerers in disguise, who assume human shape by day and prowl around as hyenas by night, working destruction upon good people.”

The stories of the body snatching propensities of the Striped Hyena are much exaggerated. If this occurs at all it is when the body is very lightly covered with sand and when other food is lacking.

The dislike for the hyena seems to exist wherever the animal is found. In many parts of India, when killed, the body is treated with every mark of indignity and then burned.

And yet the striped species is capable of great attachment. Colonel Sykes states that “in certain districts in central India it is as susceptible of domestication as ordinary dogs.” And Dr. Brehm, who found every created animal interesting, once had two young hyenas for pets; but I will give the narration in his own words. “A few days after our first arrival in Khartoum we purchased two young hyenas for a price equal to twenty-five cents in American money. The animals were about the size of a half-grown terrier, clothed in a very soft, fine woolly fur of dark gray hue and they were very spiteful, notwithstanding they had enjoyed human society for some time. We put them in a stable and I visited them daily. At first they were addicted to vicious biting, but repeated sound blows overawed their resistance, and three months after the day of purchase I could play with them as I would with a dog, without having to fear any mischief on their part. Their affection for me increased every day and they were overjoyed when I visited them. When they were more than half grown they signified their pleasure in a very strange manner. As soon as I entered the room they rushed at me with a joyous howl, put their fore paws on my shoulder and sniffed my face.

“Later on I led them by a single string through the streets of Cairo, to the horror of all good citizens.

“They were so affectionate that they often paid me a call without being invited and it made a surprising as well as uncanny impression on strangers to see us at the tea table. Each of us had a hyena at his side and the animal sat on his haunches as quietly and sensibly as a well behaved dog who pleads for a few scraps at the table. The hyena did that also, and their gentle request consisted of a low but very hoarse cry. They expressed their gratitude either by the same sounds and actions they used in greeting me as above described, or by sniffing my hands.

“They were passionately fond of sugar, but also had a great liking for bread, especially if it was soaked in tea. Their usual food was Pariah dogs, which we shot for the purpose. My pets were on good terms with each other. If one were absent for any considerable length of time there was great joy when the two met again; in short, they proved to me quite conclusively that even hyenas are capable of warm attachment.”

John Ainslie.

A BIRD INCIDENT.

A common bird with us is the pheasant and one of the most interesting incidents of my life was in connection with a family of pheasants.

Crossing a woodland one summer evening, making the dead leaves rustle beneath my feet, I looked down, I hardly know why, but it must have been in order to save the little innocents. For the brown leaves seemed to me to be alive, very much alive, indeed.

I stopped, dropped to a sitting posture, and reached forth my hand, and to my surprise they never tried to get away, but cuddled up in a little frightened flock right to my feet. I gathered them all into my dress, twelve of them, cunning little midgets, not larger than the end of a man’s thumb, and awaited developments.

The parent birds were near and soon the mother began crying with a pitiful call. I couldn’t imitate it in any way, but it expressed tenderness, concern and fear. Soon an angry frightened bird whirred over my head, again and again, each time nearer until she almost knocked off my hat; she passed and getting just in front of me, made feint of a broken wing, and lay apparently helpless a little ahead. I never saw anything more expressive of anxiety than the actions of this bird. I could not bear to tease her, so setting the birdlings on the ground I withdrew to a position where I could see the united family and watched the mother love as it went out to the helpless brood. The words of the Master, “Oh, Jerusalem! Jerusalem! how often would I have gathered thy children together even as a hen gathereth her chickens and ye would not,” never before came to me with such force. Truly the maternal instinct, next to love of the Divine, is the most sacred thing in the world.

Mary Noland.

GROUSE.

The name Grouse is supposed to come from gorse—furze or heath—and is applied to many game birds in the family Tetraonidae.

The great majority of Grouse belong to the northern part of America, but in England the Grouse may be said to have had an effect upon history, as parliament used always to rise when the season for shooting Grouse arrived!

The red Grouse is indigenous to Great Britain, but is represented in other northern countries by the Willow Grouse, which assumes a protective white color in winter, except that the tail remains black.

