Chapter II: Part 2

The value of this shy and retiring bird is well illustrated by Mr. V. A. Alderson, who says in the “Oologist” (July, 1890): “Last summer potato bugs covered every patch of potatoes in Marathon County, Wisconsin. One of my friends here found his patch an exception, and, therefore, took pains to find out the reason, and observed a Hairy Woodpecker making frequent visits to the potato field and going from there to a large pine stub a little distance away. After observing this for about six weeks, he made a visit to the pine stub, and found, on inspection, a large hole in its side, almost fifteen feet up. He took his ax and cut down the stub, split it open, and found inside over two bushels of bugs. All had their heads off and bodies intact. Now, why did the Woodpecker carry the bugs whole to the tree and only bite off and eat the heads, which could have been done in the open field?”

The Hairy Woodpecker has no leisure moments. He is always active and

The little tap of busy bill
The signal of his work and skill.

is ever present

To rid the soil of every foe,
To guard the leafy trees.

The movements of this Woodpecker are interesting, for, like its sister species, it moves with equal facility either upwards or downwards, sidewise or backwards upon a tree trunk. From time to time it will stop and seem to listen, and, finally bracing itself with the stiff feathers of its spiney tail, it will deliver powerful blows with its chisel-like bill at some point that will be likely to furnish a dainty morsel of food. There is little doubt that its sense of hearing is very acute and that it can detect the slightest movement of an insect in the bark or wood of a tree that to other animals would be imperceptible.

The flight of the Hairy Woodpecker is like that of the other species of its group. It is wavering and undulating, seldom protracted and usually consisting of a number of short vibrations of the wings. When alighting, they grasp the object with both feet simultaneously. This Woodpecker is the earliest of all the family to build its nest. Mating begins in the latter part of March, and at this time the birds are exceedingly noisy. The male when not feeding will resort to some dead limb and vigorously drum and “the louder the noise produced, the more satisfactory it appears to be to the performer.”

Regarding the building of the nest, Major Bendire says: “Both sexes take part in the labor, and it is really wonderful how neat and smooth an excavation these birds can make with their chisel-shaped bills in a comparatively short time. The entrance hole is round, as if made with an auger, about two inches in diameter, and just large enough to admit the body of the bird; the edges are nicely beveled, the inside is equally smooth, and the cavity is gradually enlarged toward the bottom. The entrance hole, which is not unfrequently placed under a limb for protection from the weather, generally runs in straight through the solid wood for about three inches, and then downward from ten to eighteen inches, and some of the finer chips are allowed to remain on the bottom of the cavity, in which the eggs are deposited. Both dead and living trees are selected for nesting sites, generally the former. When living trees are chosen, the inner core, or heart of the tree, is usually more or less decayed. These nesting sites are nearly always selected with such good judgment that such obstacles as hard knots are rarely encountered; should this occur, the site is abandoned and a fresh one selected.” The male, after the work is completed, will often excavate one or more holes in the same tree in order that he may have a resting place at night near to his mate.

A VARICOLORED FROG.

An amateur naturalist, amid the ordinary organic forms that he may encounter in his own country, is often grievously puzzled at curious specimens of animal life that may be brought under his attention. But amid the illimitable animal life of the wild region of the upper Orinoco even the most expert and learned naturalist will often find himself “stumped” by the many unusual and hitherto undiscovered things that occasionally beset his pathway.

Among the many curious and quaint animal specimens encountered by the writer in this region was an arboreal frog of startlingly beautiful colorings. This little creature rested upon a stomach of orange flame hue, while the head and back were marked with velvet purple tints, and a narrow snow-white stripe extended from the point of his nose to the tip of a tiny tail. With such brilliant colorings it is easily and distinctly observed, but the snakes, weasels and other arch enemies of the amphibians have no relish for this handsome specimen. Its weapon of defense against its would-be enemies is a sweat venom of a most nauseous odor, which it emits when any one approaches it. This venom is common among the toads, and the fact is referred to by Juvenal (Dryden’s translation) of the lady “who squeezed a toad into her husband’s wine.” It is probable that the beautiful frog of so many glaring colors would have long since been exterminated by its many enemies and persecutors but for the poisonous and nauseous fluid ejected from its glands.

Andrew James Miller.

WAS IT REASON OR INSTINCT?

Old Boney is a large shaggy dog of a deep tan color, and a general favorite among the people in the quarter of the city in which he lives, while he is honored and respected by every member of the canine race for miles around. Especially are the little children fond of him; and it seems to be as much a pastime for him as for his young playmates to carry the boys and girls on his broad back, their little, chubby hands buried in his long, matted hair in their half-frightened efforts to keep from slipping off and tumbling upon the ground.

His owner’s daughter, a young girl just entering her teens, attends the high school, about three blocks from her home, which is reached by rather a circuitous route. Boney had often accompanied his young mistress to the school and was familiar with the way thither as well as with the main entrance and winding stairway of the building.

It was in the showery month of April, and Etta had repeatedly neglected to wear her rubbers when she started for school in the morning, a fault for which she had often been reprimanded.

