Chapter II: Part 2

It is strange how few people understand dogs, or any other animal for that matter.

The majority seem to think that all we are good for is to be kicked and abused.

The people at both my homes are as kind to their animals as to their children, and love and care for us just as we need.

I suppose that my history is not a very important one, but it will show how a dog can love and appreciate and tell what a truly happy life I have had so far, because I have been with good-hearted people.

I am not a very old dog yet, but I hope to live many years with my kind friends in the beautiful home I now have, and wish all animals were as well off as,

Yours truly,
Dick.

Katharine Watkins Lawson.

THE VIOLET-GREEN SWALLOW.
(_Tachycineta thalassina._)

The Violet-green Swallow is one of the most beautiful of the Hirundinidæ, or family of swallows. There are about eighty species of the family and they are world-wide in their distribution. These tireless birds seem to pass almost the entire day on the wing in pursuit of insects upon which they feed almost exclusively. They can outfly the birds of prey, and the fact that they obtain their food while flying enables them to pursue their migrations by day and to rest at night.

The Violet-green Swallow frequents the Pacific coast from British Columbia on the north, southward in the winter to Guatemala and Costa Rica. Its range extends eastward to the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains.

Its nest, which is made of dry grass and copiously lined with a mass of feathers, is variously placed. Sometimes the knot-holes of oaks and other deciduous trees are selected. They have also been known to use the deserted homes of the cliff swallow. Mr. Allen states that they “nest in abandoned woodpeckers’ holes, but at the Garden of the Gods and on the divide between Denver and Colorado City, we found them building in holes in the rocks.” This Swallow is quite common in Western Colorado, where they have been observed on the mountain sides at an altitude of eight to over ten thousand feet. In “The Birds of Colorado” Mr. W. W. Cooke says: “A few breed on the plains, but more commonly from six to ten thousand five hundred feet” above the level of the sea. He also adds that they begin laying late in June or early in July and desert the higher regions in August and the lower early in September.

The notes of this exquisite bird are described by an observer who says that they “consist of a rather faint warbling twitter, uttered as they sit on some low twig, their favorite perch; when flying about they seem to be rather silent.”

The Violet-green Swallows, like their sister species, usually nest and migrate in colonies.

Isn’t it wonderful, when you think,
How the wild bird sings his song,
Weaving melodies, link by link,
The whole sweet summer long?
Commonplace is a bird alway,
Everywhere seen and heard,—
But all the engines of earth, I say,
Working on till Judgment Day,
Never could make a bird.
—J. S. Cutler.

A PRETTY HOUSE-FINCH.

My first meeting with the blithesome house-finch of the west occurred in the city of Denver, Colo. It could not properly be called a formal introduction, but was none the less welcome on that account. I had scarcely stepped out upon the busy street before I was accosted with a kind of half twitter and half song that was new to my eastern ears. “Surely that is not the racket of the English sparrow, it is too musical,” I remarked to the friend walking by my side.

Peering among the trees and houses, caring little for the people who stopped to stare at me, I presently focused my field-glass upon a small, finch-like bird, whose body was striped with gray and brown, and whose crown, face, breast and rump were beautifully tinged or washed with crimson. What could this chipper little city chap be, with his trim form and pretty manners, in such marked contrast with those of the alien English sparrow? Afterward he was identified as the house-finch, which rejoices in the high-sounding Latin name of Carpodacus mexicanus frontalis. He is rather an exclusive little bird, his range being only from the eastern border of the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific coast, chiefly south of the fortieth degree of north latitude in the interior regions.

He is certainly an attractive little fellow, and I wish we could offer sufficient inducements to bring him east. A bird like him is a boon and an ornament to the streets and parks of any city that he graces with his presence. No selfish recluse is he—no, indeed! In no dark gulch or arid wilderness, “far from human neighborhood,” does he take up his abode. He prefers the companionship of man to the solitudes of nature. In this respect he bears likeness to the English sparrow, but be it remembered that there the resemblance stops. Even his chirruping is musical as he flies overhead or protests from a tree or a telegraph wire against your ill-bred espionage. He and his more plainly clad mate build a neat cottage for their bairns about the houses, but do not clog up the spouting and make themselves a nuisance otherwise, as is the manner of their English cousins.

This finch is a minstrel, not one of the first class perhaps, but one that merits a high place among the minor songsters. I am tempted to call him an urban Arion, for there is real melody in his swinging, galloping little aria, running up and down the chromatic scale in a remarkable way. Many times did his matin voluntaries mingle with my half-waking morning dreams, as he is an early riser. His song is quite a complicated performance, considerably prolonged, and delivered with great rapidity, as if the busy minstrel were in a hurry to have done so that he could get at something else.

In my rambles he was found, not only in the cities of the plains, including Denver, Colorado Springs and Pueblo, but also in nearly all the mountain towns visited, Leadville, over ten thousand feet skyward, being, I believe, an exception. In the villages of Red Cliff and Glenwood, both beyond the continental divide, he was the same sprightly citizen, making himself very much at home. My observation is that these finches are more plentiful on the plains than in the higher altitudes and that they seldom venture farther up into the mountains than 8,000 or 9,000 feet. To give an example, in a recent rambling trip among the Rockies a few were seen at Georgetown, which is 8,476 feet above sea level; but my notes contain no record of this species having been seen in any of the higher localities visited.