The Ruffled Grouse, or pheasant, has caused much dispute in reference to how it produces the drumming sound which can be heard at a long distance, and which musical exercise is no doubt intended as a noisy courtship in wooing his mate.

The distinctive name, “Ruffled,” comes from the ruff of dark feathers, with iridescent green and purple tints which surrounds the neck. This bird has a slight crest and a beautifully barred tail. Its note is a hen-like cluck. No bird has handsomer eyes, with their deep expanding pupils and golden brown iris.

In a beautiful ravine—which was carpeted with green moss a foot deep and shaded by evergreen trees hung in soft gray mosses—on an uninhabited island in northern Lake Superior, I once saw some Canada Grouse so tame that it appeared as if they might easily be taken in one’s hands. The parent birds were on one side of the trail, the young ones in a tree on the other side. All kept quite still for me to look at them, only the young ones lifted their wings slightly, as if wishing to fly across to their parents, who seemed to have an expression as of astonishment at seeing so strange a sight as a human being in their unfrequented solitudes. The gentlemen of our camping party declared that these Grouse were so tame it would seem a crime to shoot them.

THE GIRAFFE.
(_Camelopardalis giraffa._)

Should a traveler returning from a far country describe a wonderful animal, with the head and body of a horse, neck and shoulders of a camel, ears of an ox, the tail of an ass, the legs of an antelope, and the coloring and marking of a panther, he would be believed with difficulty, and yet this combination very fairly describes the curious and interesting animal known to us as the Giraffe.

This name is a corruption of the Arabian serafe, the lovely one, and while a single animal, away from its natural surroundings, may not seem to merit the appellation, in its native woods it produces a very different impression.

The Giraffe is found in a wide curve, extending over the eastern half of Africa from Ethiopia as far south as the confines of Cape Colony. Within this area it frequents the sandy, desert-like portions where small trees and shrubs abound.

Hunters and explorers describe with enthusiasm the appearance of the herds of Giraffe, which are sometimes in groups of six or eight, but more frequently found in larger numbers, often as many as thirty or forty being together, while one traveler in the Soudan counted on one occasion seventy-three, and at other times one hundred and three and over one hundred and fifty in one herd.

Gordon Cumming tells us that “when a herd of Giraffes is seen dispersed in a grove of the picturesque, umbrella-shaped mimosas, which adorn their native plains, and on the topmost branches of which their immense height enables them to browse, the observer would really be deficient in appreciation of natural beauty if he failed to find the sight a very attractive one.”

The Giraffe is curiously like the natural objects of the locality in which he lives. He is found in stretches of country where half decayed, weather beaten, moss covered trees resemble the long necks of the animal; so much so that Cumming says he was often in doubt as to the presence of a whole troop of Giraffe until he had used his spyglass, and he adds: “Even my half-savage companions had to acknowledge that their keen, experienced eyes were deceived sometimes; either they mistook those weather beaten trunks for Giraffes, or else they confounded the real Giraffes with the old trees.”

Though found in wooded sand belts which are waterless a portion of the year, the animal of necessity avoids the tall, dense forests, for its food is chiefly the tender leaves and buds of low-growing trees, especially the leaves of the mimosa and of the prickly acacia.

These trees are seldom more than twelve or fifteen feet in height, and with its long legs and neck the Giraffe can easily reach the appetizing twigs and leaves on the broad flat top of the tree. Moving from one side to another, as if the tree were a table spread for its use, it throws out its long snake-like tongue, which it can manipulate with great dexterity and which it uses as an elephant does its trunk. When we remember that the largest animals are sometimes eighteen feet in height, and that the tongue is seventeen or eighteen inches in length, we can see how easily the Giraffe can take its breakfast, while the tree that furnishes it serves also as a screen or shield to conceal it from its enemies.

From the fact that the giraffe will abide in localities which are waterless for months at a time, it has been supposed that water was not necessary for its comfort. This is far from the truth, and it has frequently been seen to drink; its appearance when drinking is most peculiar, and one who has witnessed the curious operation tells us that although the animal’s neck is so long, it can not reach the water without straddling its legs wide apart. This it does by placing one foot forward and the other as far back as possible, increasing the distance between them by a series of little jerks, and sometimes they sprawl their legs out sideways in a similar manner.

