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<div> This eBook cover was created by the transcriber from elements within the issue
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<h1 class="ac" style="margin-bottom:2em;">BIRDS AND ALL NATURE.</h1>
<p class="ac" style="margin-bottom:2em;"><span class="smaller">ILLUSTRATED BY</span>
COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.</p>
<div class="vlouter">
<div class="volumeline">
<div class="volumeleft"><span class="sc">Vol. VII.</span></div>
<div class="volumeright"><span class="sc">No. 2.</span></div>
<div class="ac">FEBRUARY, 1900.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></SPAN>CONTENTS.</h2>
<table class="toctable" id="TOC" summary="CONTENTS">
<tr>
<td class="c1"> </td>
<td class="c2"><span class="sc">Page</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#A_BABY_HERON">A BABY HERON.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">49</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_KILLDEER">THE KILLDEER.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">50</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#COTTON_TEXTILES_II">COTTON TEXTILES. II.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">53</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_CINNAMON_TEAL">THE CINNAMON TEAL.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">59</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#A_SCRAP_OF_PAPER">A SCRAP OF PAPER.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">59</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_CLAPPER_RAIL">THE CLAPPER RAIL.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">62</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_SWINGING_LAMPS_OF_DAWN">
THE SWINGING LAMPS OF DAWN.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">62</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_LATE_DR_ELLIOTT_COUES">
THE LATE DR. ELLIOTT COUES.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">65</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#BOBBYS_COTTON-TAIL">BOBBY'S "COTTON-TAIL."</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">67</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_COUNTRY_THE_COUNTRY">
"THE COUNTRY, THE COUNTRY!"</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">68</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_GOPHER">THE GOPHER.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">71</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#HANS_AND_MIZI">HANS AND MIZI.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">72</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#GEOGRAPHY_LESSONS">GEOGRAPHY LESSONS.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">73</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_MINK">THE MINK.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">74</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_NEW_SPORT">THE NEW SPORT.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">77</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#MOLE_CRICKET_LODGE">MOLE CRICKET LODGE.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">78</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#SNOW_BIRDS">SNOW BIRDS.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">79</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#VEGETATION_IN_THE_PHILIPPINES">
VEGETATION IN THE PHILIPPINES.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">80</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#COMMON_MINERALS_AND_VALUABLE_ORES">
COMMON MINERALS AND VALUABLE ORES.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">83</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#FEBRUARY">FEBRUARY.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">85</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#LICORICE">LICORICE.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">86</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#A_WINTER_WALK_IN_THE_WOODS">
A WINTER WALK IN THE WOODS.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">90</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_SCARLET_PAINTED_CUP">
THE SCARLET PAINTED CUP.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">92</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#THE_YOUNG_NATURALIST">THE YOUNG NATURALIST.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">95</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="c1"><SPAN href="#WASHINGTONS_MONUMENT">WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT.</SPAN></td>
<td class="c2">96</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="A_BABY_HERON" id="A_BABY_HERON"></SPAN>A BABY HERON.</h2>
<p class="ac">REST H. METCALF.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_h.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">HOW many of the boys and girls
who read <span class="sc">Birds and All Nature</span>
ever saw a baby heron? I
am sure you would like to see
ours. He measures from tip to tip of his
wings, that is, with his wings spread
just as far as we could stretch them,
five feet and ten inches, and from the
tip of his bill to the tip of his toe very
nearly five feet. Now, isn't that a
little baby? He is nearly full-grown
but has not on the dress of the old birds;
that is why we call him baby. He is
called a crane by some people, but his
right name is great blue heron, and his
scientific name is <i>Ardea herodias</i>. Shall
I tell you about his dress? His head
is all dusky now, but when he puts
on his new dress his forehead and central
part of the crown will be white enclosed
by a circle of black—a fine black
crest with two elongated black plumes
that make him appear to be very much
dressed up. His back and wings are
blue-gray, but like his head will be
decorated with elongated scapulæ feathers,
when he gets on his dress suit, and
his long neck, which now has a rather
dingy look, will have a beautiful collar
of cinnamon brown tinged with purple
and a white line in front from throat to
breast. The tail is short and very inconspicuous.
He really is a beautiful bird
in spite of his long neck and long legs.</p>
<p>He is the largest of our New England
herons and is not very abundant.
You may find him about large bodies
of water, and during the daytime he
prefers the solitude of the forests and
sits quietly in tall trees for hours, but
in the early mornings and late afternoons
he may be seen standing motionless
at the edge of the water until
a fish or a frog appears, when, with unerring
stroke of his long beak, as
quickly as lightning, he seizes it and
beats it until dead, then swallows it;
this act is often repeated. He varies
his diet with meadow mice, snakes, and
insects, so he certainly does not lead a
very monotonous life. Our baby ate
for his last breakfast four good-sized
perch. Wasn't that a fine breakfast?
I know you would like to hear about
his early home. It was in a terribly dismal
swamp, where it was almost impossible
to reach, through mud to your
knees and through briers and tangled
bushes high as your head. There, several
feet above your head was a nest, nearly
flat, made of different sizes of twigs
put together in a loose and lazy manner.
Usually there are three or four
light bluish-green eggs. Only one brood
is reared in a season.</p>
<p>There are some people who say that
the blue heron is good for food, but
those who have once tried it do not
care for another plate. They are the
most suspicious of our birds and the
hardest to be approached for they are
constantly on the lookout for danger
and with their long necks, keen eyes,
and delicate organs of hearing, they
can detect the approach of a hunter
long before he can get within gunshot.
They have a very unmusical voice, their
call being a hoarse guttural "honk."</p>
<p>Once they were found in larger numbers,
but now are seldom seen but in
pairs or singly, and what a pity that foolish
fashion of trimming ladies' hats has
nearly exterminated so many varieties
of beautiful birds! God gave us many
beautiful things to enjoy in this world,
and are they not more beautiful when
we can see them alive in nature just
where God placed them, than they are
when dead and taken by pieces to
adorn our heads?</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_KILLDEER" id="THE_KILLDEER"></SPAN>THE KILLDEER.<br/> <span class="xx-smaller"><span style="font-weight:lighter;"> (<i>Aegialitis vocifera.</i>)</span></span></h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_d.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">DR. LIVINGSTONE described a
relative of this bird which he
met with in Africa as "a most
plaguey sort of public-spirited
individual that follows you everywhere,
flying overhead, and is most persevering
in his attempts to give fair warning
to all animals within hearing to
flee from the approach of danger," a
characteristic which has caused the
killdeer to be an object of dislike to
the gunner. It is usually the first to
take alarm at his approach and starts
up all other birds in the vicinity by its
loud cries. It can run with such swiftness
that, according to Audubon, to
run "like a killdeer" has in some parts
of the country passed into a proverb.
It is also active on the wing and
mounts at pleasure to a great height
in the air, with a strong and rapid
flight, which can be continued for a
long distance. In the love season it
performs various kinds of evolutions
while on the wing.</p>
<p>This plover is found throughout temperate
North America to Newfoundland
and Manitoba, nests throughout range,
and winters south of New England to
Bermuda, the West Indies, Central and
South America. From March to November,
and later, it is resident, and is
very abundant in spring and autumn
migrations. These birds are generally
seen in flocks when on the wing, but
scatter when feeding. Pastures and
cultivated fields, tracts of land near
water, lakesides and marshes seem
necessary to it. The sound uttered by
it, <i>kildeer</i>, <i>kildeer</i>, <i>dee</i>, <i>dee</i>, is almost
incessant, but it is often low and agreeable,
with a plaintive strain in it. When
apparently in danger the voice rises
higher and shriller. Cows, horses, sheep,
and the larger poultry that wander
over a farm are said not to alarm these
birds in the least. But they are wild
in the presence of man wherever they
have been persecuted. They will often
squat till one is close upon them, and
will then suddenly fly up or run off,
startling the unwary intruder by their
loud and clear cry. In winter the killdeer
is an unusually silent bird, in
which season it is found dispersed over
the cultivated fields in Florida, Georgia,
the Carolinas, and other southern
states, diligently searching for food.
Davie says that it may often be heard
on moonlight nights. The nest is placed
on the ground, usually in the vicinity
of a stream or pond, often on an elevated
spot in the grass or in a furrowed
field. It is merely a slight depression
in the ground. The eggs are
drab or clay color, thickly spotted and
blotched with blackish brown and umber,
small and quite pointed. They
are generally four in number, measuring
1.50 to 1.60 long by about 1.10
broad.</p>
<p>The plovers resemble the snipe in
structure, but are smaller, averaging
about the size of a thrush. Their bills
also are shorter. They have three toes
usually; their bodies are plump; short,
thick necks, long wings, and in some
instances they have spurs on the wings.
