Chapter VII: Part 7

Worms, as well as flies, etc., constitute a toad’s bill of fare. After a rain toads and worms, it would seem, are mutually inspired to take their walks abroad, and many an unfortunate worm makes its way into the toad’s maw. Dead insects are at a discount with him, and he views with suspicion anything that shows not the active wriggling principle of life. When winter comes on the toad, like the frog, goes into winter-quarters. Since the young toad reaches its adult size in the autumn, it is forced to pass the first period of its grown-up life in a sleep, or coma, in some hole or burrow which it has found or fashioned in the earth. Sometimes toads creep into rock-crevices, or into hollows in logs and trees, and being found in these places in the early spring are hastily supposed to have been prisoners for many years.

In the process of growth the skin of the toad, as well as that of the frog, becomes too small, and hence is cast off. As the shedding-time approaches, the white, green and brown colors become dull, and a peculiar dryness appears. A new skin is now forming under the outgrown one, and presently the latter splits half down the middle of the back and along the under part of the body. By a series of violent twitchings of the toad the old skin is made to wrinkle and fold along the sides. A hind-leg is now tucked under a fore-arm, and by a good pull the animal is soon out of that leg of his trousers. The other leg is removed in similar fashion. Putting one hand in his mouth and giving a jerk, off comes the covering of that hand and arm, like a discarded glove. He has now but to take off the other, and he is free. Relieved of his dress he neither sells nor gives it away, but rolls it up into a neat solid ball and swallows it. The frog strips off and disposes of his outgrown skin in a similar way.

Strange to say, toads and frogs can change to some extent the color of their skin to suit their homes. Kept in the dark with dark surroundings, toads become darker in color, while those that are kept in light with white accessories become lighter. The color of the toad changes more slowly than that of the frog. It is not the arrangement of the color that alters, but merely a change from light to dark.

What has been said applies to our Common American Toad, the _Bufo Americana_ of the books. Let us now look at some curious specimens of the Bufonidæ. The Pipa, or Surinam Toad, does not lay her eggs in water, but places them on her back. A fold of skin rises up and encloses each egg in a separate cell, until the young have not only been hatched, but have also passed through all their metamorphoses, and come out fully formed. Another toad, abundant in Europe and Asia, is largely colored with bright crimson, and the father-toad carries the little ones in separate cells fastened to his hind-legs like chains. The young change to their perfect shape in these cells, and with the withering away of the cells the young toads hop out, able to take care of themselves.

Somewhere I have said that toads are generally silent. A little toad about three inches long, called a Natter-jack, is common in England, and is a noted singer. His “gluck-gluck, gluck-k-k,” can be heard any night. The Green Toad, well known on the Continent, is not so noisy as the Natter-jack, but has a low, moaning cry.

All the Tree-toads, or Hylidæ, have clear, shrill voices, and are fond of singing serenades. In the spring the Common Toad takes to the water and there sings very loudly. The loud continuous trill that we hear in swamps in spring-time is made by toads, and not by frogs, as is generally believed. Another toad with a voice is the Spade-foot. This Toad is rare, though widely distributed. It is remarkable for its feet, formed for digging, its subterranean habits, and its queer way of appearing and disappearing very suddenly. After a rainy season the Spade-foot will emerge from its hiding-place, attract attention by its loud cries, swarm by hundreds about the ponds, lay innumerable eggs, and vanish. But while thousands of eggs are laid, scarcely any hatch, for most of them perish from being laid so near to the water’s edge as to become dried up on the subsidence of the water.

Thus we find that toads have three different methods of life. Some live on trees, but seldom appear upon the ground. Others are underground dwellers, and hardly ever come to the surface. But the Common Toad, and his numerous kin, are dwellers in the ground, hiding among grass and other herbage when asleep, or when the sun is too intense for their comfort. But all toads, excepting the two varieties mentioned above, which carry their young on their bodies, repair to the water to drop their eggs, and the young live in the water until they have attained the adult state.

OUR NATURAL ENEMIES.

No animal, perhaps, is so little known and understood as the snake. This is not because its study has been neglected or overlooked, as our scientific institutions are replete with fine collections of most of the reptiles, and exhaustive works upon their habits and customs. Yet, notwithstanding this, the snake continues to be the subject of ever-recurring stories, fabulous in the extreme, that seem handed down from generation to generation. Strange to say, many of these stories are current among those who, from the nature of their lives, would be expected to be well and accurately informed on the habits of the animals. Farmers and horticulturists are plentiful who religiously believe that the Milk Snake, the beautiful _Ophibolus clericus_, deprives milk-giving animals of their supply of milk. A statement often seen, and that has many believers, is that the Whip-snake of the South seizes its tail--which is supposed to have a sting--in its mouth, and rolls away in the form of a wheel, stopping suddenly and striking the enemy with the sting. Such fables are current by the score, and denial only strengthens belief.

More than a hundred species of snakes, nearly all having a wide geographical range, are found in America, north of Mexico. They constitute the first order, Ophidia, of reptiles, and have long, cylindrical bodies, are footless, without a shoulder-girdle, and invested with a coat of scales, which is shed in the summer months. Snakes have no eyelids in the strict sense of the term. Their eyes are permanently covered by a delicate membrane that takes the place of the lid, and this explains the stony stare, so disagreeable to many, that all snakes have.

