Chapter M: D. Tolman

A SUNSET CLUB.

The mere idea of another club may be unwelcome in these days of many clubs, yet I am so bold as to desire the existence of a new one; and I would urge all who can, to become members of it as soon as possible.

Unlike most clubs, it will have no officers, nor any rules and regulations; neither will there be initiation fees nor dues to pay.

The object of the club will be the study of art, as it is displayed in Nature’s studio; and the only requisites for membership are a love of beauty and a few minutes’ time each day. The club will be in session every day at sunset, and all members are urged to be present at any place where they can command a view of the western sky. They will thus be enabled to study the latest picture from the brush of that master artist, Nature.

No art gallery on earth can afford its visitors such a succession of masterpieces as will be open to the view of all members of this club. There is no artist so resourceful, none capable of giving such an endless variety of colors and effects as Nature.

To attempt to describe the beauties that are daily set before us would be vain; for who can adequately express in words the marvels of a sunset sky? No mere words, however carefully chosen and accurately used, can convey to the mind its unspeakable glories. These must reach us through our eyes, those “windows of the soul.” Shall it be said of us that we “have eyes and see not”?

This evening the sun went down in a blaze of orange fire, deep and transparent, and a few minutes after the great ball had dropped below the horizon, the orange glow at the base melted into pale green above, then clear yellow and delicate pink, with infinite graduations of exquisite shading. Words fail, and leave me helpless before such a masterpiece I can only hope that many other people were enjoying it with me, as its beauties stirred my inmost soul.

Some days ago the sun’s setting was followed by one great expanse of deep orange red from the horizon up to a bank of cloud which hung like a gray curtain, slightly raised, across the western sky. Another day the afterglow was an inimitable, transparent lemon-yellow, across which were stretched two horizontal bars of rose-colored cloud. In the foreground of these pictures are the beautiful trees, which, having now laid aside their leafy robes, appear in their loveliness and diversity of outline. A good opera glass is a great aid to the fuller enjoyment of the pictures, as it brings out the perspective more clearly, and deepens and intensifies the colors.

When a day has been clouded and dull, some may think it not worth while to attend the meeting of the Sunset Club. But they are mistaken. Who that admires a beautiful picture in black and white—a fine engraving—can fail to see the beauty of this sunset picture; this living picture in half tones, which is so superior, so much more perfect in every detail than the work of man? Nay, never miss a meeting if you can possibly be present: never fear that you will fail to find beauty there if you look for it.

Let us not complain if we cannot possess works of art wrought by human brains and hands, when we often fail even to look at, much less appreciate, the daily art of Nature which is our birthright, and which perhaps we regard but lightly, because it is free to everyone with seeing eyes and beauty-loving soul. Let us rather cast off the scales that blind our eyes and hide from us the visible expression of a Creator’s love, the beauty of Nature.

And our lives shall be enriched an hundred fold.

Anne Wakely Jackson.

QUARTZ.

This is the most abundant, most durable and most indestructible of common minerals. There is scarcely a sand beach, field or mountain side upon which this mineral cannot be found in some form or other. Its abundance is due not so much to its excess in quantity in the underlying rocks as to the fact that, being harder and less easily decomposed than other minerals, it remains after they are worn away.

Though so common, it appears in so great a variety of colors and different kinds of structure that a large collection of minerals _looking_ very much unlike might all be made up of Quartz. If they were all of Quartz they would have the following characteristics: Hardness, 7 (cannot be scratched with a knife blade); specific gravity, two and a half times as heavy as water; no cleavage; fracture conchoidal (shell-like); infusible before the blowpipe; insoluble in common acids. The numerous varieties of Quartz can be grouped into two classes, the pheno-crystalline (plainly crystalline) and the crypto-crystalline (obscurely crystalline). This article deals with the plainly crystalline varieties. These include, among other varieties, rock crystal, amethyst, rose quartz, smoky quartz, and sagenitic quartz. These varieties all occur in well formed crystals, and all have a vitreous luster, i. e., luster like that of glass. The differences between them are almost exclusively differences of color.

Rock Crystal—This is quartz in its purest form. Typical rock crystal is perfectly transparent and colorless, but the mineral is often more or less clouded and opaque. By the ancients it was supposed to be petrified ice, and hence the Greeks applied to it their word for ice, from which we get our word crystal. The belief in its ice origin survived to a comparatively late period, for in 1676 Robert Boyle opposed the idea, stating that the quartz could not be ice, first because it was two and a half times as heavy as water, and second because it was found in tropical countries. The belief of the ancients probably came largely from the fact that the quartz they knew was obtained from the peaks of the Alps. They reasoned that it was ice that was frozen so hard that it would never melt. Fortunately our present knowledge of chemistry prevents us from any longer confounding the two substances, for we know Quartz is oxide of silicon while water is oxide of hydrogen.

Quartz in the form of rock crystal occurs in all parts of the globe, and for the most part in well-formed crystals. These crystals are usually six-sided, and usually have the form of a prism capped by a pyramid. Hot Springs, Arkansas, and Little Falls, New York, are the best known localities in our own country for this form of crystallized quartz. The Little Falls crystals are exceptionally brilliant and well formed. From this locality and others the material, cut or uncut, is often known as diamonds, and sold as such. Such stones can, of course, be easily distinguished from true diamond, for while they will scratch glass, their hardness is much below that of the king of gems and they utterly lack the internal fire of the latter.