They pick their food, which is largely
of an animal nature, from the surface
of the ground, instead of probing for
it, as their shorter bills indicate. The
flesh of the killdeer is not highly regarded
as a food.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="KILLDEER.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_007.jpg" id="i_007.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_007.jpg" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. F. KAEMPFER.<br/>
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">KILLDEER.<br/>
⅔ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1900, BY<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="COTTON_TEXTILES_II" id="COTTON_TEXTILES_II"></SPAN> COTTON TEXTILES. II.</h2>
<p class="ac">W. E. WATT, A. M.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_c.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">COTTON is spun and woven into
so many useful forms that we
could hardly live without it
since we have become so thoroughly
accustomed to the comforts
and luxuries it supplies to us.
From the loose fiber that we use in
treating our teeth when they get to
troubling us to the delicate lace handkerchief
which is such a dream of the
weaver's art we use cotton for our commonest
and our most extraordinary
purposes.</p>
<p>Muslin takes its name from Mosul,
in India, where it was first made.
Although muslin is now made in both
Europe and America in great quantities,
the kind that is most famed for
its fineness is that from Dacca, India.
To get an idea of the fine threads used
in making the rarest of this muslin we
must note that one pound of cotton is
spun into three hundred eighty
hanks of thread with eight hundred
forty yards of thread in each hank.
This means that one pound of cotton
is spun out to the length of 319,000
yards, or over one hundred eighty-one
miles.</p>
<p>One pound of this thread would, if
it could be stretched out without breaking,
reach from New York City up the
Hudson to Albany, and there would
still be enough of it unused to reach
over to Saratoga. Ten pounds would
reach from New York city to Omaha,
with enough left over to reach back to
Chicago.</p>
<p>It is even possible to exceed this in
fineness if we do not care for use. To
show the perfection of a machine, a
thread of the fineness of 10,000 has
been spun. If this could be strung out,
as suggested above, it would reach
4,770 miles. One pound of the finest
fiber has thus been spun so that it
would reach from New York to Naples,
Italy, and there would still be enough
of it left to reach half-way back to
London on the return trip.</p>
<p>Where three hundred and eighty
hanks of thread are spun from a pound
the muslin made from it is called three
hundred eighty-degree muslin. But
even this is not the finest muslin made.
It is the finest made by the old hand
processes, but the perfections of machinery
have made it possible for us to
have seven hundred-degree cotton. A
strange thing about our finest machine-made
cotton is that it does not seem
to the eye or the touch to be as fine as
the Dacca. There is a peculiar softness
which cannot be imitated by the
machine.</p>
<p>I went the other day into one of our
great dry-goods stores to see how fine
a piece of cotton I could buy. I was
surprised to find that the gentlemanly
clerks knew very little about where the
goods were made and almost nothing
at all about the processes. They were
very obliging, but their business of
selling does not seem to require any
knowledge of those things I was so desirous
of learning.</p>
<p>The finest things I found were India
linen and Swiss mull. The India linen
has a remarkable name, seeing it is not
linen and is made in Scotland. The
Swiss mull is nearly as well named, for
it is also made in Glasgow. Whether
these goods sell better because their
names seem to indicate that they are
made somewhere else I cannot say, but
the truth seems to be that they were
called by these names innocently
enough by those who first made them,
being proud that they could produce
mull equal to the finest worn by the
ladies in Switzerland or equal to the
finest products of the Indian looms.</p>
<p>It is well known that in the dry-goods
business it seems to be greatly
to the advantage of the merchant to
have fine names for his wares, the
larger houses regularly employing
women who do nothing but find fancy
names for the things that are for sale.
Goods are sometimes displayed with
one name for several days without finding
a purchaser, but the namer soon
comes in with a new name to attach to
the goods and some of the very shoppers
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</SPAN></span>
who do not care for them under
the first name buy them readily under
the new one.</p>
<p>A lady recently asked me to tell her
the difference between muslin and long
cloth. I thought there might be a difference,
but have been unable to find
anyone who can tell what it is. Both
names are applied to white cotton
goods of various degrees of fineness.
Long cloth is of a superior quality of
cotton, and so is muslin when intended
for dress goods. Some of the names
under which white cotton goods are
sold are muslins, tarletans, mulls, jaconets,
nainsooks, lawns, grenadines, saccarillas,
cottonade, cotton velvet, and
velveteen.</p>
<p>Cotton is rarely manufactured where
raised. It is carried to the seacoast as
a rule by river steamers, though there
have been instances where the laziness
and ingenuity of man have combined
to send it down-stream in bales completely
covered with india rubber wrappings,
so they floated to their destination
with little care and no harm from
water.</p>
<p>With all our boasted Yankee shrewdness
and cunning in mechanics we do
not make up the finer grades of cotton
very extensively. As a rule the coarser
kinds of cloth that take much material
and less skill are made here, while the
finer grades that get more value out of
the pound of cotton are made abroad,
chiefly in Great Britain.</p>
<p>As an indication of this the figures
taken in the year 1884 form a striking
illustration. The average amount of
cotton spun by each spindle in Great
Britain that year was thirty-four and a
half pounds, while the amount consumed
by each spindle in America averaged
just sixty-five pounds, showing
that the products of our spindles are
just twice as heavy on the average as
those of the English and Scotch. A
fortunate thing about our goods when
sent abroad is that they are accurately
marked and prove to be very nearly
what they are represented. This is not
the case with goods shipped out of
Great Britain, where their long experience
in handling cotton has made them
more expert than we in stuffing their
goods with sizing and other adulterations
which make the goods deceptive.
There is so little tendency in this direction
among American manufacturers
that our good name has given us an
advantage in China and India, where
our manufactures are much more readily
sold than what purport to be the same of
British make.</p>
<p>Most of our cotton that is not exported
is made up into yarns, threads,
and the coarser goods, such as shirtings,
sheetings, drills, print cloths, bags,
and so forth. Yet there are several of our
mills, especially in the North, that turn
out the finer fabrics with great credit
to the country. Large quantities of
cotton are, of course, used up in woolen
mills, where mixed goods are made,
and hosiery mills, felt factories, and
hat works consume it largely. Much
cotton also goes into mattresses and
upholstery.</p>
<p>It comes from a boll having three or
five cells. This bursts open when it is
ripe. Cotton fiber is either white or
yellow, and varies in length from a
little over half an inch to two inches.
When gathered it is separated from its
clinging seeds by the cotton gin, and is
then pressed firmly in bales weighing
about five hundred pounds each,
although in some countries the customary
sizes of bales vary two or three
hundred pounds from this weight.</p>
<p>Of the twenty or more varieties of
cotton but two are given much attention
in the United States. These are the
famous sea island cotton and the common,
woolly-seed kind. The sea island
cotton grows on the islands off the coast
of South Carolina, in Florida, and on
the coast of Texas. The peculiar salt
air and humidity of these coasts seem
necessary to its perfection, for when it
is planted in the interior it quickly
loses its best qualities and becomes
similar to the common variety. Its
fibers are long and silky, and used for
the finest laces, spool cotton, fine muslins,
and such goods, but there is so
little of it as compared with the woolly
seed cotton that it is but an insignificant
part of our great crop.</p>
<p>Cotton is the only fibre that is naturally
produced ready to be worked directly
into cloth without special chemical
or mechanical treatment. It is the
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</SPAN></span>
great article of comfortable and cheap
covering for man's person. When
gathered and baled it is in a knotted
and lumpy state, from which it is rather
difficult to extricate the fibers and arrange
them for spinning. As we follow
the cotton through the mill we
come to these machines in the following
order: It goes to the opener first,
where it is beaten and spread out so
that a strong draft of air drives out
much of its impurities; it then goes to
the scutcher after being formed into
laps; the lap machine makes it into
flat folds; the carding engine not only
cards it but straightens the fiber and
gives it another cleaning; in the drawing
frame it is arranged in loose ropes
with the fibers parallel; then the slubbing
frame gives it a slight twist; the
intermediate and finishing frames twist
it still farther, especially when preparing
it for the higher numbers; the
throstle frame prepares coarse warps;
and on the mules, either self-acting or
hand, the coarse or fine yarns are spun.
In some systems several operations are
performed by the same machine.</p>
<p>Weaving follows. It consists in passing
threads over and under each other
as a stocking is darned, the main difference
being that in darning the needle
passes up and down to get over or under
the threads it meets, while in weaving
the threads met by the moving
thread move out of the way so the
shuttle may pass straight through the
whole width of the cloth. As the shuttle
comes back the threads are reversed
so that the ones that were up before
are now down and those that were
down are now up. The machine that
holds many threads for this work is the
loom.</p>
<p>An English clergyman by the name
of Edmund Cartwright has the credit
of inventing the power loom. His description
of his labors is interesting.
We copy from one of his letters: "Happening
to be in Matlock in the summer
of 1784, I fell in company with two
gentlemen of Manchester, when the
conversation turned on Arkwright's
spinning machinery. One of the company
observed, that as soon as Arkwright's
patent expired, so many mills
would be erected, and so much cotton
spun, that hands never could be found
to weave it. To this observation I replied,
that Arkwright must then set his
wits to work and invent a weaving mill.