The skeleton of snakes is so arranged as to allow the greatest freedom and flexibility. Numerous pieces of bone, hollow in front and convex behind, make up the long tapering backbone, which literally works on a ball-and-socket plan. Articular facets, that lock into each other, are found upon the processes of the vertebræ, and these strengthen and give to the backbone a greater degree of flexibility. A more remarkable arrangement, however, is found in the head, which enables the snake to prey upon animals that are larger than itself. The jaws seem a combination of elastic springs, having no gauge to their tension, the quadrate bones connecting the lower jaw with the skull being movable, thus allowing that enormous gape with which all are familiar who have seen a snake swallow its prey. Besides this, the bones of the jaw itself and palate are more or less movable, also tending to the larger distention of the throat.

As snakes do not tear or mutilate their prey, their teeth are not set in sockets, but serve merely to poison and stupefy the prey, or to prevent its escape, acting as hooks by which the body is hauled over the victim. The bones of the lower jaw, as we have seen, are not fastened closely to each other; so in swallowing prey the teeth on one side are advanced, and then those on the other side, and so on until the victim is hauled, hand over hand, as it were, into the snake’s throat.

Poisonous snakes, such as the rattlers, have two long, sharp fangs, each compressed and bent up, and forming a hollow tube, open at both ends. The upper portion of the hollow fang is fastened to a bone in the cheek, which moves with ease, so that, when not in use, the fangs can be packed away until needed.

All animals, man included, have doubtless in their saliva a deadly poison, though in the latter it is extremely diluted, and essential only to the digestion of food. In poisonous snakes, however, it is stored up in sacs, modifications of the salivary glands, and placed in each side of the upper jaw. From the poison-gland under the eye forward to the edge of the jaw, a delicate canal, which opens into the fang above the tube of the tooth, extends. Alongside of the latter may be seen rudimentary fangs, all ready to grow out should the large one be lost. To use the poison, the snake has merely to strike its prey, when the muscles of the jaw, which are admirably fitted for the part they have to play in the tragedy, press upon the glands, squeeze the poison through the little canal down through the hollow fang, and the work is accomplished.

In their actions, snakes are most graceful. The gliding motion, so characteristic, is effected by the movements of the large central scales, that are successively pushed forward, the hinder edges resting on the ground and constituting a support. These scales, or pushers, are fastened to the ribs by muscles, and by holding a snake by the hand the swelling movement can readily be felt.

Snakes vary much in color. They are generally adapted to their surroundings. Green Snakes are found in green grass and vegetation, while grey snakes affect rocky districts, where they are alike protected. Their skin is shed in one piece at various seasons of the year, being forced off by the snake forming a ring with its tail and squeezing the rest of the body through it, or by wriggling through entangled bushes. Poisonous snakes may be always recognized by their broad, flattened heads, generally short and thick bodies, and the almost invariable possession of a vertical keel along the centre of each scale. Long bodies, small heads devoid of distinct necks, and scales not keeled, characterize non-poisonous species.

Probably the best-known of our common kinds of poisonous snakes are the rattlesnakes. They belong to the dangerous family Crotalidæ, to which the copperheads and moccasins also belong, and are distinguished by the large, ugly head, absence of teeth in the upper jaw excepting the fangs, and the pit in the head.

Prepared to Attack a Song Sparrow.]

_Crotalus horridus_, our Northern Rattlesnake, has doubtless the widest geographical distribution, being found in nearly every State in the Union, from the Gulf of Mexico to Northern New England, and thence west to the Rocky Mountains. It has a most forbidding appearance, and when once seen with its enormous head, triangular in shape, and large brilliant eyes, with fiery irides, it can never be mistaken. Between the eye and the nostril is a deep pit, a character that is peculiar to the family.

All rattlers, as the name indicates, have a horny appendage to the tail, formed of separate button-like objects, that rattle together when the tail is vibrated. This rattle not only serves to warn human beings of danger, but also to arouse in animals a curiosity that often proves fatal. The popular belief that a rattle is added every year, and that it is possible to determine the age of the animals by this means, is not borne out by facts. Sometimes two rattles are known to appear within a year, and other instances are recorded where four have been attained in that period, and others still when several have been lost, new ones taking their places. The number of rattles is also uncertain. The greatest number, as observed by Dr. Holbrook, is twenty-one, but a specimen is mentioned in the books that had forty-four.

Mild and peaceful in disposition, the Rattlesnake has never been known, unless provoked, to attack a human being, nor to follow him with hostile intention. He preys upon small animals, as rats, squirrels, rabbits and birds, and can always be approached when he is stretched out, only striking when he is coiled. He is not a climber, seldom, if ever, being found in trees. His alleged powers of fascination are purely mythical. The horror his presence inspires often paralyzes with fear his victim, who, incapable of flight, stupidly awaits his fate. Men, women and children have been known, when attacked by these animals, to become rooted to the spot, as it were, by fear and surprise. All the so-called cases of fascination can be explained by the fear which the snake’s unlooked-for presence inspires.