It is at the watering place that the lion lies in concealment waiting for the Giraffe to appear. Should it remain unconscious of the lion’s presence, the victory is to the lion, but in the open the Giraffe has an equal chance with the “king of beasts,” for it can defend itself valiantly and successfully with vigorous blows from its powerful limbs. The small horns are not used as a means of defense; they are covered with skin, and at birth the bones are separate, becoming attached to the skull at a later period, while the third small horn, especially observable in the male, is really no horn at all but only a thickening of the bone at that point.

The head of a Giraffe is really a thing of beauty. On account of the delicate contour of the muzzle the head appears longer than it really is. The nostrils can be opened and closed at will, making it possible to avoid injury from the sand storms which sometimes prevail. The eyes are the largest for the size of the head of any animal and are wonderfully gentle, lustrous and beautiful. They are also capable of some lateral projection so that to a degree the animal can see behind it without turning its head.

Notwithstanding the extreme length of the neck of the Giraffe it contains but seven bones, the same number as man.

Its sloping back has led some people to suppose that the legs were uneven in length; this is an error, as the legs are about the same length and the feet have delicate, beautifully shaped, divided hoofs.

The tail of the animal is long and finished with a generous tuft of hair with which it relieves itself of the seroot flies and other stinging insects which otherwise would become unbearable.

Like the American bison the Giraffe is in danger of extermination. It originally had a larger range but has been killed in great numbers. The temptation to hunt the animal is not to be resisted, as the hide of the bull brings from twenty to twenty-five dollars, the flesh is very fine eating and the other parts of the body can be put to various uses; the Arabs use the tendons of the legs for sewing leather, the tail-tufts are used for fly brushes and the solid leg bones are in England made into buttons and other bone articles.

The Giraffe is difficult to approach for it is extremely wary, and will place sentinels to give the herd warning of approaching danger. It is a rapid runner, although its gait is shambling and peculiar owing to the fact that it moves like a pacing horse, the fore and hind legs of the same side moving together.

It is usually hunted on horseback and the animal must be pressed from the moment he starts; “it is the speed that tells against him, and the spurs must be at work at the commencement of the hunt and the horse pressed along at his best pace; it must be a race at top speed from the very start, for should the Giraffe be allowed the slightest advantage for the first five minutes the race will be against the horse.”

Europeans and natives alike are fascinated with Giraffe hunting, though few fail to be struck with the pathetic and half-reproachful expression of a fallen animal and few hearts are so hardened as to feel no compunction at “destroying one of the noblest specimens of nature’s handiwork.”

Mr. Selous, after hunting one day, in recounting his experiences says: “Even in the ardor of the chase it struck me as a glorious sight to see those huge beasts dashing along in front, clattering over the stones or bursting a passage through opposing bushes, their long, graceful necks stretched forward, sometimes bent almost to the earth to avoid horizontal branches, and their bushy black tails twisted over their backs. And how easily and with what little exertion they seemed to get over the ground, with that long, sweeping stride of theirs!”

The skin of the Giraffe is in many parts so thick that a bullet will not pierce it, and the surest method of hunting it is that pursued by some of the Arabs of Abyssinia who run it down while galloping at full speed and with their broadswords cut the tendons of its legs, thus completely disabling it. Although the natives love to hunt the animal they love still more to own a living one and their heads may often be seen peering over the inclosure in the native villages.

In 1836 four Giraffes were successfully taken to the zoölogical gardens at Regent’s Park, London. From this time they became somewhat common in menageries so that many people have seen the living animal, but all view it with curiosity as did the old Romans in the time of Julius Cæsar, when individuals were brought to Rome on the occasion of the games. And it is not strange that at a later date the picture of this curious and then unknown animal, found on Egyptian monuments, were pronounced “a dream fancy of an unbridled artistic imagination.”

John Ainslie.

THE FLAG.

I plucked a flag, half open
To the sunlight it waved and blew,
And bent o’er the water beside it
Where the sweet pond-lilies grew.
The stem broke short in my fingers,
The bloom remained in my grasp,
But the life of the swaying pretty thing
I tried in vain to clasp.

The breezes were floating gently by
The calm, peaceful waters reflected the sky;
The flag-stalk nodded its flowerless head,
In my hand lay the blossom withering, dead.