This brought on a conversation on the
subject, in which the Manchester gentlemen
unanimously agreed that the
thing was impracticable; and, in defense
of their opinion, they adduced
arguments which I certainly was incompetent
to answer, or even to comprehend,
being totally ignorant of the
subject, having never at that time seen
a person weave. I controverted, however,
the impracticability of the thing,
by remarking that there had lately been
exhibited an automaton figure which
played at chess."</p>
<p>"Some little time afterward, a particular
circumstance recalling this conversation
to my mind, it struck me
that, as in plain weaving, according to
the conception I then had of the business,
there could only be three movements,
which were to follow each other
in succession, there would be very little
difficulty in producing and repeating
them. Full of these ideas, I immediately
got a carpenter and smith to carry
them into effect. As soon as the machine
was finished I got a weaver to
put in the warp, which was of such
material as sail-cloth is usually made
of. To my delight a piece of cloth,
such as it was, was the product. As I
had never before turned my thoughts
to anything mechanical, either in
theory or practice, nor had ever seen
a loom at work or knew anything of
its construction, you will readily suppose
that my first loom must have been
a most rude piece of machinery. The
warp was placed perpendicularly, the
reed fell with a force of at least half a
hundred weight and the springs which
threw the shuttle were strong enough
to have thrown a Congreve rocket.</p>
<p>"In short, it required the strength of
two powerful men to work the machine
at a slow rate and only for a short
time. Conceiving in my great simplicity
that I had accomplished all that
was required, I then secured what I
thought a most valuable property by a
patent, 4th of April, 1785. This being
done, I then condescended to see how
other people wove. And you will guess
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</SPAN></span>
my astonishment when I compared
their easy mode of operation and mine.
Availing myself, however, of what I
then saw, I made a loom, in its general
principles nearly as they are now made;
but it was not until the year 1787 that
I completed my invention, when I took
out my first weaving patent Aug. 1 of
that year."</p>
<p>As usual this worthy man, who had
won the right to the title he received,
was not the only discoverer or inventor
of the thing credited to his name. Long
before his time a description of a similar
loom had been presented to the
Royal Society of London, but he had
no knowledge of it. He spent between
£30,000 and £40,000 bringing his invention
to a successful stage, but failed
to make it profitable to himself. A
small return was made to him later, at
the suggestion of the principal mill-owners
of the country, when he received
from the government the sum
of £10,000. His work has been much
improved in detail since, but it has
never been altered in its main principles.</p>
<p>But with all our arts and marvelous
machines the most beautifully fine cotton
fabric is yet the Dacca muslin. It
is called "woven wind," and when
spread out upon the grass it is said to
resemble gossamer. It used to be made
for the Indian princes before the days
when the British took possession of
the country. It was made only in a
strip of territory about forty miles long
and three miles in width. With the
change in rulers the weavers largely
dropped the work which they and their
ancestors had done for centuries, handing
down their art from father to son;
they took to the business of raising
indigo, as their soil and climate were
well adapted to its production and the
demand was good.</p>
<p>Yet there are some of them weaving
at this day, though not in sufficient
numbers to produce the muslin as a
regular article of commerce. A bamboo
bow strung with catgut, like a
fiddle string, is used to separate the
fiber from the seed. It is carded with
a big fishbone. The distaff is held in
the hand and the loom is a very old-fashioned
affair, home-made of bamboo
reeds, so simple that a few shillings
will purchase one, though a lifetime
will not make one able to use it.</p>
<p>The weaver chooses a spot under the
shade of a large tree, digs a hole in the
dirt for his legs and the lower part of
the "geer" and fastens his balances to
some convenient bough overhead. His
exceedingly fine threads will not work
well except in such a shady spot and
early in the morning, when there is
just the right amount of moisture in
the tropical air. There is no line of
hand work in which there is such a contrast
to-day as in the business of making
cotton goods. Machinery has
vastly outstripped the hand in quantity
of product and accuracy, yet the old
ways prevail in the manipulation of
the very finest of web. Although Whitney's
saw gin made a revolution in the
industry, yet the long and delicate
fibers of sea-island cotton are separated
from the seed in the old way of passing
seed cotton between two rollers
which are going in different directions.
The smooth seeds of this cotton pop
away from the fiber quite readily without
breaking it. If it were pulled
through Whitney's gin there would be
more or less tearing and breaking. So
the great invention does not apply to
cleaning the very finest material. The
short wool fibers of common cotton
are not so much hurt by the saw teeth
and the amount of work done by the
gin makes this damage of no account.</p>
<p>At the Atlanta Cotton Exposition in
1882 the old and the new were strikingly
contrasted. The mountain people
of the South, in many instances,
live after the old fashions of colonial
times. They make homespun cloth
which is a revelation to us. Some of
these people were induced to show
their work at the exposition, and they
were as much astonished at the apparel
of their visitors who gazed upon them
and their strange labor as were the visitors
at the work and manners of the
mountaineers.</p>
<p>Two carders operated hand cards,
two spinsters ran the spinning-wheels
and one weaver made cloth upon a
hand loom. In ten hours these five
people made eight yards of very coarse
cloth.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="CINNAMON TEAL.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_019.jpg" id="i_019.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_019.jpg" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. F. KAEMPFER.<br/>
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">CINNAMON TEAL.<br/>
½ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1900, BY<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_CINNAMON_TEAL" id="THE_CINNAMON_TEAL"></SPAN> THE CINNAMON TEAL.<br/> <span class="xx-smaller"><span style="font-weight:lighter;"> (<i>Anas cyanoptera.</i>)</span></span></h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_d.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">DAVIE says that the geographical
distribution of this beautiful
teal is western America, from
the Columbia river south to
Chili, Patagonia, and Falkland Islands;
east in North America to the Rocky
Mountains; casual in the Mississippi
Valley, and accidental in Ohio. It is
abundant in the United States west of
the Rocky Mountains, breeding in Colorado,
Utah, Nevada, California, Idaho,
and Oregon. Its habits are similar to
those of the blue-wing. Its favorite
breeding-places are in fields of tall
grass or clover, not far from water.
The eggs range from nine to thirteen,
and the nest is so completely woven of
grass, feathers, and down that it is said
the entire structure may be picked up
without its coming apart. Oliver
Davie, the well known ornithologist,
says that it gave him pleasure to be
able to add this beautiful duck to the
avifauna of Ohio as an accidental visitor.
On the 4th of April, 1895, a
fine male of this species was taken at
the Licking County reservoir by William
Harlow. On the 6th Mr. Davie
skinned and mounted it and it is now
one of the rare Ohio birds in his collection.
It proved to be good eating.
This, he says, is the first record of the
cinnamon teal ever having been taken
in the state.</p>
<p>The eggs of this species are creamy-white
or pale buff, the average size being
1.88×1.38.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<h2><SPAN name="A_SCRAP_OF_PAPER" id="A_SCRAP_OF_PAPER"></SPAN>A SCRAP OF PAPER.</h2>
<p class="ac">ELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">"A bluebird sings on the leafless spray,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Hey-ho, winter will go!"</div>
</div></div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_h.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">HE ARRIVED that year very
early in the season. It was
about the twelfth of February
that I first heard his plaintive
note far up in the maple tree. Could
it be Mr. Bluebird, I questioned as I
hastened to the window opera-glass in
hand? Yes, there he stood, not too
comfortably dressed I am afraid, in his
blue cap, sky-blue overcoat and russet-brown
vest edged with a trimming of
feathers soft and white.</p>
<p>There had been a slight fall of snow
during the night, and I fancied, from
his pensive note, that he was chiding
himself for leaving the Mississippi Valley,
to which he had journeyed at the
first touch of wintry weather in Illinois.</p>
<p>"If it wasn't for the snowdrops, the
crocus, the violets, and daffodils," he
was saying in a faint sweet warble, "I'd
linger longer in the South than I do.
They, dear little things, never know,
down in their frozen beds, that winter
will soon give place to spring till they
hear my voice, and so, no matter how
bleak the winds or how gray the sky, I
sing to let them know I have arrived,
my presence heralding the birth of
spring and death of winter. It well repays
me, I am sure, when, in March
under the warm kisses of the sun their
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</SPAN></span>
pretty heads appear above the ground,
and, smiling back at him, out they
spring dressed in their new mantles of
purple and yellow."</p>
<p>At this moment from the topmost
branch of an adjoining maple came a
low, sweet, tremulous note very much
indeed like a sigh.</p>
<p>"Ah," said he, surveying the new-comer
with flattering attention, "that
is the young daughter of Mr. and Mrs.
Bluebird who nested in Lincoln Park
last summer. For some reason they
decided not to go South this season
but remained in Chicago all winter.
She strikes me as being a very pretty
young-lady bird, and certainly it will
be no more than friendly upon my part
to fly over there and inquire how she
and her family withstood the rigors
of a Northern winter."</p>
<p>From Miss Bluebird's demeanor,
when he alighted upon a twig beside
her, I concluded she greatly disapproved
of his unceremonius approach.