Rock crystal occurring in large, clear masses is often cut into ornamental and useful objects such as seals and paperweights, and especially into balls. The latter industry flourishes especially in Japan, and perfectly clear quartz balls six inches in diameter are made there.

Rock crystal is also used extensively to cut into eyeglasses and spectacles in place of glass, some considering it less detrimental to the eyes than glass. It is also occasionally used for mirrors, it being superior to glass for this purpose, in that it does not detract from the rosiness of the complexion.

Among the ancients rock crystal was much more highly prized than among us, as it answered them many of the purposes for which we now find glass more suitable and cheaper. Wine glasses were made from it, though of course at great cost, a thousand dollars being considered a small price for one. Lenses of rock crystal were used to concentrate the rays of the sun for cauterizing wounds and also to light fires, especially sacrificial ones. Roman ladies were also accustomed to carry balls of rock crystal in their hands in summer for the sake of the coolness they afforded. The ladies of Japan are said to do the same at the present day.

Top row:
Rutilated Quartz, polished (Brazil.)
Amethyst (Virginia.)
Center:
Smoky Quartz (Switzerland.)
Bottom row:
Rose Quartz (Black Hills.)
Amethyst (Montana.)

The stone was in former times often stained different colors, and thus all sorts of imitation gems were produced. The modern method of making doublets has now superseded this art.

Amethyst.—This is the name given to the violet or purple varieties of crystallized quartz. The color has often been supposed to be due to small quantities of oxide of manganese, but is more probably the result of a content of organic matter, as the color can usually be mostly burned out by heating the stone. By partial heating the color is changed to yellow, and much so-called citrine is simply burned amethyst.

Quartz having in a general way the amethystine color is comparatively common, but for gem purposes only that transparent and of good color is available.

Important localities for gem amethysts are Southern Brazil, the Ural Mountains, Ceylon, and occasional finds in the States of Maine, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and Montana in our own country.

Very commonly where crystallized quartz occurs, crystals of an amethystine hue are to be found, so that to enumerate localities of the mineral would be a considerable task. Good cut amethysts command a fair price, though they are much less valuable than formerly. Three or four dollars a carat is a fair price at the present time. At the beginning of this century Queen Charlotte of England is known to have paid $10,000 for an amethyst for which $500 could now hardly be realized. One reason for the greater esteem in which amethyst was formerly held is probably the virtue ascribed to it of shielding its wearer from the effects of drinking too much wine. Its name is derived from two Greek words, meaning “not to inebriate.” The drinking cups of the Romans were often made of it, partly for the above reason and partly on account of their belief that any poison placed in such a cup would be rendered harmless. Amethyst is the “birth stone” of the month of February, and St. Valentine is said always to have worn an amethyst.

“The February born shall find
Sincerity and peace of mind,
Freedom from passion and from care
If they an amethyst will wear.”

Rose Quartz.—This form of quartz, the color of which is indicated by its name, is rarely of sufficient transparency to be prized as a gem. Cut, however, into various ornaments, it makes objects of considerable beauty. Its luster, instead of being glassy like that of other forms of quartz, is nearly always more or less greasy. The ingredient which gives its color is not known. It is probably some organic matter, since the color disappears on heating and, unfortunately for the extended use of the stone, fades considerably on exposure to light. There are numerous localities whence rose quartz of good color may be obtained, although it is not of so common occurrence as most other varieties of quartz. The best rose quartz in this country comes from Oxford County, Maine, and the Black Hills. Foreign localities are the Urals, Brazil and Ceylon.

Smoky Quartz.—This variety of quartz is often known as “smoky topaz,” a misleading term, since the mineral is not topaz at all. As its name implies, its color is like that of smoked glass, all gradations occurring between a mere tinge to color so dark as to render the mineral practically opaque. The color often varies considerably in the same crystal, being darker and lighter in spots. The coloring matter is undoubtedly carbonaceous and organic in nature, for when a crystal is heated it gives off a smell of burning organic matter, and by heating for some length of time the coloring may be entirely burned out. At an intermediate stage in such heating the color becomes brown or yellow, and stones of this color are often cut as gems and known by the name of “Spanish topaz” or “citrine.” True citrine is, however, transparent quartz with a natural yellow color. The most remarkable crystals of smoky quartz known are some that were found in 1868 in a hollow in granite in a locality in the Canton Uri, Switzerland. About 3,000 pounds of well formed crystals were there found, the largest and best of which are preserved in the Berne Museum. They are so unique that special names have been given them. One about two and one-half feet long, and weighing nearly four hundred pounds, is known as the “Grandfather”; another, somewhat smaller, but more perfect in form, as the “King,” and two of nearly equal size, weighing about one hundred and forty pounds each, are called “Castor and Pollux.” The smaller crystals obtained from this and neighboring regions in the Alps are for the most part of great perfection of form and color. Aside from these localities in the Alps, the most remarkable crystals of smoky quartz come from the region of Pike’s Peak, in our own country. While not reaching the size of the Alpine crystals, they are often perfect in form and color, and gems to the value of thousands of dollars are annually cut from the supply there obtained. Alexander County, North Carolina, also furnishes many crystals. Smoky quartz may be called the national stone of Scotland, the name by which it is known being “Cairngorm stone,” from the locality where the best crystals are obtained.