Now it happened one warm afternoon that a copious shower came down in due April style. The door leading from the dining room out upon the veranda was wide ajar, and Etta’s mother, looking out, saw her daughter’s rubbers upon the veranda floor near the rug where they were usually deposited when not in use. “There,” exclaimed the mother, “that child has gone again without her rubbers and will come home with wet feet.”

This sharp remark aroused the attention of old Boney, for he got up from his prone condition on the rug, looked at the speaker, sniffed at the rubbers and lay down again. At this juncture Etta’s father quietly picked up the rubbers, carried them over to the school building and handed them to his daughter, whom he met at the upper landing of the stairway. This had been done more than once, Boney generally lying upon the veranda floor where he could easily hear and see what was being done on such occasions, and he had often followed his master and stood by when father and daughter met at the school building.

Now comes the interesting part of our story. A drenching shower came down about three o’clock one afternoon and Etta had, as usual, neglected to take her needed footwear. It happened this time that none of the family was at home. Boney, however, was keeping house in his accustomed place on the rug. Now, what do our readers think the noble animal did. Why, he just picked up both of the rubbers, carried them in his mouth through the driving rain to the school building, up the winding stairway and laid them upon the landing. As if this were not enough, he lay down and faithfully watched his charge till Etta made her appearance, when he politely dropped her property at her feet.

Thereafter Etta’s father was relieved of this service, Boney regularly attending to the business himself, and, what is more wonderful still, he never attempted to discharge his duty on a pleasant day.

Query. Was this reason or instinct? If the latter, what is instinct?

L. P. Venen.

OPAL.

“The Opal, when pure and uncut in its native rock,” says Ruskin in his lecture on Color, “presents the most lovely colors that can be seen in the world except those of clouds.”

While not all of us may share the great art critic’s preference for uncut stones, there are few probably who will not join him heartily in his admiration of the brilliant gem from whose depths come welling up tints of so varied hue that we appropriately speak of them as colors at play. Our interest in these colors may be heightened by reading what Ruskin has further to say of them: “We have thus in nature, chiefly obtained by crystalline conditions, a series of groups of entirely delicious hues; and it is one of the best signs that the bodily system is in a healthy state when we can see these clearly in their most delicate tints and enjoy them fully and simply with the kind of enjoyment that children have in eating sweet things. I shall place a piece of rock opal on the table in your working room; and if on fine days you will sometimes dip it in water, take it into sunshine and examine it with a lens of moderate power, you may always test your progress in sensibility to color by the degree of pleasure it gives you.”

The Opal is indeed one of the most fascinating of gems; yet often elusive and at times disappointing. Of its freaks and foibles strange stories are told. Gems of brilliant quality are known suddenly to have lost their hues never to regain them, while others previously dull and lusterless have become radiant as the rainbow.

Prof. Egleston, of New York city, relates that a bottle of cut Opals once given him by a prominent jewelry firm because they had lost their color, after remaining in his cabinet for a time regained their brilliancy and retained it. But to have opals regain their color is, unfortunately, far less usual than for them to lose it. The gem often exhibits brilliant colors when wet either with water or oil that disappear when it is dry. Taking advantage of this peculiarity dishonest dealers often keep opals immersed until just before offering them for sale. The experience of having stones so treated as well as others which might with more reason be expected to retain their brilliancy, lose it, has very likely led to the superstition commonly attached to the Opal that it is an unlucky gem. Some authorities, however, trace the origin of the superstition to Sir Walter Scott’s novel, “Anne of Geierstein,” in which the baleful influence of the Opal plays a prominent part, and it is stated that within a year of the publication of the book the price of Opals declined fifty per cent in the European market. Even if the superstition did not originate in either of these ways it was probably from a source quite as trivial and it should prevent no one from enjoying the pleasure to be derived from the beauties of this gem.

Chemically, Opal is oxide of silicon with varying amounts of water, the water varying from 3 to 9 per cent. It is, therefore, closely allied to quartz, but differs physically in being softer and not as heavy. Further, it never crystallizes, and it is soluble in caustic potash, which quartz is not. It is infusible, but cracks and becomes opaque before the blowpipe. In sulphuric acid it turns black, on account probably of the organic matter it contains.

Its hardness is sometimes as low as 5.5 in the scale in which quartz is 7 and its specific gravity is from 1.9 to 2.3, while that of quartz is 2.6. On account of its relative softness a cut Opal often does not retain its polish well and requires frequent smoothing. Opals when first taken from the ground are often softer even than the above and for this reason it is usual and desirable to allow them to harden or “season,” as it is called, for some time after quarrying, before they are polished.

Top row:
Precious Opal in Matrix (Queensland.)
Wood Opal (Idaho.)
Precious Opal (New South Wales.)
Center:
Precious Opal (New South Wales.)
Precious Opal (New South Wales.)
Fire Opal in Matrix (Mexico.)
Bottom:
Prase Opal (Germany.)