Prettily lifting her wings and lightly
trembling upon her perch she made as
if to fly away, but instead only changed
her position a little, coyly turning aside
her head while listening to what the
young gentleman had to say.</p>
<p>Encouraged by this Mr. Bluebird's
manner became very friendly indeed,
and very soon, reassured by his respectful
demeanor and sentiments uttered in
a voice of oh, such touching sweetness,
the young-lady bird unbent, responding
at length in a very amiable manner,
I noticed, to her companion's
remarks.</p>
<p>The conversation which followed
may have been very commonplace or
very bright and sparkling, but as there
is always an undercurrent of sadness in
the bluebird's note, and an air of pensiveness
expressed in its actions, one
could only conjecture what the tenor
of this one might be.</p>
<p>The pair, to my intense satisfaction,
the next day met again in the top of
the maple tree exchanging confidences
in low, tremulous strains of surpassing
sweetness, uneasily shifting their stations
from time to time, lifting their
wings, as is their pretty habit, and
trembling lightly upon their perches as
though about to rise and fly away.</p>
<p>The following morning, which was
the fourteenth day of February, Mr.
Bluebird's manner when he greeted his
new acquaintance appeared to offend
her very much. She was cold and distant,
whether from maidenly coyness
or a laudable desire to check his too
confident, proprietorship sort of air,
who can say? In no way daunted, that
gay bachelor pressed his suit warmly,
picturing in tones of peculiar tenderness
the snug little home they would
establish together, what a devoted
husband he would be, attentive, submissive,
following her directions in all
things. Miss Bluebird shook her head.</p>
<p>It was all very well, she replied, for
him to talk of poetry and romance,
but he knew well enough that upon her
would devolve all the serious cares of
life. While he would be very active in
hunting for tenements, submitting, no
doubt, to her choice, was it not the
custom of all the Mr. Bluebirds to fly
ahead in quest of material, gayly singing,
while their mates selected and carried
and builded the nest? What poetry
would there be in life for her, she would
like to know, under such circumstances,
and then, when all was done, to sit
for hours and days on the eggs she had
laid in order to rear a brood. Oh, no!
She was not ready to give up all the
pleasures of life yet, and then—and
then—Miss Bluebird lowered her eyes
and stammered something about being
too young to leave her mother.</p>
<p>What argument Mr. Bluebird brought
to bear against this latter reason for
rejecting his suit I cannot say, but being
a wise bird he only stifled a laugh
behind his foot and continued more
warmly to press it. Again and again
he followed her when she took a short
flight, quavering <i>tru-al-ly</i>, <i>tru-al-ly</i>, no
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</SPAN></span>
doubt telling her of the many good
qualities of the Mr. Bluebirds, how
devoted they were, how they ever relied
upon the good judgment and practical
turn of their mates, never directing,
never disputing, but by cheerful
song and gesture encouraging and applauding
everything they did. Then,
too, unlike some other husbands that
wear feathers, they regularly fed their
mates when sitting upon the nest and
did their duty afterward in helping to
rear the young.</p>
<p>As he talked Miss Bluebird's coldness
gradually melted till at length she
coyly accepted his invitation to descend
and examine a certain tenement
which, hoping for her acceptance, he
had the day previous, he said, been to
view.</p>
<p>"We can at least look it over," he
said artfully, noticing the elevation of
her bill at the word "acceptance,"
"though of course it is too early in the
season to occupy it. Mr. Purple Martin
lived in it last year and——"</p>
<p>Miss Bluebird interrupted him, a
trifle haughtily, I thought.</p>
<p>"Is the tenement you speak of in a
stump, fence hole, or tree cavity?" she
inquired.</p>
<p>"Neither," he hastened to answer;
"it is a box erected by the owner of
these premises."</p>
<p>"Ah," said she, graciously, "that is
another matter," and very amiably
spread her wings and descended upon
the roof of the box in question.</p>
<p>"You see," explained Mr. Bluebird,
"the man who put up this dwelling
knew what he was about. He had no
intention the sparrows should occupy
it, so he built it without any doorsteps
or piazza, as you have no doubt remarked."</p>
<p>"Really," replied Miss Bluebird, "in
my opinion that is a great defect. A
house without doorsteps——"</p>
<p>"Is just what certain families want,"
interrupted Mr. Bluebird, smilingly.
"Our enemies, the sparrows, cannot fly
directly into a nest hole or box like
this, as we can, but must have a perch
upon which first to alight. It is for
that reason, my dear, this house was
built without doorsteps. No sparrow
families are wanted here."</p>
<p>Miss Bluebird at this juncture thought
it proper to be overcome with a feeling
of shyness, and could not be prevailed
upon to enter the box.</p>
<p>More than once her companion flew
in and returned to her side, singing
praises of its coziness as a place of
abode.</p>
<p>"With new furnishings it will do
capitally," said he; "we might even
make the Purple Martins' nest do with
a little——"</p>
<p>Miss Bluebird's bill at once went up
into the air.</p>
<p>"If there is anything I detest," said
she, scornfully, "it is old furniture,
especially second-hand beds. If that
is the best you have to offer a prospective
bride, Mr. Bluebird, I will bid
you good-day," and the haughty young
creature prettily fluttered her wings as
if about to fly off and leave him.</p>
<p>"Do not go," he pleaded; "if this
house does not please you I have others
to offer," and Miss Bluebird, moved
apparently by his tender strains,
sweetly said <i>tru-al-ly</i> and condescended
to fly down and enter the box.</p>
<p>It was scarcely a minute ere she reappeared,
and, flying at once to her
favorite branch in the maple tree, called
to him to follow. A scrap of paper,
woven into his nest by the Purple Martin
the past season, fluttered to the
ground as she emerged from the box,
and while the pair exchanged vows of
love and constancy up in the maple
tree, I picked it up and saw, not without
marveling at the sagacity of Mr.
Bluebird, who probably had dragged
it into sight, a heart faintly drawn in
red ink, and below it the words:</p>
<p>"<i>Thou art my valentine!</i>"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_CLAPPER_RAIL" id="THE_CLAPPER_RAIL"></SPAN>THE CLAPPER RAIL.<br/> <span class="xx-smaller"><span style="font-weight:lighter;"> (<i>Rallus longirostris crepitans.</i>)</span></span></h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THIS bird, sometimes called the
salt-water marsh hen, is found
in great abundance in the salt
marshes of the Atlantic coast
from New Jersey southward. It breeds
in profusion in the marshes from the
Carolinas to Florida, and has lately
been found breeding on the coast of
Louisiana on the Gulf of Mexico, Dr.
A. K. Fisher having taken an old bird
and two young at Grand Isle in 1886.
The clapper rail arrives on the south-eastern
coast of New Jersey about the
last of April, its presence being made
known by harsh cries at early dawn
and at sunset. Nest-building is commenced
in the latter part of May, and
by the first of June the full complement
of eggs is laid, ranging, says
Davie, from six to nine or ten in number,
thirteen being the probable limit.
Farther south the bird is known to lay
as many as fifteen. On Cobb's Island,
Virginia, the clapper breeds in great
numbers, carefully concealing the nest
in high grass. The color of the eggs
is pale buffy-yellow, dotted and spotted
with reddish-brown and pale lilac, with
an average size of 1.72 × 1.20, but there
is a great variation in this respect in a
large series.</p>
<p>At the nesting-season the rails are
the noisiest of birds; their long, rolling
cry is taken up and repeated by each
member of the community. The thin
bodies of the birds often measure no
more than an inch and a quarter through
the breast. "As thin as a rail" is a
well-founded illustrative expression.</p>
<p>"To get a good look at these birds
in their grassy retreats," says Neltje
Blanchan, "is no easy matter. Row a
scow over the submerged grass at
high-tide as far as it will go, listen to
the skulking clatterers, and, if near by,
plunge from the bow into the muddy
meadow, and you may have the good
fortune to flush a bird or two that rises
fluttering just above the sedges, flies a
few yards, trailing its legs behind it,
and drops into the grasses again before
you can press the button of your
camera. A rarer sight still is to see a
clapper rail running, with head tilted
downward and tail upward, in a ludicrous
gait, threading in and out of the
grassy maze."</p>
<p>The rail can swim fairly well, but not
fast. Its wings are short, but useful,
and it is so swift-footed that dogs
chase it in vain.</p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="CLAPPER RAIL.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_036.jpg" id="i_036.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_036.jpg" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. F. NUSSBAUMER & SON<br/>
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">CLAPPER RAIL.<br/>
⅖ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1900, BY<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_SWINGING_LAMPS_OF_DAWN" id="THE_SWINGING_LAMPS_OF_DAWN"></SPAN> THE SWINGING LAMPS OF DAWN.</h2>
<p class="ac">REV. CHARLES COKE WOODS.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Anear the threshold of my home</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">A wily foe had strayed,</div>
<div class="verse">And on a rose-tree in the loam</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">A wondrous thing he made;</div>
<div class="verse">Beneath the cover of the night</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">He built a silken gin,</div>
<div class="verse">And at the break of morning light</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Bade all the homeless in.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Each shining cord was made with skill,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And woven with such grace,</div>
<div class="verse">That none would dream he meant to kill,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">In such a royal place;</div>
<div class="verse">The beauty of that bright bazar</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">No one could ever fear,</div>
<div class="verse">Its mirrors caught the morning star,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">That glistened crystal-clear.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Its swinging lamps were globes of dew,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Enkindled by the dawn,</div>
<div class="verse">And when the morning breezes blew</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Across the velvet lawn,</div>
<div class="verse">The shining lamps swung to and fro.</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Enravishing the eye,</div>
<div class="verse">Till garbed in light-robes, all aglow,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Was every flower and fly.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">But when the lights began to wane,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">As sea-tides slowly ebb,</div>
<div class="verse">I heard the minor notes of pain</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Issuing from a web;</div>
<div class="verse">And as my cautious feet drew nigh,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">I heard the dying song</div>
<div class="verse">Of one deluded, wayward fly</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">That watched the lamps too long.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_LATE_DR_ELLIOTT_COUES" id="THE_LATE_DR_ELLIOTT_COUES"></SPAN> THE LATE DR. ELLIOTT COUES.</h2>
<p class="ac">C. C. MARBLE.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><SPAN name="i_039.jpg" id="i_039.jpg"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/i_039.jpg" alt="" /> <div class="caption">ELLIOTT COUES</div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE subject of this sketch, whose
death occurred on Christmas,
1899, at Baltimore, Md., was
one of the few men who have
become famous both in physical and
psychical science. He had long been
recognized as one of the leading naturalists
of America, and of late years
had acquired equal distinction as a
philosopher.</p>
<p>Early in April last Dr. Coues supplied
us with the material for a sketch
of his life, to which we are indebted
chiefly for what this article contains.