Much as this finch cherishes the society of man, he is quite wary, and does not fancy being watched. As long as you go on your way without seeming to notice him, he also goes on his way, coming into plain sight and chirping and singing; but just stop to ogle him with your glass and see how quickly he will dart away or esconce himself behind a clump of foliage, uttering a protest which seems to say, “Why doesn’t that old fellow go about his own business!”

If in some way the American house-finch could be induced to come east, and the English sparrow could be given papers of extradition, the exchange would be a relief and benefit to the whole country.

Leander S. Keyser.

THE THRUSH’S SOLO.

There’s a robin’s invitation
And a bluebird’s message sweet,
Bidding us to Forest City
With its crooked moss-grown street;

Feathered folks and folks in ermine
Own the city with its trees,
Own the brooks and own the berries,
Own the dewdrops and the breeze.

There, to-day, there was a concert
In a snowy elder bush,
Opened with a thrilling solo
By a prima-donna thrush.

When the sweet brown-breasted singer
Hushed the wonder of her song,
From her listeners rose an encore
Echoing the hills along;

Tambourines the brooks were shaking,
Clapped the palms on every oak
And from old and trained musicians
Warbled rounds of music broke.

Winds that held their breath to listen
Swept adown the vine-clad rooms,
Crowned the little prima-donna
With soft-shaken elder blooms.
—Mrs. A. S. Hardy.

SPRINGS, GEYSERS AND ARTESIAN WELLS.

If the earth were transparent as the atmosphere we should see many things of wonderful interest and beauty beneath its surface. If we could see the mineral gems that lie beneath the earth’s surface they would rival in beauty the jeweled firmament above us. We should also see rivers and rivulets of crystal clearness and lakes of broad expanse. I can almost hear my young readers saying, “I wish we could look beneath the surface of the earth and see the wonderful and beautiful things it contains, just as we look up to the stars, or out of the window upon a landscape.” But let me remind them that nature has been very generous in furnishing rare and wonderful things for them to study and admire to which they can have easy access almost every day. The longest life is too short to study and admire more than a few of the things we may see upon the surface of the earth. Nature has opened a few doors so that we may walk in, study and admire the work she is carrying on in the darkness where the light of the sun never penetrates. Nature makes a free use of sunlight to perfect her most beautiful work upon the surface of the earth, but her most delicate and beautiful work beneath the surface of the earth is wrought by other agencies. Caves have been entered and explored by natural openings, and springs and rivers gush out at the surface of the earth, telling us plainly that they are fed by subterranean fountains and lakes.

Following the order of our topic, let us see what we can find out about underground streams and lakes, and why we know they exist when we seldom see them. We know that large rivers after flowing miles upon the surface of the earth suddenly drop into subterranean channels and reappear after running miles underground. Springs which are always flowing must be constantly fed from some source beneath the surface of the earth. In boring wells the augers, after going down to various depths, suddenly drop several feet, showing that they have reached a cavity in the earth or a fountain of water; if the water gushes up it is evident a fountain has been struck.

Where does the water come from to fill the underground lakes and reservoirs and keep the rivers constantly flowing? Geologists tell us that all the land surface of the earth was for vast ages under water; that the great oceans that now roll between the continents once covered them entirely, but after long ages mighty internal forces of the earth raised them above the ocean’s level. For a long time after the hills and mountains were raised above the surface of the ocean, where the valleys and prairies now are there were lakes and inland seas. The water in these lakes and seas did not all evaporate or find its way to the ocean by the rivers that flowed from them. Deep down into the earth much of it found its way, along the fissures and porous strata, until it reached some impervious stratum, as clay or granite. But as this first underground supply would in time become exhausted, by flowing into the ocean through the rivers they fed, nature has made further provision for keeping up the supply. Everywhere upon the surface of the earth where there is water or moisture evaporation is going on. The sun raises enormous quantities of water in the form of vapor, which forms clouds and descends in rain. A part of this water is soon restored to the sea by the rivers, but by far the largest portion penetrates the earth’s surface, as water would penetrate cloth or a sponge when poured upon it. Rain penetrating the earth goes down until it comes to some substance that it cannot penetrate. Then, in trying to find its level, it will distribute itself just as it does upon the surface of the earth. It will find its way into cavities, large and small, or following some underground channel or stratum, it may burst forth a clear and sparkling spring, or it may flow on a rivulet, or river, and perhaps enter into a great subterranean lake. The underground fountain or lake that keeps an artesian well spouting from year to year may be fed by a stream or lake in the heart of some distant mountain. Some artesian wells cease to flow after a while, showing that the fountain that supplies them is at least partially exhausted. We do not know to what depth water penetrates the earth. Artesian wells have been bored in recent years to the depth of four thousand feet. The temperature of springs and artesian wells is regulated by the temperature of the strata through which the water percolates. The geysers of Iceland send up enormous jets of hot water in the midst of Arctic cold.