Opal as a mineral is quite common, so that no one need suppose because he has specimens labeled “opal” in his collection that he has as many precious stones. It occurs in many varieties, and, especially if it contains foreign matter, in many colors. Nearly all silica deposited by hot waters is in the form of Opal, so that the geysers of Yellowstone Park build up cones of Opal and fall into Opal basins. This particular form of Opal is known as geyserite, and it is often differently colored by different ingredients.

Wood is often preserved by silica in the form of Opal, the siliceous waters taking away the wood and replacing it by Opal, grain by grain, with such delicacy and accuracy that the structure of the wood is perfectly maintained. The minute shells which diatoms make consist of Opal, and when these dead shells accumulate to form deposits of some extent we call the powdery substance tripoli and use it for polishing silverware and other metals. Then there are hyalite, a variety of Opal looking like transfixed water, so clear and colorless is it; hydrophane, a translucent variety which sticks to the tongue and becomes more nearly transparent when soaked in water; cacholong, a porcelain-like variety, and menilite, a concretionary variety.

Common Opal varies from transparent to opaque, being most often translucent and sometimes exhibiting the peculiar milkiness of color which we call opalescence. It has sometimes a glassy, but often a waxy luster, the latter when pronounced giving rise to the varieties known as wax Opal and resin Opal. When Opal has the banded structure of agate it is known as Opal-agate; when it has the color of jasper as jasper Opal, and when that of chrysoprase as prase Opal. But none of these varieties are used in any quantity as gems. This distinction is reserved almost wholly for the variety known as noble or precious Opal. This is Opal which exhibits a play of colors. No essential chemical or physical distinction between noble Opal and other varieties is known. In a large vein of Opal portions will exhibit the play of colors and the remainder will not, but why the difference has not yet been determined. Neither can the origin of the varied coloring; i. e., the iridescence, be determined. Some regard it as due to interspersed layers containing different percentages of water, which break up the rays of light somewhat as a prism does, while others think that minute cracks and fissures through the stone furnish surfaces from which the rays are reflected in different colors back to the eye. Some Opals which are dull and lusterless when dry exhibit considerable play of color when immersed in water, and this fact seems to favor the first theory of the cause of the iridescence, but the subject is not understood. The character of the play of colors differs in different Opals, and this gives rise to different varieties. The true noble Opal has the color quite uniformly distributed. When the color appears in flashes of red, yellow, etc., the stone is known as fire Opal; if blue as girasol, and if chiefly yellow as golden Opal. When the patches of color are small, angular and uniformly distributed it is called harlequin Opal, and if these are long and somewhat parallel, flame Opal. These colors are not, of course, inherent in the stone, its color varying from colorless to opaque white. The black Opals sometimes seen and highly prized by some are usually artificial, and are made by soaking ordinary Opals in oil and then burning oil on them. The brilliancy of the stone is thus increased, but it is usually fragile and liable to lose color.

Any Opal will lose its play of colors on being heated too highly, hence possessors should avoid subjecting them to more than ordinary heat. It is the variety and brilliancy of their changing colors which give to Opal nearly all its desirability as a precious stone, for, as has often been remarked, the qualities of hardness, transparency and rich body color which give to most other gems their value are lacking in the Opal. But together with the beauty of its changing colors Opal possesses an advantage over all other gems in that it cannot be successfully imitated. It is said that the Romans were able to make artificial Opals closely resembling the real, but, if so, the art has been lost never to be recovered, and we may hope it never will be. Hence, however much danger there may be in buying an Opal that it has not been properly “seasoned,” or may not retain its color, the purchaser may at least be sure he has an Opal and not an imitation. The stones are usually cut in the oval form known as en cabouchon, this cutting being found to bring out their brilliancy better than any facetted form. The brilliancy of the stone may be increased in setting by giving it a backing of mother of pearl or black silk. When a number of Opals are placed together they seem to borrow brilliancy from one another, a fact which is taken advantage of in settings by placing a number together and also by Opal dealers to dispose of inferior stones by grouping them with good ones. For this reason when Opals are purchased they should be examined separately. The value of Opals depends almost wholly on the brilliancy of their coloring and their size. Stones without the play of colors are practically worthless, while stones of ten to twenty carats’ weight, with brilliant coloring, may bring several hundred dollars. The most highly valued Opals have long come from the mines of Czernowitza in northern Hungary. These Opals are often known as Oriental Opals from the fact that in early days they were first purchased by Greek and Turkish merchants, and by them sent to Holland. There are, however, no localities in the Orient where precious Opals are found. The rock in which the Hungarian Opals occur is eruptive, and of the kind known as andesite. It is considerably decomposed, and the Opal occurs in clefts and veins. There is little doubt that it was from these mines that the Romans obtained the Opals known to them, and the output has been quite constant since.

It is said that the Hungarian Opals are less likely to deteriorate than any others. Still the danger of deterioration is not great in any Opal. The other important countries from which precious Opals are obtained are Mexico, Honduras and Australia. The Mexican Opals are mostly of the fire Opal variety. They are mined in a number of the States of the Republic—Queretaro, Hidalgo, Guerrero, Michoacan, Jalisco and San Luis Potosi. The oldest mines are in the State of Hidalgo, near Zimapan, where the Opal occurs in a red trachyte. Most of the Mexican Opals on the market at the present time, however, come from the State of Queretaro, where mining for them is conducted on a more extensive scale. The Opal here occurs in long veins in a porphyritic trachyte, and is mined at various points. The stones are cut and polished by workmen in the city of Queretaro who use ordinary grind-stones and chamois skins for the work and are said to receive an average wage of 23 cents a day.