Sagenitic Quartz.—This form of quartz, also known as “sagenite,” “fleche d’amour” (love’s arrow), “Venus’ hair stone,” and, if the included mineral be rutile, “rutilated quartz,” is rock crystal containing inclusions of other minerals in hair-like or thread-like forms. Of the minerals so included, rutile is the most common, but tourmaline, hornblende, epidote and others occur. These minerals are formed in the quartz doubtless by crystallizing simultaneously with that mineral, or “host,” as it is called. The arrangement often gives a stone of great beauty, especially when the rutile is more or less transparent and has a blood red color. The Japanese frequently polish the surfaces of such crystals of quartz to make the interior structure better visible. Specimens are also obtained from Madagascar, Brazil, and North Carolina in our own country. When the fibers of the included mineral are smaller and more abundant, the forms of quartz known as “cat’s eye” and “tiger eye” are produced. The reflection of light from the surfaces of the fibers gives the glittering effect known as chatoyancy. Nearly all the “tiger eye” in use at the present time comes from South Africa; the cat’s eye from Bohemia and Ceylon.

Oliver Cummings Farrington.

EVENING IN THE CANYON.

The sun’s last beams kiss the mountain side,
At which it blushes like a bride;
A soft wave, from the earth’s warm breast,
Stirs in the pines and sinks to rest.
Far off a straying lambkin bleats,
Which pitying Echo soft repeats;
Anear the querulous, strident cries
That tell of insect lullabies.
Then long, grey shadows take command
And beckon with mysterious hand
Till falls a deep, expectant hush,
And then—the song of a single thrush.
The flowers and grasses bow the head,
Like children when their prayer is said,
While I with heart and soul rejoice
That a perfect day hath found its voice.
—M. E. Dissette.

BERRIES OF THE WOODS.

There are no flowers to make the earth gay in winter, but the berries, vivid, scarlet, like a note of exclamation or emphasis, light up the somber browns and grays of the woods and marshes. Jack-in-the-pulpit now shows a brilliant cluster, the Uncle Spadix completely hidden by the flaming berries. It is as if Jack had forsaken his pulpit altogether and turned to a rollicking life in the world. We know quite well without seeing the birds feed on any special variety of berry that they like them, for in the economy of thrifty Dame Nature these vivid colors of the outer cases are signals—calls to a feast, with the prudent condition that thus the seeds shall be carried abroad.

Holly stands at the head of all the berry tribe, royal by virtue not only of its shining clusters of fruit, but its glossy leaves, deep cut on the edges, that keep their beauty so long. It is usually a shrub, but in the mountains where the conditions are favorable it towers aloft as a tree. Another less famous, yet admirable member of the Ilex family with red berries whirled most gracefully around its stem, is the winterberry or black alder. Its foliage is less beautiful than that of the holly, but its berries are as brilliant. There are different splendors for North and South. In the North, when the white frosts fall the prickly barberry bushes are already loaded with their tart scarlet berries, and the old fences are rich with the fruit of the choke cherry. In the damp places of Southern woods the spice berries of the Laurel family are shining in small clusters. You are drawn by another sense in this case, for the berries are not only pleasing to the eye; they have also a delightfully pungent fragrance, especially when the scarlet skin is broken, and shows the yellow pulp inside.

The staff-tree, shrubby bitter-sweet or strawberry tree—for it has many names—glows with its odd-looking fruit, consisting of a scarlet aril and orange-tinted, or crimson pods or seeds. The aril plays a different part in various plants, though it is always a seed-covering; in the water-lily it is the transparent seed-bag, in the nutmeg it is the mace, in the twining strawberry bush it is a pulpy scarlet case; in the shrub it looks rather like a red chestnut burr, split wide open to show its gay seeds. There is a low shrub whose dark purplish red berries are arranged gracefully along its slender stems, called the snow or coral berry. The latter name suggests a far brighter color than the berries possess, for they are rarely noticeable until the winter snows have turned the earth white and by contrast made them attractive. This belongs to the Honeysuckle family and grows abundantly beside roads and in fence corners. Most of the honeysuckles bear berries; the local honeysuckle is almost as brilliant in the season of fruit as when it blooms, but the Chinese and Japanese honeysuckles have berries of glossy black, easily seen by the birds. The haw and the tupelo also bear black berries, and it is a pretty sight to see the flowers of gay yellow and the black sapsuckers just arrived from the North, rejoicing over the feast of the purple-black clusters of the tupelo. Other birds also love them and the trees are crowded till the migration is over.

The pale blue adar berries are as fragrant as they are pretty, thickly clustered in the prickly boughs. The mistletoe (Trees-thief as its Greek name means) grows upon our great oaks, hanging sprays of pearly or clouded opaline berries among its strange, thick, yellowish leaves. It is not the English mistletoe of Christmas stories which grows upon fir-trees in preference to all others, but is of similar habit.

Ella F. Mosby.

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS OF NATURAL OBJECTS.

In the inanimate world the things which most strongly impressed me were the many beautiful scenes of the winter season, such as the graceful drooping of the evergreens after a heavy snow fall; the thousands of domed, draped and capped objects at this time; the many beautiful designs of ferns, grasses, wheat sheaves, coral branches, etc., formed by the frost upon our windows, and the unmatchable splendor of the trees and other objects after receiving a coating of ice during a sleet storm. The lovely display of blossoms in the spring time, and the crimson leaves of autumn, also called forth expressions of joy and pleasure.