He was born in Portsmouth, N. H.,
Sept. 9, 1842, and was the son of Samuel
Elliott Coues and Charlotte Haven
Ladd Coues. His father was the
author of several scientific treatises
which anticipated some of the more
modern views of physics, astronomy,
and geology; so that young Coues
would seem to have inherited his bent
of mind towards study and research.
The name is of Norman French origin.
Dr. Coues' father was a friend of
Franklin Pierce, and early in the presidency
of the latter received from him
an appointment in the United States
patent office, which he held nearly to
his death in July, 1867. The family
moved to Washington in 1833 and Dr.
Coues had always been a resident of
that city, excepting during the years he
served in the West and South as an
army officer or engaged in scientific
explorations. As a boy he was educated
under Jesuit influences at the
seminary now known as Gonzaga College.
In 1857 he entered a Baptist
college, now Columbian University,
where he graduated in 1861 in the academic
department, and in 1863 in the
medical department of that institution.
To the degrees of A. B., A. M., Ph. D.,
and M. D., conferred by this college,
his riper scholarship added titles
enough to fill a page from learned
societies all over the world.</p>
<p>His taste for natural history developed
early in an enthusiastic devotion
to ornithology, and before he graduated
he was sent by the Smithsonian
Institution to collect birds in Labrador.
Among his earliest writings are
the account of this trip, and a treatise
on the birds of the District of Columbia,
both published in 1861, and both
papers secured public recognition in
England as well as in this country, thus
making a beginning of his literary reputation.</p>
<p>While yet a medical student, Dr.
Coues was enlisted by Secretary Stanton
as medical cadet, U. S. A., and
served a year in one of the hospitals in
Washington. On graduating in medicine
in 1863, he was appointed by Surgeon-General
Hammond for a year as
acting assistant surgeon U. S. A. and,
on coming of age passed a successful
examination for the medical corps of
the army. He received his commission
in 1864, and was immediately ordered
to duty in Arizona. His early years of
service in that territory, and afterward
in North and South Carolina, were
utilized in investigating the natural history
of those regions, respecting which
he published various scientific papers.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</SPAN></span>
Though he wrote some professional
articles, during his hospital experience,
Dr. Coues seems never to have been
much interested in the practice of
medicine and surgery. After about
ten years of ordinary military service
as post surgeon in various places
he was, in 1873, appointed naturalist of
the U.S. northern boundary commission,
which surveyed the line along the
forty-ninth parallel from the Lake of
the Woods to the Rocky mountains.
In 1874 he returned to Washington to
prepare the scientific report of his operations.
He edited all the publications
of the United States geological and
geographical survey of the territories
from 1876 to 1880 and contributed
several volumes to the reports of the
survey, notably his "Birds of the Northwest,"
"Fur Bearing Animals," "Birds
of the Colorado Valley," and several
installments of a universal Bibliography
of Ornithology. The latter work
attracted especial attention in Europe,
and Dr. Coues was signally complimented
by an invitation, signed by
Darwin, Huxley, Flower, Newton,
Sclater, and about forty other leading
British scientists to take up his residence
in London and identify himself
with the British Museum.</p>
<p>Dr. Coues also projected and had
well under way a "History of North
American Mammals," which was ordered
to be printed by act of Congress
when suddenly, at the very height of
his scientific researches and literary
labors, he was ordered by the war department
to routine medical duty on
the frontier. He obeyed the order and
proceeded to Arizona, but found it, of
course, impossible to resume a life he
had long since outgrown. His indignant
protests being of no avail, he returned
to Washington and promptly
tendered his resignation from the army
in order to continue his scientific career
unhampered by red tape.</p>
<p>As an author he is chiefly known
by his numerous works on ornithology,
mammalogy, herpetology, bibliography,
lexicography, comparative
anatomy, natural philosophy, and
psychical research. He was one of the
authors of the Century Dictionary of
the English Language, in seven years
contributing 40,000 words and definitions
in general biology, comparative
anatomy, and all branches of zoölogy.
During the last few years he contributed
several volumes on western history,
in all twelve volumes, and by
study and research was enabled to correct
many errors. In 1877 he received
the highest technical honor to be attained
by an American scientist in his
election to the Academy of National
Science and was for some years the
youngest academician. The same year
saw his election to the chair of anatomy
of the National Medical College
in Washington, where he had graduated
in '63. He then entered upon a professorship
and lectured upon his favorite
branch of the medical sciences for
ten years. He appears to have been
the first in Washington to teach human
anatomy upon the broadest basis of
morphology and upon the principle of
evolution. Nearly all his life Dr. Coues
has been a collaborator of the Smithsonian
Institution of Washington, his
name being most frequently mentioned
in that connection. Many of the numberless
specimens of natural history he
presented to the United States government
were found new to science and
several have been named in compliment
to their discoverer.</p>
<p>At the height of his intellectual activity
in physical science the spiritual
side of Dr. Coues' nature was awakened.
He became interested in the
phenomena of spiritualism, as well as
in the speculations of theosophy. Belonging
distinctively to the materialistic
school of thought and skeptical
to the last degree by his whole training
and turn of mind, he nevertheless
began to feel the inadequacy of formal
orthodox science to deal with the
deeper problems of human life and
destiny.</p>
<p>Convinced of the soundness of the
main principles of evolution, as held
by his peers in science, he wondered
whether these might not be equally
applicable to psychical research, and
hence took up the theory of evolution
at the point where Darwin left it, proposing
to use it in explanation of the
obscure phenomena of hypnotism,
clairvoyance, telepathy and the like.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</SPAN></span>
He visited Europe to see Mme. Blavatsky,
founded and became president
of the Gnostic Theosophical Society of
Washington, and later became the perpetual
president of the Esoteric Theosophical
Society of America. In 1890
he published an exposé of the impostures
of Blavatsky, and from that time
his interest in the cult gradually ceased.</p>
<p>Most men can do some things well,
but nature is seldom so lavish of her
gifts as to produce a genius who does
all things equally well. It is rare to
find a man like Dr. Coues, who was
capable of incessant drudgery in the
most prosaic technicalities, yet blessed
with the poetic temperament and ardent
imagination, able to array the
deepest problems in a sparkling style
which fascinated while it convinced.