The Honduras Opals reach foreign markets but rarely and usually uncut. The mines are in the western part of Honduras, in the Department of Gracias. They are little worked, but there is no doubt that extensive deposits exist which might afford a good supply of gems if they were properly exploited. The Australian Opals come from several localities, the most prominent at the present time being White Cliffs, New South Wales. The matrix is a Cretaceous sandstone which has been permeated by hot volcanic waters. Shells, bones and other fossils are found here entirely altered to precious Opal, making objects of great beauty. In 1899 Opals to the value of $650,000 were sold from this single region. There is no doubt that the present popularity of the Opal is due to some extent to the supply of beautiful stones which has come from these mines at prices at from one-third to one-tenth those of the Hungarian stones. Other localities in Australia whence precious Opals are obtained are places on the Barcoo River and Bulla Creek, Queensland, and occasional finds in West Australia.

No localities in the United States yielding precious Opals in any quantity have yet been discovered. Some good stones have been cut from an occurrence in Idaho, and some other minor finds have been made, but they possess little commercial importance at present.

Opal does not seem to have been extensively known or used by the ancients, although we know the Romans prized it highly and ascribed to it the power of warning against disaster. The Roman Senator Nonius owned one set in a ring which was said to be valued at nearly a million dollars. History records that for refusing to sell the stone to Mark Antony he was sent into exile. The next most famous Opal in history is one owned by the Empress Josephine which was called “The Burning of Troy,” on account of the brilliancy of the flames which shot forth from its depths. The present whereabouts of neither of these gems is known. A large Mexican Opal, now in the Field Columbian Museum, is carved in the image of the Mexican sun-god, and has a setting of gold representing the diverging rays of the sun. This gem is very ancient and is believed to have been kept by the Aztecs in a temple, so it is probable that the Aztecs knew and prized Opals.

The Arabians believe that Opals fall from heaven with the lightning’s flash, a beautiful fancy, indeed. Modern usage makes the Opal the birthstone of the month of October, some of the properties assigned to it being that it has the power of making its wearer a general favorite, enhancing the keenness of his sight and shielding him from suicide.

October’s child is born for woe
And life’s vicissitudes must know;
But lay an Opal on her breast
And Hope will lull those woes to rest.

Oliver Cummings Farrington.

THE CROCUS.

“Rest, little sister,” her sisters said—
Violet purple and wild-rose red—
“Rest, dear, yet, till the sun comes out,
Till the hedges bud, and the grass blades sprout.
We are safe in the kindly earth, and warm—
In the upper world there is sleet and storm.
Oh, wait for the robin’s true, clear note,
For the sound of a drifting wing afloat;
For the laughter bright of an April shower
To call and wake you, sweet Crocus flower.”

But brave-heart Crocus said never a word,
Nor paused to listen for note of bird,
Or laugh of raindrop * * * In rough green vest
And golden bonnet, herself she dressed
By the light of a glow worm’s friendly spark,
And softly crept up the stairway dark,
Out through the portal of frozen mold
Into the wide world, bleak and cold.
But somehow a sunbeam found the place
Where the snow made room for her lifted face.
—Madeline S. Bridges, in Ladies’ Home Journal.

MARCH.

The stormy March is come at last,
With wind and cloud and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast,
That through the snowy valley flies.

Ah, passing few are they who speak,
Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee;
Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,
Thou art welcome month to me.

For thou, to Northern lands again,
The glad and glorious sun dost bring,
And thou hast joined the gentle train
And wear’st the gentle name of Spring.

And, in thy reign of blast and storm,
Smiles many a long, bright sunny day,
When the changed winds are soft and warm,
And heaven puts on the blue of May.

Then sing aloud the gushing rills
And the full springs, from frosts set free,
That, brightly leaping down the hills,
Are just sent out to meet the sea.

The year’s departing beauty hides
Of wintry storms the sullen threat;
But in thy sternest frown abides
A look of kindly promise yet.

Thou bring’st the hope of those calm skies,
And that soft time of many showers,
When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,
Seems of a brighter world than ours.
—Royal Arcanum.

THE DOMESTIC SHEEP.
(_Ovis aries._)

It was a little strip of fur which adorned a lady’s cloak. It was soft and warm and black and curly. The lady called it astrakhan, but the sheep, whose lamb met an early death that its pleasing fine coat might become the covering of someone in far away America, still lives on the steppes of the Far East. Her master and herder belong to one of the wandering tribes which roam about Central Asia. Had the lamb lived to maturity its beautiful fine coat would have changed to coarse hair, very unlike the wool of the sheep we find in America. It would have grown to a large size; it would have had short horns, a very short, flat tail, with great bunches of fat on the haunches at either side.