Among flowers, the wild blue violet is the first blossom that I remember having found and gathered. They were plentiful in the woods, meadows and roadsides, and we always kept one or more bunches of these and other wild flowers in the house during the spring season. Next to the blue violet, the dog-tooth violet, buttercups, spring beauties, dandelions and daisies follow in memory’s train.

My mother always accompanied me on my first little rambles, and many are the pleasant strolls we took, hand in hand, gathering flowers, listening to the songs of birds and enjoying the beautiful surroundings; her training and instruction in Nature’s book doubtless laid the foundation of my devotion to and study of these things in later years. Did she not call my attention to the gorgeous sunsets, to the bow of promise spanning the sky, to the squirrels and other little animals of the woods, to the rippling brook splashing over its pebbles and golden sands; did she not teach me to love God’s creatures and not kill or destroy them? Happy days never to be forgotten; little friendships never broken.

Berton Mercer.

TWO STRANGE HOMES.

The little brown wren is a bird with which most of us are familiar, as it is one of our most common birds. It builds its nest in all sorts of odd places, venturing about barns, outhouses, or even the homes of men.

One summer a ball of twine left over from the harvesting was placed upon a shelf in our tool-house. The next spring a pair of tiny wrens discovered it and selected it as a suitable nesting place. They built the coziest and softest of homes in the hole in the center of the big ball and several eggs were laid before we discovered it. It was then left to the birds who had taken possession of it and they were allowed to raise their family there in peace.

At another time a pair of wrens built their nest in the sleeve of an old coat which had been left hanging in a shed and they made what, at least to them, was quite a palatial abode in that which superior man had deemed unfit for use.

Mary McCrae Culter.

THE GREENLAND WHALE.
(_Balaena mysticetus._)

The whale is by far the largest animal on earth, some species being many times the size of an elephant, and is it not a curious fact that in appearance it so resembles a fish that many suppose it to belong to that class, while truly it is not a fish at all? It is in reality much more like a cow or a horse, although externally it seems very unlike these animals; but appearances are not always to be relied upon.

When we examine the construction of the whale we find that it is warm-blooded, as we are. We find that it has immense lungs which hold a great quantity of air and that it must fill them or die. We find that it has bones similar to those of land animals. It has the seven neck bones found in all mammals, but it is the opposite extreme from the giraffe, as in proportion to its size it has the shortest neck of any mammal, while the giraffe has the longest. It has ribs, also bones for the forearm, and, nearly obliterated, there are found bones representing the hind legs. Instead of being hatched from an egg, as most fishes are, a baby whale comes into the world alive and complete, and for many months it takes its mother’s milk as a calf might do or a young colt. A baby whale is indeed a monstrous infant, being sometimes ten or twelve or even fifteen feet long; but by its mother’s side it does not seem such a monstrosity, for the whale mother may be forty-five or fifty feet in length herself.

These great animals are a most interesting study, for their ancestors undoubtedly once lived on land. We can imagine the land animal, many centuries ago, dwelling on the banks of some large stream, fond of spending much time in the water, until with successive generations the shape of the animal gradually changed and adapted itself to its fluid surroundings. The forearms and hands gradually became covered with continuous skin until the arm and hand became a flipper; the rear limbs grew shorter and snorter as they were used less and less, until finally there was nothing left to indicate their presence except a few small bones. The tail, used as a propeller, grew strong, large and flat, and we can imagine that the animals themselves, as they put out to sea and in time avoided even the rivers, became larger as the centuries passed by.

However this may be, the Greenland Whale has been found sixty feet in length, although some other species are smaller.

I think we can consider the whale an animal of a roving disposition. In early times it roved away from land, and now it belongs to the migratory animals, changing its locality with the seasons. The Greenland Whale is happiest with cold and ice, so when summer comes it travels north in great numbers. These great groups are called schools, and being of a social disposition, it is seldom found alone when traveling. At first thought it would seem strange that a warm-blooded animal with no fur to protect it could so enjoy the cold, but should we examine beneath the soft, velvety skin we would find a great layer of fat, from ten to eighteen inches thick. This protects the animal from cold like a great soft overcoat, and the polar sea has for it no terrors.

Of the peculiar make-up of the Greenland Whale the head is certainly the most peculiar of all the parts.

It is a great, shapeless mass about a third of the length of the entire animal. It seems to be out of all proportion until one realizes that it must provide food for this great creature, which is no small task. Like all of the whalebone whales, the Greenland Whale has no teeth, but in the mouth is found a great number of flexible, bone-like appendages attached to the roof of the mouth and palate at one end and hanging loose at the opposite end. These are known as the baleen plates and form the whalebone of commerce. In the Greenland Whale this whalebone hanging from the center of the jaw is sometimes twelve feet in length, and as there are from two hundred and fifty to four hundred in number, the great value of the baleen is readily seen. When the great animal opens its mouth, a row boat with its oarsmen could easily be taken in, yet the animal eats only small crustaceans, mollusks, worms and minute forms of life.

When the immense mouth opens, it takes in a large amount of water containing its food. The mouth then closes, but the water is permitted to flow out, the baleen acting like a sieve, retaining the food supply within and allowing the water to ooze away. The food is retained on the great tongue and swallowed at leisure.