Wonderful curative powers are imputed to the oil of the Rattlesnake. Many snakes are killed during the summer months for this oil, but the grand gathering of the crop is in the fall, when they have repaired to their dens and wintering places. Sunny days in October and November are chosen by snake-hunters for raiding them. The snakes, dull and sluggish at that time of the year, crawl out of their dens upon the rocks, huddling together by the score for the purpose of basking in the sun. Armed with old-fashioned flails the hunters, when they come upon a group of snakes, proceed at once to thresh them, but few making good their escape. The Rattlesnakes, assorted from other species that are frequently massed together with them, are carried home, when the oil is simply tried out, bottled up and is then ready for the market and the credulous patient.

No subject connected with snakes, it would seem, has attracted so much attention as the vexed one as to the care which they take of their young. Snakes would hardly be expected to show any great amount of maternal affection, but that they do, and in a most remarkable manner, by taking their young into their mouths, if alarmed, is a well-established fact. The mother, when danger is imminent, sounds her rattle as a signal, opens her very large mouth, and receives in it her little family.

The bite of nearly all rattlesnakes is extremely dangerous, though not necessarily fatal in the smaller kinds. Almost all animals succumb to their bite, and even man himself, if the proper remedy is not at hand. There is a general belief that the hog is exempt, and acting upon this belief farmers have been known, where these reptiles are very abundant, to turn in a few hogs upon them for their destruction. This animal, though it has a fondness for the reptile, and exercises a great deal of caution in its attack, has not infrequently been killed by the reptile’s poisonous fangs. Large doses of whiskey have been successful in neutralizing the effects of the poison, but it has been practically and experimentally proved that permanganate of potash is the best antidote.

But of all the poisonous snakes of this country, the Copperhead, _Ancistrodon contortrix_, is the most dreaded. In the South, he is known as the Cotton-mouth, Moccasin and Red-eye, and is just as common in the Gulf States as in the Atlantic and Middle States. He attains a length of two feet, is of a hazel hue, the head having a bright coppery lustre, and loves to conceal himself in shady spots in meadows of high grass, where he feeds upon small animals, rarely, if ever, attacking large ones unless trodden on. The mother Copperhead has also been observed to shelter her young in her mouth when threatened by danger.

_Ancistrodon piscivorus_, the Water Moccasin, that commands so much respect from the negroes of the South, is, from the pugnacity of his nature, equally to be feared. While the Rattlesnake will slink away from danger, the Moccasin will attack man or brute with savage ferocity. He is essentially a water-snake, chasing fishes and small reptiles in the streams of his native haunts, and may be recognized by the dark-brown colors on the upper portion of the head and the yellowish line that passes from the snout to or over the nostril. His length rarely exceeds twenty inches, and he is stout in proportion. The Moccasins show the same curious care for their young already mentioned. A low, blowing noise apprises them of danger, and into the slightly-opened mouth of the mother, which is held close to the ground, they hurriedly disappear.

Her Affection for Newly-Hatched Young.]

One of the commonest of the non-poisonous snakes is the Striped Garter Snake, ten species of which being known in the United States. Upon the earliest appearance of spring they are almost the first to roll out of their holes, where they have lain dormant in balls or clusters during the cold winter months. Though easily excited, and striking quickly, yet their bite is little more than a scratch. Their appetites are now quite vigorous, and they have been seen to chase a toad for more than fifty feet over a gravelly road, effecting its capture. They are remarkably prolific, and their numbers about pools are sometimes astonishing. It would seem that they are viviparous as well as oviparous, from the fact that some young ones have been free and others in sacs in the abdomen of the mother. With a brood of forty or fifty young, which a single female has been known to produce, it would seem that the Striped Snake would have a difficult time in protecting her offspring by taking them into her mouth. They have this habit, however, as abundance of evidence could be adduced to show. One witness observed a Striped Snake upon a hillside, and noticed something moving about her head, which proved to be young snakes. He counted twenty little ones from one and a half to two inches long. Led by curiosity, he made a move towards the spot, when the old one opened her mouth, and they went in out of sight. He then stepped back and waited, and in a few minutes they began to come out. Another witness came across a female with some young ones near her, who, perceiving him, uttered a loud hiss, and the young ones jumped down her throat, when she instantly glided away to a place of concealment beneath a huge heap of stones.

The Black Snake, _Bascanion constrictor_, the mortal enemy of the Rattlesnake, is a familiar species, and one that is widely distributed. As winter approaches, these snakes come from far and near to some apparently appointed place of rendezvous, where, rolling themselves up into a matted ball, they sleep the days and nights of winter away, and come out in the spring-time, when the common mother of us all has conditioned things to their habits and ways of life. In appearance, from a decorative point of view, they are very attractive, being of a uniform steel-blue color, with a rich tessellated arrangement of scales. They are of wild and untamable natures, powerful and active as foes, often engaging in encounters with other snakes, especially the Rattlesnakes, whom they kill or force to disgorge their prey. In their movements they are so rapid that they are often called the Racer. It is in the breeding season that they manifest their greatest boldness, and have often been known to go out of their way to attack a passer-by. They will chase an intruder for a long distance, and will even descend a tree to attack the one who is teasing them.