His literary labors would have killed
most men, but to his grasp of mind
nature had kindly joined a strong,
healthy body that proved capable of
any demand upon his physical endurance
that his intellectual activity might
make. He was tall, well-formed, classic
in features, straight as an arrow, with
the air of the scholar without the student's
stoop, betraying no trace of
mental weariness—a man with the
tastes of a sybarite and the soul of a
poet; to quote from a leading journal,
"the imagination of a Goethe and the
research of a Humboldt."</p>
<p>In conversation he was fascinating,
possessing much of the personal magnetism
ascribed to James G. Blaine. It
was the pleasure of the writer to have
many interviews and to enjoy a somewhat
intimate correspondence with him
almost up to the time of his death.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<h2><SPAN name="BOBBYS_COTTON-TAIL" id="BOBBYS_COTTON-TAIL"></SPAN> BOBBY'S "COTTON-TAIL."</h2>
<p class="ac">GRANVILLE OSBORNE.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ac">I.</div>
<div class="verse">Name's Bobby Wilkins; I'm a-goin' on six years old;</div>
<div class="verse">Aunt Polly says 'at I'm a-gettin' purty pert 'n bold;</div>
<div class="verse">She 'aint er might uv use fer boys 'at's jest er-bout my size;</div>
<div class="verse">If Tabby'n me hev eny fun her "angry pashuns rise," 'n</div>
<div class="verse">When I try ter make some sparks fly out uv Tabby's tail</div>
<div class="verse">Aunt Polly says, "Bad boys like you are sometimes put in jail;"</div>
<div class="verse">But I don't mind her not a bit, an' make jest lots uv noise,</div>
<div class="verse">An' nen she looks so cross an' sez, "Deliver me frum <i>boys</i>."</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ac">II.</div>
<div class="verse">My Aunt Polly likes her cat er-nough sight better'n me, 'n'</div>
<div class="verse">Keeps a-coddlin' it 'ith cream 'n' sometimes catnip tea.</div>
<div class="verse">Seen some tracks behin' ther shed, an' nen I sez, sez I,</div>
<div class="verse">"I'll catch yer, Mister Cotton-Tail, to make a rabbit pie;"</div>
<div class="verse">So me'n' Tommy Baker found er empty cracker box;</div>
<div class="verse">Thought we'd hev it big er-nough fer fear he wuz er fox,</div>
<div class="verse">An' nen we propped ther cover up 'n' fixed it 'ith a spring</div>
<div class="verse">'At shut it suddin' 'ith a bang ez tight ez anything.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse ac">III.</div>
<div class="verse">We cut er fresh green carrot top 'n' put it in fer bait,</div>
<div class="verse">Wuz both so sure we'd ketch him 'at we couldn't hardly wait;</div>
<div class="verse">Pounded in some stakes each side 'n' made it good 'n' stout;</div>
<div class="verse">If Mister Cotton-Tail got in he never could get out.</div>
<div class="verse">Tom staid 'ith me till mornin', an' almos' 'fore it wuz light</div>
<div class="verse">We run behin' ther shed 'n' foun' our trap all shet up tight;</div>
<div class="verse">An' nen I shouted, "Got him!" 'n' Tom threw up his hat—</div>
<div class="verse">Blame 'f that ol' rabbit wasn't my Aunt Polly's cat!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_COUNTRY_THE_COUNTRY" id="THE_COUNTRY_THE_COUNTRY"></SPAN> "THE COUNTRY, THE COUNTRY!"</h2>
<p class="ac">FROM A CLUB OF ONE, BY A. P. RUSSELL, L. H. D.
<SPAN name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></SPAN>
<SPAN href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</SPAN></p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">TREES! Think of them! In the
United States thirty-six varieties
of oak, thirty-four of pine, nine
of fir, five of spruce, four of hemlock,
two of persimmon, twelve of ash,
eighteen of willow, nine of poplar, and
I don't know how many of the beautiful
beech. I once counted over thirty different
varieties of trees in the space of
one acre. And the leaves—their number,
their individuality, their variety of
shape and tint, the acres of space that
those of one great tree would cover if
spread out and laid together! In the
autumn to watch them fall—how slowly,
how rapidly! Yet they say nobody ever
saw one of them let go. Homer's comparison
to the lives of men—how fine!
Better than Lucian's to the bubbles. I
remember very well one October day
in Ohio. It was long ago—"in life's
morning march, when my bosom was
young." (I like to quote from that
poem of Campbell's, it is incomparable
of its kind.) A delightful tramp! Elderberries.
(The great Boerhaave held
the elder in such pleasant reverence for
the multitude of its virtues, that he is
said to have taken off his hat whenever
he passed it.) Grapes. Haws. Pawpaws.
(Nature's custard.) Spicewood.
Sassafras. Hickory nuts. Nearly a
primeval forest. Vines reminding one
of Brazilian creepers. Trees that were
respectable saplings when Columbus
landed. The dead roots of an iron-wood—so
like a monster as to startle.
Behemoth I thought of. "He moveth
his tail like a cedar.' Thistle-down.
Diffused like small vices. Every seed
hath wings. Here and there a jay, or a
woodpecker. Grape-vines, fantastically
running over the tops of tall bushes,
grouping deformities, any one of which,
if an artist drew it, would be called an
exaggeration, worse than anything of
Doré's. Trees, swaying and bowing to
one another, like stilted clowns in Nature's
afterpiece of the seasons. Trees
incorporated, sycamore and elm, maple
and hickory, modifying and partaking
each other's nature; resembling so much
as to appear one tree. A jolly gray
squirrel, hopping from limb to limb,
like a robin; swinging like an oriole;
flying along the limb like a weaver's
shuttle; scared away, at length, by a
scudding cloud of pigeons, just brushing
the tallest tree-tops, as if kissing an
annual farewell. Clover. Sorrel. Pennyroyal.
A drink of cider from a bit
of broken crockery. ("Does he not
drink more sweetly that takes his beverage
in an earthen vessel than he that
looks and searches into his golden chalices
for fear of poison, and sleeps in
armor, and trusts nobody, and does not
trust God for his safety?") "All is fair—all
is glad—from grass to sun!" Not
a "melancholy" day. Keats' poem on
Autumn comes to mind; and Crabbe's</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">"Welcome pure thoughts, welcome, ye silent groves;</div>
<div class="verse">These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves."</div>
</div></div>
<p>Indian summer. Balzac's comparison
to ripe womanhood. The significant worn
walk round the mean man's field; its
crooked outline impressively striking.
All in all, a white day. Memory of it
supplies these notes. They might be expanded
into an essay. The country,
the country! Though the man who
would truly relish and enjoy it must be
previously furnished with a large and
various stock of ideas, which he must
be capable of turning over in his own
mind, of comparing, varying, and contemplating
upon with pleasure; he must
so thoroughly have seen the world as
to cure him of being over fond of it;
and he must have so much good sense
and virtue in his own heart as to prevent
him from being disgusted with his
own reflections, or uneasy in his own
company. Alas!</p>
<div class="footnotes">
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></SPAN>
<SPAN href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></SPAN>
By permission.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="GOPHER.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_050.jpg" id="i_050.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_050.jpg" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. F. KAEMPFER.<br/>
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">GOPHER.<br/>
⅚ Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1900, BY<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_GOPHER" id="THE_GOPHER"></SPAN>THE GOPHER.</h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" width-obs="58" height-obs="70" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE name of gopher, according to
Brehm, is applied in some
American localities to various
other widely variant rodents.
The zoölogists, who first described the
animal, obtained their specimens from
Indians, who had amused themselves
by cramming both cheek pouches full
of earth, distending them to such a degree
that if the animal had walked the
pouches would have trailed on the
earth. These artificially distended
pouches obtained for the gopher its
name; the taxidermists who prepared
the dead specimens endeavored to give
them what was supposed to be a life-like
appearance by following the practice
of the Indians in distending the
cheek pouches, and the artists who delineated
the animal followed the models
which were accessible to them, but
too truly in their drawings. Owing to
these circumstances, the pictures of
gophers of even recent date represent
really monstrous animals, when they
honestly intend to familiarize us with
the gopher.</p>
<p>The gopher may be found east of
the Rocky Mountains and to the west
of the Mississippi river, between the
thirty-fourth and fifty-second parallel
of north latitude. It leads an underground
life, digging tunnels in various
directions. Tunnels, of old standing,
says Brehm, are packed hard and firm
from constant use. Lateral passages
branch off at intervals. The main
chamber is situated under the roots of
a tree at a depth of about four and one-half
feet; the entrance tunnel is sunk
down to it with a spiral direction. This
chamber is large, is lined with soft
grass, and serves for a nesting and
sleeping-place. The nest in which the
young, numbering from five to seven,
are born about the beginning of April,
is lined with the hair of the mother. It
is surrounded with circular passages
from which the tunnels radiate. Gesner
found that a passage leads from the
nest to a larger hole, the storeroom,
which is usually filled with roots, potatoes,
nuts, and seeds. When throwing
up the earth the gopher exposes itself
to view as little as possible and immediately
after accomplishing its purpose
plunges back into its hole. According
to Audubon it appears above
ground to bask in the sun. We have
seen it sit at the entrance to its den
with an air of bold indifference to the
approach of danger and then suddenly
vanish under ground. Its acute sense
of hearing and great power of scent
protect it from surprises.</p>
<p>Audubon kept several gophers in
captivity for months, feeding them on
potatoes. Their appetites were voracious,
but they would drink neither
water nor milk. They made incessant
efforts to regain their liberty by gnawing
through boxes and doors. They
constantly dragged clothing and other
similar objects together, utilizing them
as bedding, first gnawing them to
pieces. One of them, straying into a
boot, instead of turning back, simply
gnawed its way through the tip. The
habit of gnawing was unendurable and
Audubon incontinently got rid of them.</p>
<p>The gopher is very destructive to
valuable trees and plants, for which
reason man is its most dangerous enemy,
the only other foes it has to fear
being water and snakes.</p>
<p>This pretty little rodent is often found
in populous neighborhoods. A few
years ago the writer saw one rush into
a hole under the root of a large osage
orange bush in Woodlawn, Chicago.