The eye of the whale is very small; the ear is barely perceptible, yet when submerged, the sight is keen and the hearing well developed. The nostrils are placed on the top of the head, so that the whale when rising can readily begin the operation of breathing. With a snorting noise the animal first blows up the water which has entered the imperfectly closed nostrils when submerged. This is done with such force that the water is separated into fine drops and thrown fifteen or eighteen feet into the air. The whale then breathes with a rapid inspiration, making a sort of moaning sound. When the lungs are filled with air, it will plunge beneath the surface of the water and remain for perhaps twenty minutes before appearing again, although when wounded it remains under water a much longer time.

In spite of its great size the whale is so perfectly adapted to its surroundings that it is a highly active animal. It swims without apparent effort and on account of the great strength of the enormous horizontal tail fin, it can jerk itself above the water and take long leaps. The smoothness of the skin facilitates the passage of the immense bulk through the water and the thick layer of fat diminishes the weight so that a whale can move with the rapidity of a steamship.

The Greenland Whale is, on the whole, an amiable animal. It seems to prefer to live at peace with its kind, and although it can make great havoc with its immense tail fin, it seemingly does so by accident rather than from viciousness.

Like all other animals the whale has its enemies, especially when young. The killer-whale and some sharks hunt and attack the young whales, as indeed they do the older ones; but the greatest enemy of all is man. For a thousand years he has systematically pursued and captured many species, until some are nearly exterminated. The Americans became great whale hunters in the nineteenth century, and in the thirty-eight years from 1835 to 1872 nearly 20,000 ships engaged in this industry. These whaling ships were fitted especially for this work. They were built to withstand the perils of the ice-bound northern seas and were arranged for long voyages. It was a sad day in the coast villages when the whalers sailed on these long, perilous and uncertain cruises, for the ships frequently were gone three years and some never came back, though as a whole the actual loss of human life was comparatively small. A number of ships would if possible keep sufficiently near together to render assistance in case of accident.

After reaching the whaling grounds usually two men were kept on the mast as a lookout. When the cry came, “There they spout!” all became excitement. As soon as it was determined that the whales were the species which they were seeking, the boats were lowered, the harpoons, the lances, the gun, the hatchet, the knife, the blubber-spade, and, most important of all, the line, were all placed in the boat together with a keg of fresh water, some ship’s biscuit, the lantern, candles and matches; and in a very short time the men were lustily pulling toward the monster they hoped to capture. They endeavored to approach the whale from the rear and often were not discovered by the animal until the harpoons were buried in its body. The boat was then rowed backward with great speed, as the whale could easily annihilate it with one blow of its great tail. Frequently the whale would dive down perpendicularly to a great depth and if the line was not sufficiently long it would of course pull the boat after it. In time the whale was obliged to rise for air and the struggle was renewed. Other boats approached and threw their harpoons, and the whale either turned upon its tormentors or ran, dragging the boats after it. In time it became exhausted and then it was killed either with the gun, harpoon or a hand lance. It was then towed to the ship’s side, made fast with chains and placed to float head backwards. The blubber was then torn off by means of pulleys and tackle. This process lasted from four to eight hours. The upper jaw of the whalebone whale or the lower jaw of the sperm whale was then cut off and taken on deck. After all the valuable parts were taken the carcass was cast adrift. The blubber was then cut into pieces and tried out, the oil being stowed away in barrels. The value of the whale may be as high as $10,000.

The trying out of the oil is indeed a weird sight. At first, wood is used as a fuel, but afterward the residue of the blubber, called cracklings, is used, as it possesses sufficient heating power to finish the work. “Attired in their worst clothes,” writes Pechuel-Loeschke, “half-naked, dancing and singing, running after one another and brandishing their tools, dripping with oil and sooty like devils, the crew disport themselves about the hearth. An intensely active life prevails on board. The sight of this activity is doubly striking by night when a mass of the cracklings is hoisted up in an iron basket. This strange torch burns merrily, casting a weird light on the scene as the blazing flames throw glaring, fitful rays on the deck and bring out in bold relief the black clouds of smoke and the masts with their sails, the reflection extending far out over the sea. By day huge masses of smoke on the horizon betray the presence of a whaler which ‘tries out’ the blubber, long before one catches sight of the ship itself.”

John Ainslie.

Through the silent watches of the night
The snowflakes fast and faster fall;
And with swift and magic deftness,
Spread a spotless mantle over all.

Behold the landscape clothed in white,
Decked with crystals’ shining light;
See the towering fir trees bending low,
With their load of sparkling snow.
—Berton Mercer, “Winter.”

THE THISTLE.

As plants were among the objects most familiar to primitive man, they naturally came to be considered good or evil, according as their properties were found to be beneficial or injurious. The imaginative and pure reverence, however, which originally linked plant life with the personifications of natural phenomena, soon degenerated into a superstitious worship and became associated with the mummery of various kinds of impostors. The plants, through the manipulations of the quacks and witches, who largely composed the fraternity of the early herbalists, became endowed with powers to kill or heal, to control the weather, to gain or hold friends, and many other associations that have clung to them ever since. The Thistle appears to have been especially favored in this regard. It appears that an eagle had stolen the sacred Soma from the Hindu tree of life. Barely had he departed with the immortalizing draught before he was overtaken by a lightning bolt and stretched lifeless upon the earth. From the eagle’s feathers sprang up the bramble, while the Thistle grew from his claws. About this time Loki, the evil spirit of the Norse Asgard, passed that way, bent upon mischief. The unpleasant qualities of the two plants at once appealed to him. Loki immediately gathered the seed and proceeded to sow them in the fields of his enemies, the result being that all the good seed was killed. This Aryan myth has given rise to the expression, “Sowing wild oats,” and is believed to be the origin of the biblical story of the tares and the wheat, coming into Hebrew literature by means of the Indo-Iranians at the time of the Israelitish exile.