It is the Black Snake that appears the most frequently in the guise of a charmer. But, as has been remarked before, this power, so often imputed, is merely imaginary. The reptile preys upon birds in their nests, penetrating the thickets in quest of them, and often the cat-bird and the red-winged blackbird, which are so prone to attack, are seen acting strangely, crying and fluttering before the reptile in fear and rage, while thus _charmed_, and frequently falling a victim in their endeavors to protect their young. At such times the cries of distress of the old birds bring birds of different genera together, who join their forces against the common enemy, finally compelling him to retreat. Like other snakes mentioned, the Black Snake has the same remarkable habit of taking her young into her mouth for protection.

Among the most attractive forms are the Green Snakes. _Leptophis æstivus_, so common in the South, and occasionally to be met with in Southern New Jersey, is of a brilliant green color, and so perfectly mimicking a vine that it would rarely be taken for a living creature when lying around the branches of a tree. They have a habit of coiling in the nests of birds, often surprising the egg-hunter by bounding swiftly away. Allied species, further to the South, have been observed, when approached, to leap twenty feet in the air, falling to the ground and making their escape. They are perfectly harmless creatures, and, like the Green Snake of the North, can be handled with not the slightest risk of danger. We once knew a gentleman who had one in confinement, whom he had trained to eat from a dish and to come to his hand at the sound of his voice. The beautiful creature, which was a female, showed the most marked affection, and would often twine her little form about his neck or glide her smooth head, lazily as it seemed, along his face and forehead.

Manner of Mimicking a Vine.]

An extremely common snake in the Eastern United States is the Water Snake. _Nerodia sipedon_ is the name by which it is known to the naturalist. There is in Michigan an allied form, known as the Red-bellied Water Snake, which is quite as common, while several other species abound in other localities. They are all inoffensive creatures and prey upon small animals. The female shows the same regard for her young as other kinds, suffering them, even when three or four inches long, to take shelter in her throat, when she will clumsily turn in search of some place of concealment.

Swallowing Her Young.]

Water-snakes generally affect water-courses, often hanging from the branches of trees over streams, into which they drop when disturbed. Dr. Bell, an English naturalist of distinction, once tamed a European species of this genus. This pet could distinguish him among a crowd, and would crawl to him, passing into his sleeve, where it would curl up for a nap. Every morning found it at the doctor’s table for its share of milk. For strangers it had an aversion, flying and hissing at them when any familiarities were attempted.

Were these grovelling creatures better known, there would be found much in them to admire and commend. They are not the hideous beings they are represented to be. The feeling of hatred against them, an instinctive and unappeasable enmity, is perfectly natural, and has grown out of religious superstitions. Fear, disgust and aversion are man’s experiences at the sight of a snake, and there is at once a disposition to seize a stick or stone, or to make use of his heel, if well protected, to deal a fatal stroke. War to the death seems to be the cry between the highest of the mammals and the serpent tribe. It is not at all surprising, therefore, that the snake, seeing a human enemy, should either glide hastily off into the bushes, or, being thwarted, should coil itself up and hiss or throw itself forward in attack. Man would do well to protect the snakes about his domains, and treat them as friends, for they do him invaluable service in the destruction of vermin that make havoc with his crops.

Ants, bees, spiders, and many fishes, animals that are lower down in the scale than the snake, it is claimed, show far more forecast, ingenuity and architectural ability than it, but asserters of such an opinion forget that the snake is never studied under favorable conditions. Long ages of persecution have made him fearful of man, from whose presence he flees as from a pestilence or scourge, and there is consequently no chance to learn his better nature. Even man, until recently, has shown no inclination to make his acquaintance, being controlled by a dread which it appears well nigh impossible to overcome. Where the animal has been made to partake of the milk of human kindness, and has learned to regard man as a friend and not an enemy, he has shown remarkable susceptibility to culture and enlightenment. Let it be hoped that a modicum of the wisdom which has been attributed to him from the earliest of times, when he was made the object of homage and the insignia of the physician, shall at least be found to remain to the credit of science and truth.

HOUSE-BEARING REPTILES.

Turtles are four-legged reptiles, with short, stout, oval-shaped bodies encased in bony boxes, from which they are able to protrude their heads, legs and tails, and into which they can withdraw them, at pleasure. Considerable diversity exists in the size and shape of the box-like covering in the different species. The Box Tortoise can retire into his shell or house, closing the under part or plastron into a groove of the upper edge of the carapace, as the upper part is called, thus constituting for his security an impregnable retreat. There are species only partly enclosed by the shell, which cannot bring their heads and feet under cover.

With his house upon his back the turtle wanders about as the snail does, and against his enemies can close its doors and be emphatically not at home. He has acute sight and hearing, but is devoid of teeth, the jaws being, like those of birds, simply cased in horn. Turtles are not altogether silent creatures, for many of them are capable of producing very loud sounds.