Curiosity led him to watch for the reappearance
of the animal, which soon
put its head cautiously above the entrance
and eyed the intruder with as
much interest as a weasel will often
show under like circumstances. For
several weeks the gopher was visible
in the morning hours. We pointed it
out to several persons, each of whom
declared it to be a ground squirrel.
There is a great difference in these
small animals, but they are frequently
confounded.</p>
<p>The name of gopher is applied in
some American localities to various
other rodents.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="HANS_AND_MIZI" id="HANS_AND_MIZI"></SPAN>HANS AND MIZI.</h2>
<p class="ac">DR. ALBERT SCHNEIDER.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_h.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">HANS was a little blue-eyed German
orphan who had been
"adopted" by a man and wife
because they thought they could
make good use of him; but to their
chagrin they were disappointed. Hans
had been told again and again that he
was an ungrateful, lazy, good for-nothing.
This was also the reason why his
master whipped him so frequently.
Now Hans was only nine years old and,
of course, he could not know that he
was so thoroughly bad unless he was
told and the telling of it accompanied
by cuffs, in order to impress this fact
more fully upon his dull brain.</p>
<p>It was really true that Hans was lazy
and perhaps queer in many ways. He
disliked hard work, preferring to wander
about the fields and meadows, the
ditches, pastures, and the trees of the
nearby forest. He had been discovered
lying in the grass watching the fleeting
clouds overhead and listening to the
sighing of the wind in the tall grass
and the overshadowing trees. In his imagination
the breezes whispered soothing
words, soft and low. He watched
the busy bees, the ants, and the black carrion
beetles tugging great loads up hill.</p>
<p>Often he had observed a lady with two
children about his age going by on their
way to Sunday-school. With wistful
eyes he would watch the romping of
the children and listen to their exclamations
of joy as they played among
the flowers. Sometimes the kind lady
would beckon to Hans and talk kindly
to him and make him presents. Then
little Hans would cry as though his
poor heart would break. He hid the
gifts in a secret nook in the granary
which was also his sleeping place and
often he would think of the kind lady
and her happy children while the love-hunger
shone in his eyes.</p>
<p>Mizi was only a half-starved, homeless,
gray kitten which came to Hans
while he was hoeing in the orchard.
The two understood each other at once,
and why should they not? Both were
homeless, friendless, and soulless.
Everybody knows that a cat, much less
a stray kitten, has no soul. You may
say that Hans was neither a cat nor a
kitten, but some little boys of the
neighborhood had sneeringly remarked
that he was a "fraid-cat." Besides, his
master had whipped all the spirit out of
him. Therefore he, too, was without a
soul. Hans petted Mizi and gave her
some bread-crusts and hid her in the
shed to keep her out of sight of his
master. Mizi gained in flesh and became
very fond of Hans, and at times
would try to follow him, but Hans
would take her back and put her in a
more secure place. Mizi did not know
of the cruel master and in spite of all
precautions she finally made her escape
and searched for Hans. She could not
find him, so she mewed again and again
and finally succeeded in attracting, not
only the attention of Hans but also that
of the master who promptly picked up
a stone and hurled it at Mizi but fortunately
missed her. It may be that
Mizi was not so easily frightened as
Hans, for in time she tried to get to him
even if the master was near. Poor, ignorant
Mizi, she did not know that this show
of friendliness would get Hans into
trouble. The master concluded that
Hans was responsible for the presence
of Mizi and ordered him to take her
and kill her then and there. In agony
and despair Hans ran to Mizi to frighten
her away but she only rubbed her glossy
fur against him and purred gently and
only when the frenzied master attempted
to grasp her out of the protecting arms
of Hans did she attempt to flee—but too
late! a vicious kick caught her in the
side but she managed to escape under
the protecting granary. In the evening
Hans went to the shed and called "Mizi,
Mizi," and poor, suffering Mizi dragged
herself far enough so that little Hans
might stroke her head. Hans brought
some bread and milk but Mizi only
mewed piteously. In the morning
Hans found Mizi stiff and cold near the
opening of the shed. Poor Hans, he
sobbed and sobbed and called, "Mizi,
Mizi," most piteously but Mizi did not
answer; her sufferings were over.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="GEOGRAPHY_LESSONS" id="GEOGRAPHY_LESSONS"></SPAN>GEOGRAPHY LESSONS.</h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_i.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">IT IS possible for a pupil to study
geography diligently every day and
forget apparently nearly everything
he learns. Both geography and history
are studies which may be pursued
in such a way that nearly all that is acquired
in any given month is lost in the
next month. Those who are inclined
to doubt this have but to test a class
where the text has been the subject of
acquisition. Test them on what they
learned a month previously and even
those inclined to believe this statement
will be astonished that so little is retained
of what once seemed to be known
so well.</p>
<p>Mr. A sweeps his barn with the doors
open and the wind blowing against his
work. He works with much energy
and some apparent efficiency; but the
wind brings back the chaff to such an
extent that there is never much clear
space on his floor. Mr. B takes advantage
of the direction of the wind,
and every stroke counts for success and
is more than doubled in effect by the
help of the wind. The chaff flies before
him and his floor is clear in a short
time.</p>
<p>I have seen a steamer in waters opening
upon the Bay of Fundy pouring
out black smoke, beating the water into
foam, and apparently making great
progress. But observation of the distant
shore proved that she was actually
standing still. The adverse tide was
such that she could not contend with
it successfully. So she dropped her
anchor and saved coal and the wear of
machinery. Two hours later she swung
with her cable, the anchor was hoisted,
and she moved rapidly in the desired
direction without the aid of a pound of
steam. In Passamaquoddy bay are so
many islands and channels and such
a great fluctuation of tide that the
waters are racing in various directions
at all times. Fishermen study their
courses and never tack against the tide.
Those who go out every day do not
leave home at the same hour Tuesday
as on Monday, but just fifty
minutes later. They do not go and return
over the same courses, for many
times the strongest flow of tide does
not run where there was the swiftest
ebb. With them the proverb, "The
longest way round is the shortest way
home," is often true, and I have heard
them quote those words frequently.</p>
<p>In psychology there are both a wind
and a tide. The wind is what the pupil
thinks of the subject—as to its usefulness
in his future life. The tide is
his natural interest in the thing for its
own sake.</p>
<p>Wind and tide are sometimes both
against us, and it is a poor skipper who
lacks the sense to tie up for a short
time or take another course when he
finds both set against him.</p>
<p>But there are teachers who battle
fiercely against the desires and interests
of their pupils, bound to compel
them to learn, making a tremendous
fuss, filling families with tears and
tremblings, threatenings, scoldings, and
reviewings—all with no permanent results
of value.</p>
<p>There is a natural interest in children
for birds. It is so strong and absorbing
that it amounts to a psychological
tide. The things of the bird-world act
upon the child-mind rather instinctively
than mentally. The whole child is
active and alert when the subject is
such that it fully interests him. A little
effective teaching just at that time is
worth more than hours of perfunctory
drudgery over a similar task presented
in the wrong way.</p>
<p>There are birds wherever man lives.
They differ in color, form, and habit
according to environment. The pupil
who seems to be interested least in the
ordinary things of the text book in
geography is the very one, as a rule, to
be caught with the birds and animals
of the various parts of the earth. The
pupil who will not retain information
about the products of a country may
be induced to consider intelligently
something about the fauna of that
country and pass readily to an interested
study of the flora, and from what
grows there to what is shipped from
that place.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_MINK" id="THE_MINK"></SPAN>THE MINK.<br/> <span class="xx-smaller"><span style="font-weight:lighter;"> (<i>Putorius vison.</i>)</span></span></h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THIS soft fur bearing animal has
been described by Audubon
and Prince De Wied. Its nearest
relatives are very closely
allied to the polecat and differ from it
only by a flatter head, larger canine
teeth, shorter legs, the presence of
webs between the toes, a longer tail,
and a lustrous fur, consisting of a
close, smooth, short hair, resembling
otter fur. Its color is a uniform brown.
The fur of the American mink is much
more esteemed than that of the European,
as it is softer and of a more
woolly character.</p>
<p>According to Audubon the mink
ranks next to the ermine in destructive
capacity, prowling around the farmyard
or duck-pond, and its presence is
soon detected by the sudden disappearance
of young chickens and ducklings.