There would have been among its companions some sheep entirely white; others white with black heads; but in its immediate family all would have been black throughout.

Imagine the little lamb taking the journey across the Eastern continent! Should we follow it in its journey we would find many interesting varieties of its kind. In crossing Syria and Asia Minor we would find the curious, flat-tailed sheep; their tails are most remarkable to one unaccustomed to the sight, for they are long masses of fat, sometimes weighing forty or fifty pounds, and often trailing upon the ground. In this case they are frequently supported by little sledges to relieve the animal of its burden. It seems impossible to understand why these tails should grow to this inconvenient and enormous length, when other breeds near by have practically no tails at all.

Leaving the country of the broad-tailed sheep and passing along the south of Europe, we find in Spain a very important and interesting variety, the Merino sheep. While in the mountains of Spain they are found in the greatest perfection, the breed has spread over many parts of Europe and has been introduced into South Africa, America and Australia. It is noted for the fineness of its wool and is considered by many to be the most profitable of all sheep.

For some reason the Merino sheep has not found favor in the British isles, but we find there many other well known round-tailed varieties.

The Shetland and Orkney breeds have in their fleece soft, fine wool, largely intermixed with hair. They are of small size and horns may be found on both sexes, although they may be lacking in the ewes.

The soft-wooled sheep of Scotland are a breed nearly extinct; they have short horns, lank bodies and short wool.

In Wales we find two races of small size; one lives in the higher mountains, is dark in color, has much hair mixed with soft wool, and horns are found on both sexes. The other race is without horns and is covered with a soft wool. Both varieties are hardy and are noted for their fine flesh.

The Irish Wicklow sheep were originally very similar to the Welsh variety. Among other Irish breeds the Kerry is best known. It is wild in disposition, larger than the Welsh sheep, with the horns frequently absent in the ewes.

The hardiest and boldest of all the British races are the black-faced Heath breed; these have dark colored limbs and faces and coarse and shaggy fleeces.

The Cheviot breed are hornless, with white limbs and faces; they are heavier than the Heath breed, but have less endurance.

The old Norfolk breed of the east of England are strong and active, with horns, which are thick and spiral in the rams; the body and limbs are long, the face and legs black, and the silky wool is of medium length.

The Dartmoor and Exmoor sheep are “the breeds of the older forests, commons and chases.” They are of small size, may or may not have horns, have dark or gray faces and have wool of medium length.

The well known Southdowns have no horns; they have dark brown faces, ears and limbs; the head is always comparatively small, the lower jaws are thin and fine and the space between the ears is well covered with wool.

The Dorset and pink-nosed Somerset breed are in the southwest of England. They are known by their long white limbs and their white faces; the muzzle is sometimes flesh-colored and the wool is of medium length.

Then there are the various long-wooled sheep of which the new Leicester breed is considered first in respect to form and ability to fatten readily. Other long-wooled sheep are the Lincolnshire, the Romney Marsh, the Cotswold, the Devonshire, the Notts and the long-wooled Irish breeds.

There are other breeds less well known and less important, but the breeds of the British isles are by no means confined to that locality. They have been taken to the United States and to other countries. In fact, some variety of domestic sheep can be found in every land, and no animal is more useful to its owner.

In spite of the various breeds, the characteristics of all domestic sheep are similar. They have not the courage and independence of their cousins, the wild sheep of the mountains. These delight to roam to the highest altitudes, some species being found as high as 22,000 feet above the level of the sea. No other animal save the musk ox and the mountain goat can exist at this height. Doubtless the domestic sheep would thrive better if it could escape the low levels and the plains, for, like the wild sheep, it is a mountain-loving creature. It has adapted itself to the lower altitude, but at a great loss of its original characteristics. It has to an extreme extent become a dependent animal, unable to care for itself, totally lacking in courage and resources, very easily frightened and without marked character. An entire flock is easily startled by any unusual noise; thunder and lightning completely unsettles them, and human efforts to quiet them often prove unavailing.

Brehm tells us that “on the steppes of Russia and Asia the shepherds often have the most arduous tasks in preserving their charges. During a snowstorm or thunderstorm the panicstricken flocks disperse in a wild stampede, rushing out into the wastes of the steppe like senseless creatures, and then resignedly suffer themselves to be snowed under or to freeze without making any attempt to shelter themselves from the storm or even to seek for food.” In Russia a goat is generally used as a leader for a flock of sheep, but even a goat is not always able to keep the stupid animals under proper guidance. During a thunderstorm they huddle together and cannot be made to move. “If lightning strikes into the flock,” says Lenz, “many are killed at once; if fire breaks out in the sheepfold the sheep do not run out, but, on the contrary, sometimes rush into the fire.” The best manner of rescuing sheep from a burning fold or structure is to let the sheep dog to which they are accustomed, drive them out.

To a certain degree, however, the sheep exhibits mental capacity. It learns to know its keeper, obeys his call and displays a certain amount of affection and docility towards him. It seems to have a liking for music, or at least it patiently and passively listens to the bagpipe playing of the shepherd, and it has evidently some premonition of impending changes in the weather.