Their eggs, which have a parchment-like covering, are buried in earth or sand, and left to themselves to hatch. The sea-turtle, our largest variety, is sometimes found to lay as many as two hundred eggs in a heap, and in tropical regions has been known to attain a weight of a thousand pounds. Even on the Atlantic Coast of the United States individuals, weighing upwards of eight hundred pounds, have not infrequently been captured.

In the four species of sea-turtles, the feet are flat and paddle-shaped, and the shell of one rather leathery than horny. Some of these marine forms are carnivorous, living on fish, mollusks and crustaceans, while others are strictly vegetarians, subsisting only on roots and the various sea-weeds. The flesh of some is rich and delicious, and a favorite and costly article of food, but of others it is coarse and ill-flavored, and necessarily not edible. The eggs, however, are always sweet, good and wholesome food. Valuable articles of commerce, such as boxes, cases, knife-handles, jewelry and other delicate ornaments, are made from the shell, for it is susceptible of a very high polish, which brings out with surprising clearness its rich brown and golden shades and markings.

Next to the sea-living turtles, come the fresh-water species, which eat both animal and vegetable foods. They enjoy much better than aught else a bed of soft mud, their heads lifted above the surface of the stagnant water, their long necks moving snake-like as they gulp in mouthful after mouthful of air. They are generally gregarious in habits, large numbers often being found huddled together in the sun on logs or banks, close to the water, into which they quickly slide upon the first intimation of danger. Timid as they are, yet they will snap and bite most furiously when taken in the hand.

Salt- and fresh-water terrapins are varieties of turtle, although some scientists restrict the latter term to marine animals that do not hibernate, and that cannot draw their head and feet inside the shell. The tortoise never goes to sea they say, can draw himself within his shell, although the Box Tortoise only can close the shell fast when thus withdrawn, and finally, that the tortoise hibernates. Some of the best and latest writers on the subject call all these animals turtles, applying the name tortoise only to the familiar Box Tortoise of the wood.

Awkward as turtles appear in their box-like covering, yet they can walk rapidly on land, are climbers of some note, and all are able to swim. The head, neck, and legs of a turtle are of a bronze, blackish green, or deep-brown color, and the shells are beautifully marked, glossy, ridged, or carved, and made up of closely-united, many-sided plates, arranged upon a thickened, lighter-colored and apparently uniform bony plate, which is capable of being separated into many independent pieces. The shell, or epidermic covering, is not brittle and lime-like, as the shells of all mollusks are, but is of the nature of horn. In general the plastron is of a lighter color than the carapace, being light-brown, yellow or cream, with yellowish lines dividing the plates, and with bordering bands of red, yellow and purple. The upper plate is usually of a very dark color, marked and lined with darker and lighter tints, and often displaying a bevelled yellow edge. _Chrysemys picta_, the Painted Turtle, receives his name from the beauty of his many-colored shell, while the Spotted Turtle, _Nanemys guttatus_, which is often called the Wood Turtle, is distinguished by the round yellow spots that are regularly distributed over his dark-colored carapace.

But of all our turtles none is so well known or so interesting in his ways as the Common Box Tortoise--_Cistudo clausa_. He affects dry woods, and dislikes the water, and is a long-lived creature, some individuals having been known to live more than a hundred years. Box Tortoises in confinement have been found to eat meat, insects and bread and milk from the hand, but if berries were put into their mouths they wiped them out in a very funny manner with their front feet, which they used after the fashion of a hand.

BOX-TORTOISE FEEDING ON FUNGUS.]

When foraging in the woods, especially during the rainy season, at which time manifold varieties of fungi prevail, they make their meals largely upon these plants. We have seen a huge toadstool that had been gnawed off so evenly, the central pillar only being left intact, that appeared as though it had been cut away by a knife. This had been the work of the Box Tortoise, for on looking around we soon descried, moving leisurely over the leaf-strewn earth, the creature himself making a fresh attack upon another species in a little opening in the woods.

Breakfasting on a Toadstool.]

Very amusing it was to watch him, as with praiseworthy deliberation he ate round after round of the cap of the fungus. He would bite off a mouthful of the toadstool, chew it carefully until he had extracted the whole of the juice, then open his mouth and drop out the masticated fibre, and take a fresh mouthful, not biting inward toward the stem, but breaking off the morsel next beside that which he had just eaten. He paced round and round the fungus as he took his bites, and as the fungus decreased in regular circles, the chewed fragments increased. In less than an hour he had eaten all the disk of the fungus to the stipe, and then walked slowly away to seek for another. The discarded parts of the fungus appeared quite dry when examined, nothing nutritious being left in them. There must have been some very good reason for rejecting the central part and the stem, which were left in every instance, but what that reason was we could not imagine. If a decayed or wormy portion of a toadstool was encountered in the feeding process, he did not bite round it, but abandoned the plant altogether, and went off in quest of a fresh specimen.

Coming, in his travels, to a steep gully or ravine which he desires to cross, he does not attempt the undertaking without counting his chances of success. He seemingly revolves the matter over and over for some time in his mind, and, when at last he has reached a conclusion, draws his head and feet under cover, and by some quick, sudden jerk flings himself down to the bottom, trusting to good fortune and his own wits to making his way over the further incline. Observation teaches that his deliberations are generally attended with the accomplishment of the result to be attained.