The earth is nature’s great filter, cleansing and purifying the water from the impurities of the soil. As it passes through strata of gravel or clay, it becomes pure and wholesome to drink. Sometimes water passes through a stratum containing sulphur, iron or magnesia, and so we have mineral wells and springs. There is in Brown County, Illinois, an iron, a sulphur, and a magnesia spring within a few feet of each other.

Having considered underground streams and lakes, artesian wells, and geysers in a general way, we will now proceed to notice some of the most remarkable of each. Of underground lakes we know but little. We cannot enter them as we do a cave, and if we could now and then find an entrance to them, we should find little room between their surface and the strata above it for navigation. We infer their existence, because they are necessary to supply many underground rivers and smaller streams that come to the surface and discharge their waters into the ocean. Another proof of their existence is found in the large areas of country where deep water is struck at a uniform depth measuring from the ocean level. The bogs of Ireland are floating upon underground lakes.

Springs are gems of the first water, as the dealer in precious stones would say of a perfect diamond. They do not impress us with their size so much as the way they minister to our comfort. But few wells equal them in the variety and purity of their waters. I remember a spring back in New England, which burst forth from a bed of gravel at the side of a hill with such force that it seemed to fairly boil, though icy cold and clear as crystal. So violent was the ebullition that the gravel and pebbles were continually thrown to the surface. Then it ran leaping, gurgling and sparkling down a steep declivity, and was joined on the way by rivulets from three smaller springs, so that when it reached the level of the valley it became a quiet, well-behaved brook, the home of the speckled trout. In places where it spread out over a gravelly bed the birds would light upon the stones and sip the water, and fly away singing joyous notes for so exquisite a luxury. A half mile from its source this brook became quite broad and deep. It ran through a pasture, and cattle came and slaked their thirst.

Hot springs are numerous in all parts of the world. The water of most hot springs has decided mineral properties, for the reason that hot water passing through mineral strata will dissolve more of the mineral substance than cold water. Many hot springs are great resorts for invalids because of their curative properties. The famous Silver Spring in Florida has the dimensions of a small lake, and boats sail over it, and a small river continually flows from it. The inhabitants of Chaudes Aigues, France, use the water of the hot springs to cook their food, to wash their clothes, and warm their houses. The heat from these springs is worth about $30 per day, as it is equal to the heat produced by five tons of coal.

Few things in nature are more beautiful and impressive than a river bursting from the hillside, its clear water sparkling in the sunlight, seeming joyous at being free from its captivity. Among the most celebrated and beautiful of subterranean rivers is the Sorgues of Dauclûse, in France. It flows for miles through a cave, and discharges thirty cubic yards per second. Soon after it issues from the cave it divides into numerous irrigating channels, and spreads fertility over an area of more than eighty square miles. Echo River in Mammoth Cave is navigated by boats for nearly a mile, and in some places is two hundred feet wide. The Poik River in Austria flows through the famous cave of Planina. The cave can only be explored by a boat. Professor Schmidt, with three companions, navigated the river for more than a mile. Along the continental shores many outlets of subterranean rivers may be seen. In 1857 all that part of the sea adjacent to the southern point of Florida received an immense eruption of fresh water. Intelligent observers estimated that for more than a month this remarkable inundation of a subterranean river discharged as much water as the Mississippi, and spread all over the strait, thirty-one miles wide, that separates Key West from the mainland of Florida.

Among the wonders of Yellowstone Park the geysers are the most noted. One of them is called Old Faithful, because he always spouts on time. He gives a grand exhibition every hour, whether he has an audience or not. He spouts, and sputters, and hisses and throws a huge column of hot water into the air, and then quiets down and gets ready for another performance. Another geyser in Yellowstone Park is called the Beehive, being cone-shaped like the old-fashioned beehive. It throws up a column of water more than two hundred feet. Castle Geyser is another that throws up a larger column of hot water than either of the above. The falling water has built up a huge crater that resembles a castle, hence its name. But the largest geyser in Yellowstone Park is called the Giantess. The well or orifice through which it sends up its column of water is more than twenty feet in diameter. The steam arises after the water has been ejected. A body of water more than twenty feet in diameter ascends in one gigantic column to the height of ninety feet. Then from the apex of this column five jets shoot up, radiating slightly from each other to the height of two hundred and fifty feet from the ground. The earth trembles under the descending deluge of this vast column of water, a thousand hissing sounds are heard in the air, rainbows encircle the summits of the jets with a halo of celestial glory. The falling water plows up and bears away the shelly strata, and a seething flood pours down the slope into the river. It is the grandest and most terrible fountain in the world. Visitors have to wait hours and sometimes days before the geyser will entertain them with an exhibition of its power and beauty.

Commander Ford, of the British Navy, says that one of the geysers of Iceland, called the Stroker, can be excited to action by throwing stones and turf down into the pit, and that the geyser resents the insult by throwing them up. He found that it usually took about forty minutes after throwing in the stones before they were thrown up. It occurred to him that he might send his dinner down and have it sent back to him well cooked. So he wrapped a leg of mutton and a fowl in a cloth and threw them into the boiling caldron, where he would never see them again unless they were thrown up. After waiting the usual forty minutes he began to regret his venture, but the geyser was only seven minutes behind time, and up came his leg of mutton and fowl done to a turn. Aside from the beauty of the columns of water, vapor and steam geysers send up, the waters are all the time depositing carbonate of lime and silica, and building up craters of many interesting forms.