Sheep thrive best on a diet of various dried plants. The botanist Linnæus states that they “feed on three hundred and twenty-seven of the common Central European plants, avoiding one hundred and forty-one. Ranunculus, cypress spurge, meadow-saffron, shave-grass, wild cabbage or skunk cabbage and rushes are poison to it. It is fond of salt and fresh drinking water is necessary to its well being.”

The mother usually gives birth to but one lamb, although occasionally there are more. The little creature must first have human care, but later they are permitted to follow their mother, which shows great affection for her offspring.

A sheep may live to be fourteen years of age, though at nine or ten years it will lose most of its teeth and cannot maintain itself by grazing.

John Ainslie.

THE BEAUTY OF A STORM.

The person standing by the window watching the progress of the storm may see some of its beauty, but he will miss the most vital part—its very spirit.

Perhaps the majority of people looking out of the window this morning exclaimed, “What a disagreeable day!” And so it might seem to those who remained indoors; and, alas! also to many pedestrians who are not attuned to Nature and who have not yet seen the wisdom of providing themselves with suitable attire for stormy weather, instead of foolishly clinging to the old idea that “anything will do to wear on a rainy day.”

These very likely were oblivious to the beauty which surrounded them and failed to be touched by the spirit of the storm.

To many besides myself, however, I hope it was a “beautiful morning.” When I started forth to walk the wind, which was quite strong, was blowing in fitful gusts, while the rain fell heavily, in spite of which state of things the note of a brown creeper smote my ear cheerily, assuring me that one little friend, at least, was sharing my enjoyment.

After about two hours, during which time the rain had not ceased to fall, I set out on my return walk. The first sound to attract attention, on again setting foot out doors, was the crackling of the needles in a tall pine tree, and I was surprised to note that the rain was freezing on the trees. It had not seemed cold enough. Very soon there was sleet mixed with the rain, which changed again presently to snow and sleet. Then the snow and the wind commenced a mad frolic, and Oh! how beautiful they made the world! Who could be deaf to the deep-toned music of the wind roaring through the upper branches of the trees!

The spirit of the storm entered into my veins and a wild delight seized me. I could have shouted aloud with the mere joy of living. The redbird’s call note was as the greeting of a friend, and the hairy woodpecker’s loud “pique” seemed to say “Hi! down there; this is a world worth living in!”

It is in such moments as these that our unity with Nature is most strongly felt and our co-partnership with the elements realized. We are as much a part of the great and wonderful universe as the stars or the clouds, the mountains or the sea.

Thus may the storm spirit embrace our spirit as the wind and rain and snow encircle our bodies. If the invisible and visible parts of our being be both equally prepared to face the elements, we shall return from our encounter with them exalted in mind and refreshed in body; with new life in our veins, and in our hearts new wonder at the beauty of Nature in her wilder moods.

Anne Wakely Jackson.

The snow-plumed angel of the north
Has dropped his icy spear;
Again the mossy earth looks forth,
Again the streams gush clear.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE VIOLET.

With the exception of the rose, no other plant is so widely distributed and at the same time so universally admired as the Violet. Not alone is it esteemed because of its beauty and fragrance, but a wealth of romance, of historical associations and mythical lore have clustered around the purple blossoms, endearing them to the poet and scientist alike.

The Violet was formally baptized with the ancient Latin name Viola in 1737. Since that time, by some strange oversight, botanists have allowed the name to remain unchanged. Two hundred and fifty species of the Violet have been described, although a more careful study of the genus has reduced the number to one hundred or more species. Three-fourths of these forms are found in the temperate Northern Hemisphere and the balance in the Southern. Under these diverse conditions of growth the plants assume many seemingly unnatural characteristics. Thus, in Brazil a species of Violet is eaten like spinach, while others found in Peru are violent purgatives. Among certain Gaelic tribes the plants are highly esteemed as a cosmetic, and the ancients largely used the flowers to flavor wines.

Whatever other attributes a plant may possess, it is predestined in large measure to waste its fragrance on the desert air, unless it catches the fancy of the minstrel or tips the bolts that fly from Cupid’s bow. In fact, the Violets were originally white, until they were accidentally struck by Cupid’s dart, which was hurled at Diana, and since then the petals have been “purple with love’s wounds.” Hence Shakespeare calls the Violet “Cupid’s flower of purple dye.” Another reason for the change from white to purple is found in the jealousy of Venus, who, envious of Cupid’s admiration of the purity of the flowers, changed them all to blue.

The Greek myth, however, would certainly not be content if it could not more fully account for the origin of the Violet, and so it appears from the classic legend that Ianthea, the most beautiful of Diana’s nymphs, while dancing in the woodlands, was pursued by the sun god, and in order to save her favorite the immortal huntress changed her into a Violet. The name Ion was given to the plants by the Greeks after the nymphs of Ionia presented the flowers to Jupiter. The Thunderer evidently saw something more than a mere blossom in the dainty flowers, for it appears that the Violet became a beautiful priestess in Juno’s temple, known as Io. In order to protect her from the jealousy of his consort, Jupiter was forced to change the young goddess into a heifer, and whenever she lowers her head to feed, the white violet springs from her perfumed breath as it comes in contact with the soil.