There is a very common turtle, quite abundant in the small lakes and streams of our Western States, where he is trapped in great numbers for the market, which country people dub the Snapping Turtle, or which, from the resemblance which the head and neck, when stretched out, bear to the same parts of the alligator, takes the name of Alligator Turtle, or _Chelydra serpentina_, with the more learned naturalist. He has a shell too small to close over him and hide him completely, but nature, to make up for this deficiency of covering, has given him a bold and hasty temper, which leads him to snap vigorously when disturbed. Snapping Turtles live rather harmoniously together, even when confined in the same pen, and only manifest their ugly dispositions towards each other when excited by causes from without, with whose origin they have nothing to do. Contests of a very vicious character are often thus precipitated, which sooner or later end in the death of one or more of the belligerent parties.

Down in the pine countries of our Southern States lives a large, stout animal, with a shell fifteen inches in length, which is denominated the Gopher, or _Testudo Carolina_. These animals dwell in troops, several families digging their dens or burrows near together, the entrance thereto being about four feet long and expanding into a spacious apartment. In each burrow resides a single pair of Gophers. By day the Gophers keep close house, but by night they wander out in search of food, devouring yams, melons, corn and other garden produce. They dislike wet weather, and always go in-doors when it rains. Gophers’ eggs, which are as large as pigeons’ eggs, and also their flesh, are highly esteemed as articles of diet by the negroes.

In Europe, a near cousin of the Gopher is kept about the house for a pet. If allowed, in the autumn, to find his way into a garden, he digs a hole and hibernates, coming out in the spring. An English lady had one of these animals which lived in the kitchen. He was fond of creeping into the fireplace and getting under the grate, where he would contentedly lie until the hot coal and ashes dropped upon his back and burnt his shell. When winter came this little creature wanted to take his long sleep, and dug so persistently into baskets, drawers, boxes and closets, that finally a box of earth was given to him, into which he worked his way until out of sight, and there he remained until April sun and showers called him from his winter retreat. His fare was potatoes, carrots, turnips and bread and milk, which he especially liked.

SUMMER DUCK.

Perhaps no species of North American water-bird is more highly esteemed by lovers of the beautiful in nature than _Aix sponsa_--the Summer Duck, or Wood Duck--and, when obtainable, is one of the first to find room in the collection of amateur naturalists. With the epicure, however, he is of rather inferior standing, lacking as he does the delicacy of flesh which makes the green-winged teal and others of his tribe of such immense gastronomic value.

Though truly an American species, yet this bird is more generally found throughout the United States than any other, nesting wherever suitable localities present themselves. North of the Potomac River, and in the various States situated above the parallel of latitude which cuts its head-waters, at least so far as the country east of the Rocky Mountains is concerned, it is chiefly a migrant, arriving towards the close of March, or in the beginning of April. South of this line, from Maryland to Florida, and thence south-westerly through the Gulf States into Mexico, the birds are found in more or less abundance during the entire year.

Pairing commences in the South Atlantic and Gulf States, we are told, about the first of March, but in New England and the Middle States in favorable seasons from the first to the fifteenth of April, whereas in the country bordering on the Great Lakes and in the Western States generally, it does not take place till the last of May or the beginning of June.

Upon their arrival in our Northern States these birds, strange to say, unlike many of their numerous family connections, seldom frequent the sea-shore or the adjoining salt marshes, but manifest a predilection for the ponds, mill-dams and deep muddy streams of the interior; and the same is true in more southern latitudes, for they prefer to place their nests along the creeks and bayous of the land where the orange and palmetto charm the eye with perennial verdure.

Between the time of their appearance in March and the plighting of their vows at the accustomed trysting-places, the sexes consort together in flocks of four or more, but never in very large numbers, and fatten on acorns, the seeds of the wild oats, and such insects as they can procure from the tree-branches or the muddy borders of the streams and ponds which they so delight to visit.

On each recurrence of the mating season there is reason to believe that the same couple come together and pledge anew their fidelity and affection, unless debarred by death, or some other of the many vicissitudes to which life is prone. The troth-plight sealed, and a union effected, the happy couple soon start off in quest of a spot for a home. In the case of old birds the same locality, where no interference has been experienced from beast or man, has been known to be visited for four successive years. For obvious reasons, Wood Ducks delight to live in close proximity to bodies of water, such places affording conveniences to the young, when they are sufficiently matured to betake themselves thither, for food and exercise. Situations remote from water entail unnecessary labor upon the female, who is then required, at considerable risk and peril, to carry them one by one to the pond or stream in her bill. When the distance is not too great, and the ground underneath the nesting-tree is amply covered with dry leaves and grasses, the young scramble to the mouth of the nest, drop themselves down, and under the maternal leadership wend their way to the much-loved fluid. Often the tree or stub which contains their home is found to overshadow the water. All that is necessary then is for the tender little creatures, after reaching the entrance, to spread their ill-feathered pinions and oar-like feet and fling themselves down, a feat which can be performed without jeopardy to life or limb.

Female Carrying Young in Her Bill from Nest in Hollow Tree.]