Now, Thor observed what Loki had done; so he hurled his hammer at the brambles and a bolt of lightning at the Thistles. For this reason the thistle blossoms are colored red and the plants became lightning plants. But the end was not yet. The beautiful goddess Freya, seeing the Thistles drooping under the chastisement of the god, took compassion and gave them to drink of the mead from the sacred goat of Valhalla, by virtue of which the plants became invested with immortality. Thus it came to pass that the Thistle has a dual life. It is a lightning plant, in which, in common with similar forms, like the vervain, the hazel, and the ash is never injured by lightning or approached by serpents. On the other hand, it being a protege of Freya, the goddess of Love, it straightway became a powerful love charm, and doubtless has done much execution in Cupid’s lists.

The Thistle group is the most primitive of the Composite family, and it bears evidence of a vast evolutionary history. There are one hundred and seventy-five living species which are distributed over Europe, Asia, Africa, North and South America. The plants seem able to adapt themselves to almost any conditions, and their unpleasant spines are found bidding defiance to the reindeer near the Arctic circle, as well as successfully measuring strength with the prickly cactus and acacias of the tropics. On our own prairies only plants thus armed stand much show to survive the herds of cattle that wander over them, and this protection, together with their great productiveness, have rendered Thistles such a nuisance and menace to agricultural interests as to necessitate legislative action looking to their extermination. The Russian and Canada thistles are the worst offenders, and where they once obtain a foothold they, as a rule, remain. The unpleasant qualities of the Thistle, however, served to bring about its adoption as the national emblem of Scotland. The story relates that during the eighth century the invading Danes, while stealing up to the Scotch camp under cover of darkness, passed over a patch of cotton thistle, and the sudden cries of the injured men warned the guards, and thus the army was saved. Achaius, King of Scotland, adopted the plant as his emblem in recognition of this service, but it was not made a part of the national arms until the middle of the fifteenth century.

The origin of the Scottish order of the Thistle, or St. Andrew, is somewhat uncertain. In 1687 it was restored to favor by James II of England and was given much prominence during the reign of Queen Anne. The membership was limited to from twelve to sixteen peers of the realm, the insignia being a golden collar composed of sixteen thistles, from which hung a St. Andrew’s cross.

What is known as the purple star thistle was named for Chiron the Centaur. The great spines on the calyx suggested the military caltrop, an iron star of four points, which was used in battle to annoy horses.

Among other incidents in which Thistles have been in evidence may be mentioned the confusion into which the army of Charles the Bold was thrown, in 1465, because of the deceptive appearance of the plants. The Burgundians were beseiging Paris, and while the army slept scouts brought word that great numbers of spears were assembled outside the city walls. A panic was narrowly averted, and later it was discovered that the stems and spines of some very tall Thistles had produced the deception. The leaves of the Thistles were commonly employed by the Roman soldiers to shade their helmets, and it is stated that when Hugh Spencer, favorite of Edward II, was hanged, the mob, in derision, placed a crown of thistle spines upon his head.

Thistles seem to have figured in peace as well as war. In England the teasel is indispensable in the cloth mills, in which it is employed to dress the nap of the fabrics, and Virgil tells of the vest of Helen, which was embroidered to represent the plants, while the handles of the Cup of Eurymedon were entwined with them. Probably the crowning glory of the Thistle, if the story be true, lies in its contribution to architecture, in which capacity it deserves no less consideration than the Egyptian lotus. It appears from the narrative that a young girl of Corinth dying, her nurse placed on her grave a basket containing her toys, covering them with a large tile in order to shield the childish treasures from the weather. The basket was set by chance on the root of a Thistle. When the springtime came the plant grew until, meeting the tile, it was forced to turn downwards in graceful folds, which, catching the eye of Callimachus, he conceived the capital of the Corinthian columns.

Charles S. Raddin.

The smallest effort is not lost;
Each wavelet on the ocean toss’d
Aids in the ebb-tide of the flow;
Each rain drop makes some flow’ret blow
Each struggle lessens human woe.
—Charles MacKay in the Chicago Record-Herald.

WITH SILVER CHAINS AND GAY ATTIRE.

After the cold, repeated rains,
The crusted branches rub the panes,
And ere the dawn the pelting hail
Adds fury to the roaring gale.
So wears the night—the morrow’s sun
Proclaims the winter tempest done.
And what a morn! A crystal dome
Each rounded hill about our home!
More radiant is the sight, I ween,
Than e’er before has mortal seen.

Betwixt their glassy walls on high
The mountain corridors we spy,
And lo! all chandeliered are they,
Like costly palace of a day!
From limb to limb with whitest wreaths
The trees are festooned. All the heaths
With sun-tipped, icy spikes are bright;
And frost-stars glitter in the light.
With untold wealth the earth is strewn,
Each bush bears jewels, dimmed too soon.

Each stalk is cased in crystal mail,
Gem rivals gem in every vale;
No gaudier crown has sunflower’s head,
With dew and fragrance round it shed.
Rich vitreous tubes each breeze shakes down,
What shafts and columns gird our town!
Fretwork and tinsel fairy fair,
Wondrous stalactites everywhere.
And so the emulation grows
Till Sol dissolves the wafted snows.
—George Bancroft Griffith.