Among the ancients the Violet was the flower of honor. It was the sacred flower of the Acropolis, and the “Athenian crowned with Violets” was a distinction much sought after. Pindar writes of “Violet-crowned Athens,” and in the “Cyprea” it is said that Violets were among the perfumes employed by Venus to win from Paris the prize of beauty.

No less esteemed were the purple blossoms among the more rugged people of the North, for a Saxon legend tells how Czernebogh, god of the Vandals, lived with his beautiful daughter in a stately castle. When Christianity swept through Saxony, destroying all evidences of the heathen faiths, the god and his castle were turned into rocks, and the lovely daughter became a Violet, nestling among the crags. Whoever is fortunate enough to discover the hidden flower will restore the maiden and the castle to their original form and may claim this Saxon Flora as his bride.

In Norse mythology the Violet is called Tyr’s flower, and this is the first instance in which the modest plant became disassociated from the realm of love and assumed the guise of war. Tyr’s violet mantle, however, in later years, fell upon the great Napoleon, who adopted the flower as his emblem. He was, in fact, called by his followers Pere de la Violette, and upon going into exile Napoleon assured his friends that he would return with the Violets. Hence the flower became the sacred symbol by which his followers recognized each other. When asked, “Do you like the Violet?” if the reply was “Oui” the answerer was not a confederate. If, however, the reply came, “Eh, bien,” they recognized a brother conspirator and completed the sentence, “It will appear again in the spring.”

During the middle ages the Violet became the chosen symbol to the minstrel and troubadour, of loyalty and faithful love. A blue Violet was the first love token passed by Clemence Isaure through a hole in the wall of her convent garden to her noble lover, Count Raymond, of Toulouse, and in its association as a bridal flower Milton used it to carpet Eve’s bower in Paradise.

Charles S. Raddin.

THE ROUND-LOBED LIVERWORT.
(_Hepatica hepatica._)

All the woodland path is broken
By warm tints along the way,
And the low and sunny slope
Is alive with sudden hope,
When there comes the silent token
Of an April day—
Blue hepatica.
—Dora Read Goodale.

There are many plants that are closely related to the mythology and folklore of nations. This is even true of many that are native only in our own young country. The Liverwort, or Hepatica, as it is more often called, though it is not entirely free from mythical association among the Indian tribes, does not enter largely into their folklore.

This beautiful plant has, however, been the inspiration of many poets. Helen Chase calls the Hepaticas

“Hooded darlings of the spring,
Rarest tints of purple wearing.”

The delicate blue of the flowers is mentioned by William Cullen Bryant:

“The liverleaf put forth her sister blooms
Of faintest blue.”

The life of this plant is poetical. During the summer months a luxuriant growth of leaves is produced. As cold weather approaches these lie down upon the ground and are soon covered by the falling leaves, which have been nipped from the trees by bite of the frost king. Soon, too, they are covered with snow. In this warm cradle they sleep through the winter, yet, as it were, with open eyes for the dawn of spring. Had the Hepatica the power of reason we would say that it longed for spring, for after the first few warm days that herald the approach of that season there is activity in every part of the plant. It does not wait to produce new leaves, but in an incredibly short time sends up its flower stalk and spreads its blue, purple or white petals to the warm rays of the sun. The Hepatica is truly a harbinger of spring, and in Eastern North America, from Southern British America to the Gulf of Mexico, its appearance introduces the new season. In the northern portion of its habitat its flowers are among the first to grace the dreary, leafless forests. This Hepatica is also found in Europe and Asia. It is not only a flower of the forests of lower altitudes, but is also found in mountainous regions at an elevation of nearly three thousand feet.

This plant was first described by Linnæus in 1753, who gave it the name Hepatica, as he saw in the shape of the leaf a resemblance to the form of the liver.

Of the four known species of Hepaticas but one other is found in North America. This species has the lobes of the leaves pointed instead of round. In some localities it is quite as common as the plant of our illustration, and by many it is considered merely a variety of that form.

Bishop Coxe has said:

Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.

The word expressed by the beautiful and hardy Hepatica is confidence.

THE SPRING MIGRATION.
I. THE WARBLERS.

In two former papers I told you of some of the birds that spend their winters in the Gulf States. It is my purpose in the present article to tell some of the features of the great spring migration as viewed from a Mississippi standpoint; how myriads of the little fellows in yellow, black, white, and olive-green stop in these forests to rest and feed for a day or two, then under the impulse of a little-understood instinct continue their journey to the region of their birth. The migration takes place in successive waves, till the last one breaks upon us and spring is over.

In early March the first wave rolls in upon us; happy little creatures hop about and chatter among the opening buds and feast on the insect life awakened by the returning sun. On successive days or, perhaps, at intervals of a few days other waves roll in from the far lands of the Gulf and the Caribbean Sea, till the final one beats against these hills and we awake about the first of May to realize that summer, fervid, tropical, is here. For the months of March and April all is bustle among the feathered traveling public; after that the summer residents have things all their own way till the fall migration begins.