Almost any tree, or tree-branch, containing the essential hollow, and suitably located, is utilized. Broken branches of high sycamores, seldom more than forty or fifty feet from water, are, according to Audubon, favorite places, while Wilson claims to have met the home of a pair of these birds in a fork composed of branches, and built out of a few rude sticks. In the South, the forsaken retreat of the gray squirrel and the hole of the ivory-billed woodpecker are common nesting-places. Often the entrance to the nest is apparently so small when compared with the bulk of the occupant that it is a matter of surprise to many that she can manage to make her way into it without suffering bodily injuries. But she does, nevertheless, which is an evidence that she either knows how to conform to circumstances, or is a better judge of dimensions than many of the would-be-wise lords of creation. All nests of our finding have been wide enough at their mouths to admit of easy passage, and have been from four to six feet in vertical direction. Soft decayed wood, and a few feathers, doubtless plucked from the breast of the builder, were their only contents. Dry plants, down, and feathers of the wild turkey, wild goose and the common barnyard fowl, have been observed, in addition to the foregoing articles, by other writers. The height of the entrance above the ground varies from fifteen to thirty feet, but probably a less, or even a greater elevation, may sometimes be attained.

Wilson speaks of a nest which he observed in an old grotesque white oak, which stood on a slope of one of the banks of the Tuckahoe River, in New Jersey, just twenty yards from the water’s edge, that had been occupied for four consecutive years. At the time of his visit the nest contained thirteen young birds, which the maternal head was engaged in carrying down to the water to give them, perhaps, their first experience in the art of swimming. So carefully, and yet so adroitly and quickly, did she perform this seemingly difficult task, that she was less than ten minutes in its accomplishment. Although the male usually stands sentry while the processes of laying and sitting are going on, and signals the approach of enemies by a peculiar cry which has been likened to the crowing of a young cock--œ-ēēk! œ-ēēk!--yet from the silence of one writer upon the subject we infer that the duty of rearing the rather numerous family is left to the mother, while he--her friend and consequential partner, as though disdaining such ignoble and degrading work, because of its slavish character--is off with his gay companions, disporting themselves in mid-air, or trimming, while perched upon some sheltering bough, their rich and varied plumage. So intent, however, was the mother-bird upon the faithful discharge of her home-duties, that she heeded not the stately sloop, then nearly completed, as it lay upon the stocks close-by, with its hull looming up within twelve feet of her home, darkened with the presence, and reverberating with the noise of workmen, but continued to pass in and out as though utterly unconscious of the so near approach of danger. Audubon claims that the male deserts the female when the period of sitting commences, and joins his sterner brethren, who unite into flocks of considerable numbers, and keep apart from their partners until the young are fully matured, when young and old of both sexes come together, and thus remain until the return of another breeding-season.

The female, it is evident from what has just been said, assumes the entire charge of incubation. For more than twenty-one days she is thus busied, with nothing, it would seem, to relieve the monotony of her task. How often she despairs and bewails the hardship of her lot, none can know. It is the inexorable decree of fate that she should perform the duties alone and unassisted, and most willingly she submits. But the _ennui_ of the labor is, in a measure, forgotten in the vision that hope holds out to her patience, for her persistent assiduity is ultimately rewarded by a whole nest-full of happy ducklings. While the hatching process is going on the patient housewife only leaves the nest when pressed by the pangs of hunger, and but for a short time. Before leaving, however, she takes the precaution to see that her creamy-white, elliptical treasures, to the number of ten or thirteen eggs, are carefully covered with down.

Like the young of our domesticated species, the little Wood Ducks follow the mother almost as soon as they are hatched, and gather whatever of vegetable and insect food they happen to encounter. They are passionately fond of the water, and best show their real character when gracefully floating upon its glassy bosom, or diving into its azure depths. At an early age they respond to the parent’s call with a soft and mellow _pee, pee, pee-e_, which is uttered quite rapidly, and at repeated intervals. The call of the mother, when addressing the young at such times, is rather low and soft, and resembles that of the young, being only a little more prolonged.

These beautiful birds have often been domesticated. They become at such times so unsuspicious and familiar as to allow themselves to be stroked by the hand. No handsomer bird could be chosen for introduction into our yards. The male, some nineteen inches in length, and with a scope of wing of two and one-third feet, is a being of no mean proportions. But it is the richness and variety of his colors that render him an object of admiration. A conspicuous green and purple crest adorns his head, while the sides, which are iridescent purple, are relieved of their monotony by a streak of white from base of bill to occiput, and by another, back of the eye, of a pure white color, which is continuous with that of the throat. The sides and front of the lower neck and the forepart of the breast are a bright chestnut, with five white spots, while the lower parts are generally white. Beautifully iridescent metallic hues set off the upper surfaces of the wings, which show most effectively in the blaze of the noonday sun. To the female nature has not been, it would seem to the casual observer, quite so propitious. Her grayish head, with lengthened hind-feathers, white throat, brownish-yellow fore-neck, upper breast and sides, striped with grayish and generally dark-brown upper parts, glossed chiefly with purple, contrast most markedly with the rich, gorgeous attire of her other half. While less showy in dress and lacking the dignity of demeanor that characterizes her lord, she is none the less fitted to perform her part in the drama of life. Her dress, sober in color, and with just enough of ornament to relieve the oppressiveness of its sameness, is so accordant with her home-surroundings as to afford her the protection and security she requires in the trying and perilous duties of brood-raising.