I stood for a moment longing
As I seldom had longed before,
Longing for even the life that was gone
To return to that flower no more.
But the breezes bent over me softly
And whispered, the lost is found,
For whatever you pluck from the surface
Is restored once more in the ground;

For the gardens of earth hold blossoms more fair
Than the one you have plucked and are holding there.
—Ella Van Fossen.

IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND.
(From an Ornithologist’s Year Book.)

So tiny that a child’s small palm can cover its whole body, inaudible at a few paces’ distance, invisible till it rises at your very feet, such is our yellow-winged sparrow. Yet he is a marvel; his plumage shows an exquisite mimicry of the earth tints, “the upper parts mixed black, rufous-brown, ashy and cream-buff,” with a touch of “yellowish olive-green” for the herbage, and here and there an orange or yellow shade, and a dusky whiteness beneath, to give the effect of light. What could be more perfect? No wonder the wee householders, with a nest of fine-woven grasses, low upon the ground, sits unseen on her “clutch” of wee speckled eggs within reach of your fingers. She knows this well, and will not rise until you are almost upon her retreat. Nor will she fly far. A fence post, a low shrub will serve as her watchtower until danger is over.

Our yellow-tinted sparrow has another name, the “Grasshopper Sparrow,” from its insect-like tremolo and chirp. Its song is a chord or two and a long trill on the insect letter, z. It is sung, to the eye, with a hearty abandon of joy, the head thrown back and mouth open, in a fine pose of ecstasy; yet, unless all around is still, and you listen with attention, not a sound will you hear, so small and fine are the vibrating tones. It is said, in a story of the Highlands, that on certain nights, if a man will but lay a couchant ear close to the breast of the earth, he may hear the fine, fine piping of the fairy tunes played in the underworld. Our bird’s song is one of these faint, sweet voices of the earth, like the music that breathes from every clod or leaf when the old world lies dreaming and dozing in a bit of holiday after work is done on a warm, sunny afternoon in autumn, a musical, tremulous, sweet piping everywhere.

Yet not one of these small creatures is forgotten before its Father. When the frost is in the air, and winter is near, the Divine impulse stirs in its breast, and its little wings will bear it far, far away in the long, mysterious journey over sea to the warm islands of the Atlantic. There it will sing for joy with its fellows in the sun, but when April returns, look well. Is there not a stir in the short grass? And listen. The faint, dream-like thrill throbs again in the throat of the sparrow, and our ground-dweller has returned. It is a parable of God’s care for His little ones.

Ella F. Mosby.

SONG OF THE STORMY PETREL.

When in the hollow of His hand
All calm doth lie the deep,
Alone and out of sight of land,
Upon the wave I sleep;
Above, the sun resplendent shines;
Beneath, old ocean heaves;
I feel alike the smile of heaven
And some great heart that grieves.

I drift afar by sun and star;
I care not where I be
So long as throbs the giant flood
Of ocean under me.
The ancient sea my brother is
And well I know his moods;
For everywhere with him I fare
Throughout his solitudes.

I lay my heart unto his heart,
I soothe him with my wing;
I kiss the tide as I were bride,
And to him low I sing.
He speaks to me of mystery,
Of days when he was young,
Of sorrows old, of tales untold
By any other tongue.

I listen, yearn, and much I learn
Of nations now no more,
Of wrecks that sleep down in the deep
Or strew the rocky shore;
Of how grim Time makes him to mar
Whatever coast he laves.
Of how the sea he makes to be
So full of nameless graves.

Since goaded long by lashing winds,
He rushes forth in ire,
And welds as one the ships of Clyde
With those of crumbled Tyre;
And swallows down the king and clown
With equal appetite,
And hides them all, both great and small,
In his wide tombs of night.

Then screaming I above him fly
And hasten where he roars,
Within my breast the same unrest
As his proud bosom gores.
A thousand leagues I go with him
And glory in his power,
A thousand leagues I herald him
Through many a sleepless hour.

Then, calmer grown, we dream again,
And in some distant zone
A little season are as one,
Untroubled and alone.
For I am brother to the sea
And where he goes go I,
And when at last my days are past,
Within his breast I lie.