THE BIRDS IN THEIR WINTER HOME.
(In the Woods.)

From the region of the Great Lakes to the Gulf there is no section that contains more to interest the naturalist than the hills and forests of central Mississippi. Here no winter’s rigors chill the blood and drive the forest folk to remote or inaccessible retreats. Into this land of warmth and sunshine, this land of the ’possum, persimmon and the pickaninny, Jack Frost does not come till November is well advanced. Even then he comes only to clear the air, bring down the leaves, and announce the coming of the short, make-believe winter.

Go out doors in December after the leaves have fallen and take note of the varied life in wood, field and brake; think that now in the far away North the wind howls through the leafless trees, finding few creatures hardy enough to resist his blasts save the snowbird and the hare. The blasts of chill November and chillier December have sent myriads of birds down here where food is plenty in savannah, forest and thicket. On the wooded knolls under the beeches and hollies congregate the hungry hordes, feasting on seeds and berries of the rattan, holly and smilax. Flying in and out of the briar-thickets are innumerable white-throated sparrows fleeing from frozen Canada and the lake country. A clear long-drawn whistle strikes the ear. We seek the source. A little brown bird much the size and shape of an English sparrow seated on a shrub projecting from the briars raises his head and whistles a sound as pure and free from flaw as the little spot of white upon his throat. Cheewinks as fussy as old hens toss the dead leaves about; grackles in shining black stalk dignifiedly about; while cardinals in low boughs and underbrush give a touch of vivid color to the scene just as the pink and white dresses of the girls form a pleasing contrast to the somber blacks and grays of the gentlemen’s attire at a Fourth of July celebration.

Second to none in delicate beauty of coloring, king of his tribe, is the fox-sparrow. Russet and rufous on the back, beneath the white marked with brilliant stripings of the same color as the back, on the feathers of his head and upper neck a clear pearly luster which is iridescent in the sunshine but invisible in the shadow, he is a marked bird, the peer of any in the woods. Happy the bird-lover who has the opportunity to study this magnificent bird in his winter home; one so favored can well afford a feeling of pity for the less fortunate dwellers in the central states who seldom make his acquaintance except through the medium of the museum or the manual.

Florida blue jays in black, white and blue hop about among the rustling leaves or seated on a limb, hammer away at an acorn. Possessing a more extensive vocabulary than our familiar Northern jays, more loquacious, more sociable, they are certainly the artists of the tribe. No one who has ever heard their clear musical notes as they play in the tree-tops or hop about on the lawns as friendly and cheerful as robins, can ever entertain quite such a low opinion of their musical ability as he did before. Resonant, ringing tinkling, this call is the forest chime that summons the little children of the wood to vespers, heard at evening with white throats calling to one another from brush-heaps and briar thicket, it is the expression of this strong pure life away from the haunts of men. Under such surroundings it is easy to forget the cruelty practiced by our gifted blue-coat when spring has filled these woods and fields with nests and nestlings.

But here comes one for whom no cloak of charity is needed, the musician pre-eminent among all this gifted throng, the Carolina wren. A slender curved beak, a trim bunch of cinnamon-brown feathers barred with darker brown on wings and tail, a buff breast, a little throat pulsating with vigorous buoyant life are the most conspicuous characteristics of this chorister of winter woods. He has been called the mocking wren. Let no one be deluded by such a term into the belief that he has no individuality, for, although his song has in it the whistle of the cardinal, the dignified song of the brown thrasher and the effervescence of the mockingbird, through it all there runs a peculiar quality all his own. Swinging on a rattan vine, singing with all the abandon of a bright May morning he seems the most vigorous exponent of “the strenuous life” in this land where languorous breezes blow soft and warm, bringing with them a suggestion of the sun-kissed waters of the Gulf and odors of resin and turpentine from the interminable forests that intervene between us and the coast.

Down by the branches on cold frosty mornings you will find a little brown ball of a bird, that with tail tilted up over his back dives under every bridge, slides into every brush-heap, or hides tantalizingly behind every log that comes in his path. Not shy, yet not bold, he disappears from view at the most exasperating moments. Coming with the frosts, going away when they cease, he certainly deserves the name of winter wren. Shorter than the Carolina, darker on the back and tail, his nervous, fidgety manner makes it an easy matter to distinguish him from his more talented cousin. In these winter woods he never sings. Beyond an occasional metallic “chip” now and then I have never heard him give utterance to the emotions that fill his plump little breast. He is the silent observer of the busy life about him, a sitter in his own chimney corner, where he smokes his pipe and studies life subjectively, a modest little philosopher in cinnamon brown and black.

Darting in and out among the lower branches of a giant beech, now flitting to a new position with movements as sudden and unexpected as those of a hummingbird, now running along a limb like the brown creeper, comes another tiny friend the ruby crowned kinglet. A plain little Quaker he seems in his suit of olive green without a patch of yellow or black to relieve the severe simplicity of his garb. Even the tufts of brilliant red feathers on his head is concealed from vulgar gaze. If you have sharp eyes and a moderate degree of patience your efforts to get a glimpse of the red tuft will by and by be crowned with success, but don’t be disappointed if you don’t see the ruby the first time you see the bird. I had observed the cheerful little chap time after time in my morning rambles in the woods, and had come to know every twist and motion of the tiny body before I caught a glimpse of the longed-for tuft. Finally one morning as he bent his head to pick up some sweet tid-bit the olive-green feathers parted and I saw his tiny crown. A modest genial little anarchist he is, never parading his opinions before an admiring public, but suddenly springing down in front of us on some low bush he flaunts his red flag and is gone before we realize it. Having once learned how and when to look for his crown it is an easy matter to find it again whenever his little majesty feels inclined to give you the opportunity.