The principle on which artesian wells act is very simple and can be understood by any schoolboy. Though this principle is very simple, there are so many varying conditions that many expensive failures result. Millions of dollars have been spent to get pure wells of flowing water, with nothing to show but holes in the ground or a flow of useless mineral water, but sometimes a good quality of mineral water is obtained. At Henry, Illinois, a flowing well of sulphur water is highly valued by the people, who come many miles to obtain it, while a few miles north of Henry, at Bureau Junction, there is a well of soda water which is very palatable.

Some of the best authorities say that only flowing wells should be called artesian. I will refer to a few of the many flowing wells. The hot springs in many parts of the world are natural artesian wells, the water being forced up from great depths. It is estimated that there are more than fifty thousand wells east of the Mississippi River from one to two thousand feet in depth, drilled to obtain petroleum oil or the inflammable gas which accompanies it. These are as strictly artesian wells as those that send up water.

Among the most noted artesian wells is the one at Grenelle, in Paris. In boring this well, after going down one thousand seven hundred and ninety-seven feet and passing through a stratum of rock over a subterranean fountain, the drill suddenly fell fourteen feet and the water soon rose above the surface. The temperature of the water coming from this well is eighty-two degrees, Fahrenheit. It is conducted by pipes to the hospital in the town, for heating purposes. The bore in most artesian wells is from three to six inches in diameter, but the one at Passy, near Paris, is twenty-eight inches in diameter and one thousand nine hundred and twenty-five feet deep.

In town and country a pure water supply is of the utmost importance to the health of the people and in many countries it can only be obtained by deep and expensive boring. Various uses are made of water flowing from artesian wells. In many places it is used to propel machinery. In the desert of Sahara artesian wells have become of great value in making the country near them habitable, as the flow is sufficient to irrigate large areas of land. Two new villages have been built in the desert and two hundred thousand palm trees have been planted about these wells. In the Western part of the United States, where the rainfall is limited, many artesian wells have been bored, the water being largely used for irrigation. In California more than forty thousand acres are irrigated from flowing wells. The average depth of these wells is about two hundred and fifty feet and the average discharge eighty thousand gallons per day.

M. S. Hall.

WHERE WE FOUND THE LADY-BIRDS.
(A TRUE INCIDENT.)

One spring we were cleaning away the leaves and ice from about the roots of a little thicket of white Scotch roses, as we have always called the low-growing, small-blossomed white rose so popular in many country places.

The sunshine had not warmed the air enough to melt the snow and ice which had been formed in early winter about the roots and which held together a mass of oak leaves driven by the wind to this hiding-place or else put there by the farmer in the fall. One lump of ice about the size of a man’s fist had been very hard to dislodge from the rose bushes and as it was brought out by the teeth of our iron rake we picked it up to show to some interested bystanders and to our surprise, and theirs also, we found a number of the small orange-colored beetles usually called lady-birds closely imbedded in this icy prison.

Breaking off a part of the lump which held a half dozen or more of the tiny beetles, we carried it into the house and allowing it to melt in our hands we were surprised to find the lady-birds slowly begin to come back to life and its pleasures. They seemed at first as stupid and drowsy as any other mortals when just aroused from a heavy sleep, but in an hour’s time they were flying about the room and finally all gathered on the window where the sunshine was streaming in with greatest light and warmth.

The children who had at first mourned over the supposed death of these special insect pets of children were never tired of telling the story afterward of how “the lady-birds could freeze to death all winter and then wake up and fly in the springtime.”

Mary Catherine Judd.

CHERRY AND I.

No one knows where the alder boughs lean,
And the willow dips its head,
And the whitest pebbles sleep and dream
In their sandy, wave-washed bed.
Where the mosses creep o’er fallen trees,
As softly asleep they lie,
Lulled by the drowsy hum of bees—
No one but Cherry and I.

No one knows how the cardinal flower,
Velvety, gorgeous and tall,
Was ’prisoned fast in a virgin bower
Of golden thread for a thrall,
That the dodder spun one summer day,
When only we two were nigh;
No one else saw—so no one can say—
No one but Cherry and I.

No one knows where the blue-berries hide,
In the fern beds, thick and green,
Where the mossy floor is soft and wide,
And the sunlight sifts between
Layers of leaves, in the roof o’erhead,
With never a glimpse of sky;
Where the trillium’s cup is the wild bee’s bed—
No one but Cherry and I.

No one knows where the oriole’s nest
Swings by a silvery thread,
Backward and forth by the wild grape pressed,
That drops from the boughs o’erhead.
Where we find the first wild strawberry,
No one could tell, should they try:
For a chestnut heifer is Cherry,
And a country milkmaid, I.
—Elizabeth Walling.