And I shall ever haunt his paths
About this aging earth,
And he to me, and I to him,
Shall sing of woe and mirth
Until gray Time shall be no more,
And every wave that weeps
Has learned to laugh and laughing, thrills
The bosom of the deeps.
—_C. G. B. in “The Chicago Record.”_

THE SPIDER MONKEY.
(_Ateles hypoxanthus._)

With his native guides a gentleman was traveling one day through one of the wonderfully luxuriant tropical forests of eastern Brazil. They had left the Amazon river and had come southeast to the province of Maranhao, where the roots, grasses and plants sometimes weave themselves into vegetable bridges so solid that a man may go some distance without discovering that he has left the firm earth.

They had just passed over one of these natural bridges and had evidently reached the edge of the hidden pool, as they came to a dense growth of rosewood trees, and there they saw a most unique and peculiar sight. The gentleman, being a stranger in Brazil, exclaimed with astonishment, for hanging from the branches by their tails only, were a whole troop of monkeys.

They were of slender build, with long, thin, sprawling limbs and small heads, and they were indeed a most laughable and comical sight.

As soon as the gentleman recovered from his surprise he fired upon the troop and succeeded in slightly wounding one which so maimed it that, uttering a loud yell, it fell to the ground and he was able to secure it. The others, frightened, quickly vanished, for their movements were of surprising agility; they threw their long limbs about in the queerest sort of a manner, using their tails in climbing more than their limbs, seeming to feel their way with the tip of the tail and finding a place for support, they swung themselves rapidly to the extreme tree tops and were out of sight in less time than it takes to describe their flight.

When the troop could no longer be seen the gentleman examined his wounded captive and from what he knew of the characteristics of the ape family, to which all monkeys belong, he decided that without question he had secured a specimen of the Spider Monkey.

It was a young mother and the baby monkey was clinging to her with its little arms around her neck and legs around her hips in a way not to impede her motions.

She was carefully examined by her captor and he soon decided that the wound was not dangerous and that with care he might be able to take her with her baby back with him to the United States.

So she now received the best of care. She was secured with a rope attached to a bit of silken handkerchief which was carefully fitted to her leg and soon recovering (for her captor was a skillful surgeon) she became the pet of the company.

In length she was about four feet four inches and she was covered with a dull yellowish woolly fur. Her face was quite brown, which proved that she was still young, for the face grows dark gray in old age. In examining the forepaw, in order to find a thumb, nothing was there except a short stub devoid of a nail; her nose was broad and flat and she had thirty-six teeth.

Surely she was a Miriki Spider Monkey and a fine specimen at that, but as this variety is usually found only farther south in Brazil, her captor was especially pleased to secure her.

It would take a long time to narrate all the interesting things which one could say about her, but I must tell you what a devoted and lovely mother she was to her helpless little baby. It was as funny a little thing as you can imagine, ugly as possible, with proportionately long arms and legs and a face so old looking and wrinkled that it reminded one of an antiquated grandfather rather than of an infant monkey. She would continually pet this little monster, lick its body, hug it and fondle it; she would hold it in both hands as if admiring it and then would rock it to sleep in her arms. The children of royalty could not have more tender care and attention than the little Brazilian monkey gave her offspring.

As it grew she allowed it a little freedom, and usually it was very docile, obeying her every call; but when disobedient she would slap it and give it a box on the ear; but this seldom happened, for a monkey child is a model child and might serve as an example to many human children.

But I think you would have found it extremely odd could you have seen her eat. She would frequently take fruit, or anything offered, with her long, prehensile tail, and curling the end around the object, would convey it to her mouth. She would eat almost everything eaten by her captors, but would not reject an occasional insect, spider, or even a young bird.

Happiest when permitted to hang on the tree boughs, she would drink from the overhanging branches without touching the ground. In fact she was only perfectly at home when climbing around the trees, as she was comparatively awkward when on the ground, walking on all fours in a somewhat clumsy manner. Like all Spider Monkeys, she was of a gentle, teachable disposition, for all South American monkeys lack many of the mischievous and disagreeable traits of their African cousins, though as a rule they are not as bright and vivid in color and are duller and more indolent in their nature.