James Stephen Compton.

Description of Plate.—A, B, C, D, different forms of Irish moss; E.
F., forms of Gigartina mamillosa; 1, section of thallus of G.
mamillosa; 2, 3, 4, sections of Chondrus crispus.

IRISH MOSS.
(_Chondrus crispus_ lyngb.)

A weary weed toss’d to and fro,
Drearily drench’t in the ocean brine.
—Cornelius G. Fenner, “Gulf-Weed.”

Those who have spent any time along the sea shore will recall the familiar seaweeds washed upon the bank by the tide and have watched them idly waving to and fro in the water near the shore where the depth does not exceed several meters. There are perhaps no plants more beautiful from the purely artistic point of view. Many a visitor to a distant sea coast has collected and mounted the more beautiful and delicate ones as souvenirs to delight the eye of friends. The delicate coloring and manifold branchings are the characteristic of the more attractive species. Some are quite small, while others grow to enormous size. The so-called “sea lettuce” is of a bright grass green color, forming a large leaf like expansion. The Gulf weed, a species of Sargassum, is very plentiful in the gulf regions of the southern United States, Mexico and Central America. During heavy storms great quantities of this are torn loose from their fastenings and carried far out into the Atlantic where they form the Sargassa sea and impede ocean traffic. The sailors on the ships of Columbus encountered such a sea and revived their hopes of soon seeing land, as they rightfully conjectured that the sea weeds were washed from the shore.

Sea weeds in general are variously employed. They are the sources of iodine and bromine. They are collected in large quantities and used as fertilizers. The Chinese and Japanese use some species very extensively as food. The stipes or stalks of Laminaria cloustoni are used in surgery.

Sea weeds and other aquatic plants serve as a protection and food for a host of animals of the seas; especially fish, cray-fish, lobsters, etc. The smaller fish in trying to escape from his larger, ravenous enemy hides among these plants. Bryant, in Sella says:

“Here were mighty groves
Far down the ocean-valleys, and between
Lay what might seem fair meadows, softly tinged
With orange and with crimson. Here arose
Tall stems, that, rooted in the depths below,
Swing idly with the motion of the sea;
And here were shrubberies in whose mazy screen,
The creatures of the deep made haunt.”

Chondrus crispus, the plant of our sketch, is a sea weed of the Atlantic. It is quite plentiful along the shore lines of the Atlantic states, Ireland and England. It is commonly known as Irish moss, though it is not a moss at all. It is also known as Carrageen moss or Carrageen. It is a perennial plant, 3 to 10 inches high, consisting of a flat, much branched thallus, as shown in the illustration. It is variable in its coloring, greenish purple, purplish brown, grayish purplish brown, etc., somewhat waxy or translucent in appearance. It is also very variable in form; no two specimens being exactly alike. It attaches itself to rocks, pebbles and boulders by means of a basal disk which serves merely as a mechanical support, the frond or thallus absorbing its nourishment from the sea water. In consistency the plant is cartilaginous, mucilaginous, and is entirely dissolved on boiling. When dry it becomes very hard, brittle and elastic and assumes a light-yellowish, translucent appearance. Chondrus crispus is closely similar to Gigartina mamillosa, another sea weed, with which it is usually associated.

Irish moss is extensively collected along the coast of Massachusetts. The plants being spread high up on the beach to dry and bleach in the sun. Its principal use is in medicine, although it has perhaps no curative properties in itself. It is a demulcent and emollient, that is the mucilage present tends to allay irritation of inflamed mucous membranes as in sore throat, pulmonary complaints, etc. It has been extensively employed as a popular remedy in dysentery, kidney troubles and pneumonia. Its principal use at the present time is as an article of diet, in the preparation of soup, blanc mange and jellies. Sometimes it is combined with chocolate or cocoa, sugar, lemon juice, etc., to improve the flavor.

Bandoline, a fixative for keeping hair in curl is commonly prepared from carrageen. It is also used as sizing for paper, straw hats, felt hats, cotton goods and for thickening the colors used in calico printing. It is also used for clarifying coffee, beer and other drinks.

Carrageen is a word of Irish origin and was apparently originally applied to sea weeds in general. The Irish were the first to use this plant medicinally and as a food.

Albert Schneider.

THE CARDINAL FLOWER.

I love each flower beneath the sun,
Wherever it buds and blows;
From the pale arbutus that hides like a nun,
To the flushed and queenly rose.

But the cardinal flower to me is best
As close by the rivulet’s brim
It regally wears its flaming crest,
In the woodlands cool and dim.

I long to lie in the pine tree’s shade,
Or tread on the tufted moss;
If once away from the ways of trade,
I’d care not for gain or loss.

I would peacefully fall asleep at night
To the sound of singing streams,
With the glowing cardinal’s flower of light
To illumine the realm of dreams.
—Belle A. Hitchcock.

Transcriber’s Notes

--Created an eBook cover from elements within the issue.

--Reconstructed the Table of Contents (originally on each issue’s
cover).

--Retained copyright notice on the original book (this eBook is
public-domain in the country of publication.)

--Silently corrected a few palpable typos.