First row:
Asterias ochracea (California.)
Asterias vulgaris (Massachusetts.)
Second row:
Asterias forbesii (Rhode Island.)
Asterias forbesii (Massachusetts.)
Third row:
Nidorella armata (Panama.)
Asterina miniata (California.)

STARFISHES.

One of the most unique and interesting branches of the animal kingdom is that division called by scientists Echinodermata, comprising animals familiarly known as starfishes, sea urchins, sand dollars and sea cucumbers. So far as is known no member of this group of animals has ever ventured on land or into fresh water. All are inhabitants of the ocean and are found from the tide-washed shore to the abysses of the sea.

The present article deals with the true starfishes (Asteroidea) and a good idea of the general structure may be gained by a careful examination of a specimen of the common five-finger (Asterias vulgaris) so common on the New England coast. It is made up of a central disk or body, from which extend five rays or arms, whence the name starfish. The animal is protected by a hard framework or skeleton, composed of many limestone plates, attached by a tough membrane and covered with a skin. Between these plates there are many small openings through which the water enters the body cavity. The plates are armed with numerous spines, attached by a ball and socket joint. Some of these spines bear little pincer-like organs called pedicellariæ, which are capable of considerable movement. Many of these little organs are arranged in groups about the spines, which swell at the point of attachment to the surface of the starfish, thus forming a shelf or base, around which these organs arrange themselves in the form of a wreath, the spine projecting high above the center. The exact function of these little organs is not known, although they have been seen to catch small animals, such as crustacea, and this is probably one of their duties.

The lower or actinal surface of each arm is deeply channeled and perforated by many holes or pores, through which the little ambulacra or water-feet are thrust. These serve as organs of locomotion, of respiration and of perception. These water-feet form a part of the wonderful water-vascular system, which consists of a madreporic body, or sieve-like organ, opening on the dorsal or actinal surface and situated between two rays. It opens into a tube called the stone canal, which enters a circular vessel called the circum oral water tube, surrounding the mouth, and a long radial canal, to which the water-feet are attached, opens from this tube and extends along the inner surface of each ray. The water enters the madreporic body, circulates through the stone canal, the circular and radial tubes, and finds its exit through the ambulacra. The water system is directed and controlled by a set of nerves, extending from a ring of nerve matter surrounding the mouth.

The true vascular or blood system consists of a heart or hæmal canal, which runs parallel with the stone canal from the madreporic body to the oral water tube. A set of circular and radial vessels supplies every part of the animal with the vital fluid.

The digestive system is simple and consists of a mouth, a stomach, which is large and sends a lobe into the base of each arm, and an intestine of greater or lesser length, ending in a small anal opening on the dorsal surface. The cœca or liver consists of two long, tree-like masses, nearly filling each ray and connecting with the stomach by a short duct.

Starfishes are very destructive to the oyster beds along the Atlantic coast of the United States, thousands of bushels of oysters being destroyed in a few days by them. The little starfishes attack the young oysters and as the former increase in size they move about in vast numbers, resembling in this respect the grasshoppers and locusts of the west and being fully as destructive. In a paper in a Bulletin of the United States Fish Commission, by Henry C. Rowe, it is stated that in 1882 $90,000 worth of oysters were destroyed in six months and $9,000 were spent in the same period in catching the starfishes. The method of catching these animals is interesting. Devices called “tangles” and “mops” are used. These consist of a heavy iron frame, to which about twenty small ropes, ending in a large bunch of cotton waste, are fastened. These “mops” are drawn over the oyster beds and the starfishes become entangled in the waste and are then drawn on board the vessel. As many as 1,500 starfish have been taken from a single “mop.”

The following account, published in the Evening Register, of New Haven, Conn., April 3, 1884, will serve as an example of the destructive habits of these animals: “It was reported yesterday that between November 1, 1883, and the close of navigation in December, there were caught on oyster beds adjoining the Bridgeport public beds about 15,000 bushels of starfish. Since October 1 they have destroyed over 900 acres. From six to ten steamers have been catching starfish during the past six months, at an expense of $5,000.”

When oystermen first knew of the destruction caused by the starfishes, they spent much time and labor in collecting the injurious animals, cutting off an arm or two and then throwing the mutilated body and dismembered arms back into the water, not knowing that the arms would grow out again. The animals are now collected and used as a fertilizer. The interesting power of reproducing lost arms is well illustrated on the plate, the individual figured having one perfect arm and four new ones just starting to grow.

The method of eating among some of the common starfishes is curious. When the shell of an oyster is too large to be swallowed, the starfish actually projects its stomach from its mouth, surrounds the shell with this everted organ, and digests its prey in this position. The sight presented in an aquarium by a number of these animals in this attitude is truly wonderful and odd. Another interesting performance of a member of this group is that of righting itself when placed on its back. This is performed in the following manner: One or more of the rays is twisted about until the sucking feet get a firm hold on the ground or the object upon which it is resting; this is followed by a succession of similar movements farther back in the row of ambulacra, so that the whole ray is finally twisted around and lies flat on the ground. The other arms then turn in a similar manner and the starfish is soon “right side up.”