As the sun draws near the line you notice that up in the tops of the gum trees are little birds about the size of a savanna sparrow, and, viewed hastily, of much the same coloring. You know they are not savannas, because the savanna never frequents such places. Some of them have probably spent their winter in this latitude; but just now by their restless activity they tell us that the sap has begun to stir and that the great migration is about to begin. Closer inspection with a good glass will show four spots or patches of yellow, one on the crown, one under each wing, and another on the rump, hence the bird’s name, the yellow rumped warbler, sometimes known as the myrtle warbler. A month later you will scarcely recognize the males of this species, the dull brown of the winter coat being replaced by the shiny black of his bridegroom’s suit.

When the beech buds swell and the jessamine puts forth its little yellow trumpets to announce that spring has actually come, the first great wave comes flooding into the awakening woods. Here come the first arrivals, both sexes in coats of grayish blue, with shirtwaists of brilliant yellow, the male distinguished by a patch of rufous of an irregular crescent shape across the lower part of the throat and upper part of the breast. On fine sunshiny days the parula warbler, for that is his name, loves the topmost branches of the tallest trees; if the day is gloomy he comes down to the lower branches, affording a better opportunity to study him. His only note at these times is an insect-like buzz much in keeping with his diminutive size.

In the lowlands the Halesia or silver bell is putting out its graceful pendulous racemes of purest white, and it is time to look for the next migrant, the hooded warbler, one of the largest and finest of his race. A V of brilliant yellow coming down to the bill, covering the forehead and running backwards past the eye, bordered by a well defined band of intense black, and a back and tail of green slightly tinted with olive make him a marked bird. Unlike the parula, he cares nothing for treetops or sunshine; a perch on a swinging rattan vine or in a shrub in the dark woods hard by a canebrake is good enough for him.

As soon as the hooded warbler appears we will see the black and white creeping warbler, the connecting link (so to speak) between the creepers and warblers in both appearance and habits. Like our common brown creeper, he loves the dense woods, but unlike him seems to prefer the tops and higher branches. Alternate patches and streaks of white and black without a suggestion of the yellow or olive green so characteristic of his genus make his identification easy. His note is simple and short; in fact the sounds that he emits in his journeys are scarcely worth being called a song.

The flood tide comes about the first of April and lasts two weeks. Prominent among the multitude of visitors you may see a warbler slightly smaller than the hooded but of the same general coloring, yellow, black and green, only in this bird the black is in three patches, one on the top of the head, the others running from the bill back and down. This is the Kentucky warbler, a lover of the ground and of the low growths. There is another that the hasty observer might mistake for the hooded or the Kentucky, and that is the Maryland yellowthroat. The black on the latter is confined to broad bands of rich velvety black below the eyes; the yellow is more of a sulphur than a chrome shade, and the green is more nearly olive than in the two just mentioned. Many of this species make their summer home in this latitude, making their nests and rearing their broods in the mat of vines and weeds along the fence rows. The usual song is wichety, wichety, wichety, uttered with the cheerful vigor that makes the Carolina wren so attractive. During the months of April and May, 1900, I had frequent opportunities to observe two pairs of yellow throats that had built just inside the fence that parallels the railroad; the males, as they caught sight of me coming down the track, would mount the highest weed within reach and sing with all their might, but as I came opposite their perch would drop suddenly down into the weeds and remain there till I was well past, then resume their perch and song as long as I was in hearing.

Another of this family conspicuous for its brilliant coloring is the prothonotary warbler. Yellow breast, head, neck and shoulders, yellowish olive wings and back and darker olive tail render him conspicuous against any woodland background. If you want to see him during these busy April days we must go where he is, i. e., in the cypress or willow swamps. The dark gray festoons of Spanish moss (Tillandsia usneoides) and the tender young green of the cypress leaves afford both contrast for his bright colors and provisions for his larder. Some of this species also nest here, choosing for their homes oftentimes the holes made by some of our smaller woodpeckers in dead willow stubs. I remember one morning seeing a cheerful flock of prothonotary and parula warblers and noticing one of the former leave his companions and fly to a clump of willows where another less brilliantly colored, presumably the female, joined him. Together they inspected the willow stubs, running in and out and up and down the trunks, peering into every cavity. Finally they found one that met their requirements, then, after a short but earnest discussion, flew away through the swamp.

Inhabiting the marshes and swamps is the Louisiana water thrush, a slender brown bird shaped much like the brown thrasher, only much smaller, being about six inches in length as compared with the thrasher’s eleven or twelve. A gifted singer, he is very wild and shy, always resenting the intrusion of the lords of creation upon his quiet haunts, flitting quietly on before you in the shadows, evincing his distrust of your motives by an occasional angry “clink.” He well illustrates the principle of compensation: though denied the brilliant yellows and greens of his warbler brethren, he surpasses them all in the quality of his song, as free, as beautiful, as wild as the bird himself. All the individuals of this species that I saw in three years’ observation were either in the water beeches (Carpinus caroliniana) that grew so thickly along the creek or in the sweet gums and cypress along the borders of an immense swamp.