AMERICAN WOODCOCK.

Quite as interesting in habits is the American Woodcock, the _Philohela minor_ of Gray, which belongs to the grallatorial, rather than to the natatorial, family of birds. In distribution he is somewhat restricted, differing in this respect from his numerous congeneric brethren, which have a wide dispersion. He is chiefly a denizen of the eastern parts of the United States, and of the British territory immediately adjacent. Fort Rice, in north-western Dakota, and Kansas and Nebraska in the West, appear to be the limits of his range in these directions. In the Middle and Eastern States Woodcocks are found in greater abundance than anywhere else. While the bulk pass North to breed, a few remain in the South and raise their happy little families in spite of the ardor of the climate.

Few migrants arrive earlier at their breeding-grounds. They usually appear from the fifth to the tenth of March in New England and the Middle Atlantic States, although instances are recorded where they have been observed as early as the twenty-fourth of February. These cases are rare, however, and only happen, if at all, when the weather has been remarkably auspicious for a lengthy spell. As a few birds have been known to winter in the North, when the season has been unusually mild, their emergence from sheltered localities so early might be construed by persons not cognizant of their presence, or of their occasional winter sojourn, as a case of recent arrival. In view of this fact, it would be difficult to prove that a bird seen in winter had just come from the South, unless discovered _in transitu_.

Small companies, from four to six in number, start together upon the migratory tour. Low, swampy thickets invite their presence upon reaching their destination. Here they conceal themselves during the day, but when night has gathered dark they come out of their grassy retreats and wander about in quest of food. From the setting of the sun behind the western hills to the appearance of the first streaks of dawn in the east, they pursue their nocturnal rambles. Few persons have visited these birds in their accustomed haunts while foraging. Let me take the reader to some neighboring swamp, or by the side of some lonely woodland, which these birds delight to frequent. The utmost silence must be maintained, or they will be frightened away. While it will be difficult to see the creatures that have called us hither, yet we know they are not far away by the rustle they produce among the dry leaves, and by the peculiar notes they emit. _Chipper, chip-per, chip_ may be heard from the right, and almost at the next instant it is varied to _bleat_ or _bleat ta bleat ta_, produced in the contrary direction, or off in the distance, showing that the authors of these sounds have changed their positions. While these birds have a habitual fondness for humid thickets, they not infrequently betake themselves to corn-fields and other cultivated tracts in close proximity, and even to elevated woods.

For more than a fortnight after their arrival the sexes, though feeding in company, do not apparently manifest a disposition to assume conjugal relationship. The desire for food seems to outweigh every other consideration. The inclemency of the weather, and the coldness of the earth, may have much to do with holding the amatory forces in check. But when the opportune period arrives, which it does in the course of events, the sexes desist in a measure from their riotous living and give the nobler instincts of their being a chance to assert their power. The males are the first to feel the changes which are being wrought in their natures. For more than a week from the incipiency of this feeling, in the early morning and evening hours, they may be seen exercising themselves by means of “curious spiral gyrations” in mid-air, and uttering, as earthwards they descend, a note which has been likened to the word _kwank_. This note may be a call to the female in the spring, but as it is often uttered in the fall after the breeding-season is past, it may also be a summons for the gathering together of the members of the same household. The production of these sounds seems a labor of very great effort. But the movements of the males at these times must be seen to be appreciated. The head and bill are bent forward until the latter comes into contact with the ground, and, just as the sound is being emitted, the body is urged violently forward. These spasmodic exertions having ceased, the actor in this drama twitches his abbreviated, half-spread tail, assumes an erect attitude of listening, and, if no response is elicited, repeats his characteristic cry with all its accompanying movements. If the call awakes an answering note, the happy lover flies to the presence of the one he seeks and lavishes upon her the most endearing caresses. Sometimes, as Audubon affirms, the male awaits the arrival of the dear one, and does not fly to meet her. The summons, according to the same eminent authority, seem sometimes to be replied to by one of the same sex, which is always the prelude to a fierce encounter between the two, for, on such occasions, when the feelings are in a high state of tension, the most intense enmity exists between the males. But these contentions are ordinarily short-lived, and cease with the assumption of matrimonial relations.

The happiness of the male is now complete. With his homely but prepossessing bride by his side, he soon journeys off in search of a home. This is a matter of great consequence, and tasks the patience to the utmost. But their labors are eventually crowned with success. The most secluded resorts are visited, and in some low, dense and swampy woods or brake, difficult of access, and one that none but the cruel collector would be likely to find, they hide away their nest. The structure is generally placed on the ground, at the foot of a bush or tussock, in the midst of small birches or alders, or on a decayed stump or prostrate log. In certain localities, it is snugly nestled in the midst of a meadow. It is by no means an elaborate affair, but merely consists of a few dried leaves or grasses which are scratched together by the female, and the work of a few brief hours at the most.

WOODCOCK ON NEST (Showing protective coloring)]