Though hidden away in dark corners of the sea, the starfish is able to see, being quite well supplied with visual organs. The end of each ray is slightly turned up and at its summit is situated a little red eye. A long nerve extends from this eye-spot to the ring of nerve matter which surrounds the mouth.

The Atlantic and Pacific coasts abound in several species of interesting starfishes, several of which are illustrated on the plate. The most numerous of these is the common five-finger (Asterias forbesii), found abundantly on the shores of the New England states. This animal loves to hide among the rocks and seaweed, and a search at low tide will always reveal a host of them. Along the sandy shores of Narragansett Bay they may be collected at low water among the seaweed, where they feed upon bivalve mollusks, such as cockles, arks and clams.

One of the largest and handsomest of the starfishes is the Giant Mountain Starfish (Oreaster reticulatus), so common in the waters of the Bahama Islands. This species attains a diameter of fifteen or sixteen inches and is very high in the center. Its upper surface is reticulated by the crossing of the hard parts of the skeleton, and beautiful ornaments may be made by removing the softer parts and leaving only the skeleton, which forms a peculiarly latticed framework. This species is found on both sides of the Atlantic ocean; it is a common starfish in the West Indies, inhabits the coast of the United States from Florida to South Carolina and is abundant on the shores of the Cape Verde Islands.

The most common starfish of the Pacific coast is the Ochre-colored Starfish (Asterias ochracea), which ranges from Sitka, Alaska, to San Diego, California, the last mentioned locality being one of the best. It is a large species, frequently attaining a diameter from tip to tip of the arms of sixteen inches. When alive it is of a rich ochre color or brown, and the surface is beautifully reticulated by numerous club-shaped spines arranged in rows. This species is as much an enemy to the oysters of the Pacific coast as is the common five-finger to those of the Atlantic coast.

Another common starfish of the coast of California is the Vermilion Starfish, which may be collected by thousands at San Diego and Monterey. The body is very broad and the rays short and wide. It is in shape quite suggestive of the foot of a pelican or duck. The upper surface is beset with small, heavy spines, which are arranged in little festoons on the five rays. Its name is very appropriate, for it is of a rich vermilion color, varying from this to rose, yellowish or purple.

A starfish of peculiar design and startling aspect is the Armed Starfish (Nidorella armata), which is an inhabitant of the warm waters of the Isthmus of Panama. It is like a star in form, the rays being short and wide. The edge is bordered by large, squarish plates and the upper surface is marked by many little holes, giving it the aspect of a fine sieve. But the most peculiar ornamentation and the character from which the species derives its name is the row of long, cornucopia-shaped spines which extend along the center of each ray from the tip to the center of each disk. Besides this regular row of spines there are several projecting from the surface of the starfish between the rays. Taken as a whole, the dorsal surface is not unlike a miniature African shield.

During the past twenty years many interesting and curious forms of starfishes have been dredged by the United States Fish Commission Steamer Albatross, in deep water, off the eastern coast of America. Some of the species were the common forms found along the shore, such as the common five-finger (Asterias vulgaris), which ranges from low water to two hundred eight fathoms. But the majority were species new to science, which were brought up from a maximum depth of two thousand three hundred sixty-nine fathoms, a depth of about three miles.

One can hardly realize the difficulties attending the gathering of these animals from such a depth. Let us imagine that a dredge is dropped from the top of the Masonic Temple, in Chicago, a height of about two hundred and seventy feet, and drawn along the street to catch such insects, mollusks and other life as might be there. It is manifest that only a small percentage of the fauna would be represented by such a method. The depth mentioned is only forty-five fathoms, and if there is difficulty in securing a representative collection for this moderate distance, what must be the almost insurmountable obstacles when that distance is multiplied fifty times. With all these difficulties, however, the animals of the abysses of the ocean are being collected and classified.

Frank Collins Baker.

THE FIRE-WEED OR GREAT WILLOW-HERB.
(_Chamaenerion angustifolium._)

Scattered throughout the world, but more abundant in the temperate regions of America, there are three hundred and fifty species of plants that are closely related and grouped by the botanist as the evening primrose family. By him this family is called the Onagraceæ, possibly derived from two Greek words, meaning wine and a hunt or eager pursuit. The Greek name is supposed, by some authorities, to have been applied to a plant a portion of which when eaten would develop a taste for wine. Even now the roots of some species are used in scenting wine. The word may also be derived from the Greek word meaning the ass, and used here because many of the species bear elongated, erect and pointed leaves resembling the ears of that animal.

This family includes a number of interesting plants. Here are classed the fuchsias or ladies’ eardrops, of which there are many brilliant varieties under cultivation as house plants. These are natives of the mountain regions from Mexico southward. Another cultivated plant is the Clarkia, a native of Oregon and California.

Among the more common wild species are the evening primroses, the willow-herbs and the enchanter’s night-shade, named Circaea in honor of Circe, the enchantress. Why Linnæus should have chosen this plant with which to honor Circe is difficult to understand, for the Circaea is an insignificant plant of the woods.

The Fire-weed is one of the most interesting of the wild members of the family. It is abundant in dry fields and along roadsides throughout that portion of North America lying north of North Carolina, Kansas, Arizona and California. With its spike-like racemes of rather broad purple or sometimes white flowers, it beautifies many waste places from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast. A plant of the Fire-weed is a continuous bouquet, for it blossoms from June to October. The flowers are followed by attractive fruits which are long and slender and when ripe split into four sections, thus releasing the numerous seeds which have a tuft of long cottony hairs by means of which they are wafted by the wind to long distances. Many of these seeds fall where the conditions are not favorable for growth, but they retain their vitality for a long time.

The Fire-weed is a plant of the open country and not of the forest. It must have a great deal of sunshine. When its seeds fall in the deep shade of a dense forest, where the rays of the sun penetrate but a short distance if at all, they cannot grow. But let the woodman or a fire lay low or destroy the noble growth of trees, then there is soon a transformation—the landscape is enlivened by the bright flowers of the Fire-weed. Where the northern coniferous forests have been burned, it is not an uncommon sight to see a Fire-weed plant, from six to ten feet tall, with its broad top of flowers closely contrasted with the blackened remains of a forest monarch. The Fire-weed is an excellent illustration of the perfect provision that is found in Nature for the perpetuation of the species. Its seeds are distributed by both animate and inanimate forces. They are dropped on both favorable and unfavorable soil. If on the latter, their structure is such that the little embryo plant within the seed can lie dormant for a long time. The deep forest is an unfavorable soil for the seed of the Fire-weed, but remove the trees and it can find no better home.

THE SEA OR MARSH PINK.
(_Sabbatia stellaris._)

The Sea or Marsh Pink, or the Rose of Plymouth, as it is frequently called, is a member of the beautiful gentian family. The genus Sabbatia, a name adopted in honor of an Italian botanist, includes about fourteen species, all natives of eastern North America and Mexico.

Our illustration is taken from “Nature’s Garden” and Neltje Blanchan, its author, writes as follows regarding those species of the marsh pinks that are confined to the vicinity of the Atlantic ocean: “Three exquisite members of the Sabbatia tribe keep close to the Atlantic coast in salt meadows and marshes, along the borders of brackish rivers, and very rarely in the sand at the edges of fresh-water ponds a little way inland. From Maine to Florida they range, and less frequently are met along the shores of the Gulf of Mexico so far as Louisiana. How bright and dainty they are! Whole meadows are radiant with their blushing loveliness. Probably if they consented to live far away from the sea, they would lose some of the deep, clear pink from out their lovely petals, since all flowers show a tendency to brighten their colors as they approach the coast.

“The Sea or Marsh Pink, whose graceful alternate branching stem attains a height of two feet only under most favorable conditions, from July to September opens a succession of pink flowers that often fade to white. The yellow eye is bordered with carmine. They measure about one inch across, and are usually solitary at the ends of branches, or else sway on slender peduncles from the axils.”

This plant is frequently called the American Centaury, but it is not the plant of which Pliny wrote these words: “Centaury, it is said, effected a cure for Chiron (the Centaur), on the occasion when, while handling the arms of Hercules, his guest, he let one of his arrows fall upon his foot: hence it is said that by some it is called ‘Chironion.’” Botanists are practically agreed that the plant mentioned by Pliny was a species of the genus Centaurea, so well represented in this country by the bachelor’s-button of our gardens.

THE WORLD.

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
With the wonderful water around you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast—
World, you are beautifully drest!

The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the top of the hills.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE WATER OUSEL.

Washington state can boast of possessing many beautiful birds. Their beauty consists not only in bright and brilliant plumage, but also in sweetness of song. The old favorites are here; those whose liquid notes are so familiar and so dear to every American ear. There are the yellow-vested meadow lark, robin red breast, the blue bird, black bird, linnet, cat-bird, and a great many little warblers whose names I cannot mention. Ah! there is Miss Jennie Wren, for whose sake Sir Cruel Sparrow “with his bow and arrow,” slew Mr. Cock Robin. Then we have Mr. Wee Tomtit. Of course we have the-ever-to-be admired humming bird.

Of other birds whose plumage is not noted for its brilliancy, and whose notes are not melodious, we might mention the ebony-hued crow, the noisy yellow-hammer (or flicker), the impudent magpie, the harsh-voiced blue jay, the intrusive kingfisher and the loud-whirring night jar. But the list would be too long should we attempt to enumerate all the birds, great and small, whose home is in Washington.

However, I must not omit from the list the lively little Water Ousel. This bird is not numerous in this state. In fact, the Ousel is quite scarce. It is found nowhere else but along small water courses. Along only a few of the streams is the Ousel met. One of the favorite streams along which this little creature lives is Kettle river, which flows through Stevens county, and empties into the great Columbia. A few may be seen along Colville river at certain times, generally during the summer and early fall months. This bird is not noted for its power of song, nor yet for its beauty of plumage. But withal, the Water Ousel is an interesting and attractive bird.

The Water Ousel of eastern Washington is nearly as large as the ordinary field robin. Its body is short and plump. The tail is short and broad. Though much larger, the Ousel reminds one of the little wren. Of course the color is not the same; but an Ousel looks like an “enlarged wren.” Their bodies are similar and also their actions.

As to color, the Ousel is a brownish-black, dark snuff hue. The plumage of the male is much brighter and more pronounced than that of the female. In some of the males, the color is of a darkish-blue and almost as glossy as that of the male blackbird.

Grace and sprightly action characterize the Water Ousel. It is as quick as a flash. The bird never deserts the stream. No difference how attractive may be the wooded banks, it does not lose itself in the sylvan depths.

Along the pebbly and sandy margin it makes its home. If disturbed, or suddenly frightened, the Ousel will flit up or down the stream. Sometimes the bird will wing its way to the opposite bank. It delights in the water, and spends hours in wading about and seeking its food among the pebbles and sand. The cute little fellow bathes almost constantly. Every few minutes it will dip its plump little body under the water, and then shake its feathers.

The bird is always cheerful and full of action. Never for an instant is the Ousel at rest. It is always on the move, uttering its short, plaintive chirp. The Ousel is not wild, nor even timid. Occasionally one can approach within a few yards and the little chap will eye you sharply in a half saucy way, very much like a starling. If you come nearer, he is off in a twinkle. Whenever the bird alights it invariably takes a dip in the water, chirping gaily to itself.

These birds are rarely seen in pairs except during the mating period. I have never yet been able to discover an Ousel’s nest, but those who have made a close study of the habits of this interesting bird claim that they build their nests in the banks, burrowing for that purpose a small hole.

J. Mayne Baltimore.

TOBACCO.
(_Nicotiana tabacum_ L.)

Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys,
Unfriendly to society’s chief joys.
The worst effect is banishing for hours
The sex whose presence civilizes ours.
Thou art indeed the drug a gardener wants
To poison vermin that infest his plants.
—Cowper: Conversation, line 251.

The tobacco plant is a tall herbaceous annual with large simple leaves and terminal inflorescence, belonging to the nightshade family (Solanaceæ), the members of which resemble each other in that they are more or less poisonous and in that they have a disagreeable, nauseous, heavy odor.

There are several species of tobacco, of which the above is the most highly valued, and they are all natives of warm countries, as southern Asia, India, South America and the West Indies. Tobacco is very extensively cultivated in nearly all warm countries, especially in the southern United States and the West Indies.

The history of the cultivation and use of tobacco is shrouded in uncertainty. Some authorities affirm that it was extensively used for smoking and as snuff and cultivated on a large scale in China, many centuries before the discovery of America. Meyen, the botanist, in studying ancient Chinese sculptures noticed the same form of pipe in use at the present time. Even if this be true, and the statement is questioned by other authorities, the fact nevertheless remains that tobacco was unknown to Europeans until after the discovery of America. Columbus found that the natives of the West Indies smoked cylindrical rolls of tobacco leaves wrapped in maize leaf, to which the name “Tobako” was applied. This name was also given to the tobacco tubes used by the ancient Mexicans. That tobacco was employed since the remotest antiquity by the natives of the western continent, from South America to Canada, has been satisfactorily proven from the examination of burial mounds. In 1492 the natives of Cuba used tobacco for smoking, both as a narcotic stimulant and to drive away mosquitos, as snuff and as a medicine.

The monk Romano Pane, a companion of Columbus, gave the first description of the plant. Gonzalo Hernandez de Oviedo was the first to bring seeds to Spain, where tobacco was cultivated as an ornamental plant until Nicolo Menardes began to extol its medicinal virtues. Soon thereafter it began to be used for smoking and as snuff. Shakespeare makes no reference to the use of tobacco, though it was well known in England during his time. The price was very high and it was used in small quantities by the rich only. The pipes used for smoking tobacco were very small and are known to antiquaries as “elfin pipes.” The smoke was expelled through the nostrils and not the mouth, as this produced the most pronounced narcotic effect.

It seems that from the very first strong efforts were made to prevent the use of tobacco, excepting as a medicine. Popes Urban VIII and Innocent XI issued bans without effect. Priests and the sultans of Turkey declared smoking a crime; Sultan Amuret IV decreeing its punishment by the most horrible death. In Russia during the earlier part of the seventeenth century the noses of smokers were cut off. King James I of England issued a “Counterblaste to Tobacco” in which he described its use as “a custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black, stinking fume thereof nearly resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless,” to which all users of the weed are condemned. All opposition was of no avail and the use of tobacco has increased steadily up to the present time, and is still on the increase in spite of all boasted civilized progress. Turks and Persians are the greatest smokers in the world. In India all classes and both sexes smoke; likewise in China and Japan. When it was found that even the most cruel death penalty did not prohibit, efforts were made to check its use, and to this effect some ridiculous laws were made. For example, according to a Puritan Blue Law it was a criminal offense to smoke within ten miles of any habitation. Yet it will be recalled that tobacco was extensively cultivated in the colonies, and history informs us that England sent shiploads of “fair maidens” to America to be bartered for with tobacco leaves. Each eligible Puritan planter had the privilege of choosing a maiden who became his property in exchange for from forty to as much as ninety pounds of good tobacco. This barter is referred to in the opening chapters of that interesting novel “To Have and to Hold,” by Mary Johnston.