Audubon had a personal experience
with a mink which made its home
in the stone dam of a small pond near
the home of the naturalist. The pond
had been dammed for the benefit of
the ducks in the yard, and in this way
afforded the mink hunting-grounds of
ample promise. Its hiding-place had
been selected with cunning, very
near the house and still nearer the
place where the chickens had to
pass on their way to drink. In front
of its hole were two large stones,
which served the mink as a watch
tower, from which it could overlook
the yard as well as the pond. It would
lie in wait for hours every day and
would carry away chickens and ducks
in broad daylight. Audubon found the
mink to be especially plentiful on the
banks of the Ohio river, and there observed
it to be of some use in catching
mice and rats. But it was also addicted
to poaching and fishing. The
naturalist observed it to swim and
dive with the greatest agility and pursue
and attack the quickest of fishes,
such as the salmon and trout. It will
eat frogs or lizards, but when food is
plentiful it is very fastidious, preying
upon rats, finches and ducks, hares,
oysters and other shell fish; in short,
Brehm says it adapts itself to the locality
and knows how to profit by whatever
food supplies it may be able to
find. When frightened it gives forth
a very fetid odor like the polecat.</p>
<p>The female gives birth to five or
six young at about the end of April.
If taken young they get to be very
tame and become real pets. Richardson
saw one in the possession of a
Canadian lady who used to carry it
about with her in her pocket. It is
easily caught in a trap of any kind,
but its tenacity of life renders it difficult
to shoot. The European mink
much resembles the American, except
that it is somewhat smaller and
its fur is coarser.</p>
<p>Upon a large farm in Michigan visited
by the writer this summer ran a
creek where the chickens, when the
trough was dry—and dry it usually was—traveled
to get a drink. In the bank
of the creek a mink made his home,
and not a week passed that one or more
hens did not appear in the barnyard
crippled or mangled in a manner painful
to behold—painful, that is, to the
visitor, but not apparently to the farmer,
who only said: "It's that darned
mink; some day, when I have time, I'll
set a trap and catch him," and so went
coolly on his way, leaving the poor
maimed creatures to drag out a painful
existence for days or weeks, hoping
that nature would heal the wounds
made by the mink.</p>
<p>Aside from the lack of thrift thus
shown by the farmer—for the hens,
when badly mangled, in time succumbed—the
inhumane aspect of the
case never seemed to strike him. The
cultivation of his fields left no time
for cultivating the finer feelings of the
heart.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50 p2" title="MINK.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_062.jpg" id="i_062.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_062.jpg" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. F. NUSSBAUMER & SON.<br/>
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">MINK.<br/>
4/11 Life-size.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1900, BY<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_NEW_SPORT" id="THE_NEW_SPORT"></SPAN>THE NEW SPORT.</h2>
<p class="ac">JOHN WINTHROP SCOTT.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_i.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">IN THE early days every man and
boy knew how to use a gun. It
was a necessity of life. It brought
in meat for the family. The regular
business of every holiday was to go
to the woods and kill. The free life of
the woods, the pleasure of ranging
about for a purpose, and the excitement
attending success in bagging game
were among their greater pleasures.</p>
<p>Now we live in cities mainly. Even
the country boy has less regard for the
gun. The game and many of the birds
and animals that are not game have
been killed off, so that country boys
now wish to give them a chance for
their lives. Probably the worst murderers
of songsters and innocent animals
are the ignorant city youths who
get only a day or two in the woods in a
year.</p>
<p>Guns have been "improved" to such
an extent that whether the gunner
has any skill or not everything in
sight can be killed because of the
rapidity of fire and the number of
chances for killing. A gun has been
invented which pours a steady stream
of rapid fire as long as you hold the
trigger. It was invented for killing
men on the battlefield; but there are
other guns nearly as destructive that
are used for "sport."</p>
<p>Public schools, Audubon societies,
women's clubs, and other humanizing
agencies have so modified the ideas of
boys and young men that there are but
few who hunt for sport.</p>
<p>The cheapening of the camera and
its perfection for amateur use have
placed a new shooting apparatus in
their hands, and many young people of
both sexes are now more or less expert
in making exposures and developing.
A shot with a camera is worth more
than a shot with a gun. You have to
eat or stuff the unfortunate bird or
animal you shoot with a gun. When
it is gone you have nothing to show
for your skill.</p>
<p>The shot with a camera gives you a
handsome picture with many thrilling
details to relate. If you wish to boast
you have the evidence at hand to corroborate
your statement. The pictures
last indefinitely, are easily stored, and
may be duplicated at will.</p>
<p>Camera presents last Christmas far
outnumbered the guns given. Boys
and girls much prefer the new sport to
the old. With the aid of the bicycle
in getting about the country, young
people are making trips to the country
with loaded cameras and bringing in
much more satisfactory game than
they used to get with guns.</p>
<p>The skill some of them have manifested
in getting a focus on some shy
resident of the woods or fields is indeed
remarkable. Imitations of brush
heaps are made out of light stuff that
may easily be carried about. These
may be placed before the residence of
a rabbit or woodchuck for several days
before the attempt is made to get a
shot from beneath. A great deal of
caution is sometimes necessary to get
the subject accustomed even to a
strange brush heap, so he will act
naturally at the instant the snap is
made.</p>
<p>Two young Englishmen made a mock
tree-trunk of cloth, painted its exterior,
cut holes in it for observation and
for the camera, tricked it out with
vines, spread it out on a light frame so
they could set it up where they chose,
and got so many beautiful and scientifically
interesting views that they have
written a book that has had a large
sale. It is embellished with half-tone
engravings made from their collections
of photographs, and is a most delightful
and useful addition to one's library. It
is entitled "Wild Life at Home," and
is published by Cassell & Company of
New York. It has met with such popularity
largely because it has appeared
just at the time when so many young
people are turning their attention from
the killing of birds and animals to the
more pleasing and humane business of
catching their likenesses in their native
haunts.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Dr. R. W. Shufeldt, of Washington,
a distinguished naturalist, has made
many photographs of wild life in the
United States, and embellished his own
works with reproductions of these pictures
which are so very interesting and
difficult to secure.</p>
<p>The telephoto lens is a great help in
taking the more timid subjects. Audubon
used a telescope to get the most
familiar glimpses of these little inhabitants
of the forests long before the dry
plate was invented. What would he
not have given to have been the possessor
of a means of taking instantly
all the details and attitudes of the wild
birds he loved so well!</p>
<p>The camera is now adding daily to
the accurate knowledge we possess of
the things of nature, and every young
person should own one and become
familiar with its rare qualities and usefulness.
It is very gratifying to think
that sport in the woods now means
something superior to the old bloody
work our boys formerly pursued with
guns. With a copy of the book above
mentioned a boy is equipped with suggestions
and directions enough to keep
him busy and well employed for several
seasons.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<h2><SPAN name="MOLE_CRICKET_LODGE" id="MOLE_CRICKET_LODGE"></SPAN> MOLE CRICKET LODGE.</h2>
<p class="ac">BERTHA SEAVEY SAUNIER.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_m.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">MR. and Mrs. Mole Cricket had
folded their hands for the
winter. The busy season
was over, for the ground was
all hard with the foot tread of Jack
Frost and the snow lay all over the
lodge—a solid, warm cover that
squeaked and crunched quite musically
when little Boy Will rode back and
forth on it with his sled Dasher.</p>
<p>Shadows lay rather heavily in the
lodge. The caverns and galleries
which had been built in warmer times
were hung with darkness and all was
still in slumber.</p>
<p>Side by side in the chamber, just
under the long, dead grass and the
white snow, with a roof formed of tiny
roots and loose earth, lay Mr. and Mrs.
Mole Cricket.</p>
<p>It was the same chamber in which
had lain the little white eggs that the
warm sun had hatched, and from it the
young crickets had gone out, already
valiant, to burrow their own galleries,
and seek their own food.</p>
<p>Slumber had gone on in the chamber
for many weeks when, at a sudden
sound, Mr. Cricket moved. We fancy
he was cross at being disturbed.
"What's that?" he said.</p>
<p>"Boy Will," answered his wife.
"He's digging up the snow to make a
snow man, and shouting."</p>
<p>"He'll make us cold," grumbled Mr.
Cricket.</p>
<p>"Then we must go to the cavern."</p>
<p>"But we can't—I'm as stiff as a stick."</p>
<p>"I believe I am, too."</p>
<p>The earth that covered their roof
was very sandy and loose, when not
frozen, and as it was, it yielded readily
to persistent thumps such as now fell
about it. The snow was soggy—just
right for building purposes—and Boy
Will, in his enthusiasm, scraped up a
shovelful of dirt with the last bit of
snow that covered the lodge. His
sharp eyes saw something black lying
beneath the little dead roots that had
in the summer belonged to his forget-me-nots.
He took the shovel—it was
his mother's stove shovel—and carefully
pried the dark bundle up, and
with his little red fingers separated it
from its wrappings.</p>
<p>"Aha!" he said, and ran into the
house. "Look a-here!" he cried as he
ran up to his father's desk. "Well,
well!" said his father, looking at the
objects through gold-bowed spectacles,
"that's the same sort of fellow that we
teased last summer with a grass blade."</p>
<p>"Tell me," said Boy Will, in wonder,
"don't you remember the little hole in
the garden, and when I put in a spear
of grass how the fellow grabbed it
with his jaws? I drew him out and
there was Sir Mole Cricket that does
so much mischief in the garden."</p>
<p>"Oh yes; and now here are two; but
they are dead."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"No, only asleep for the winter. The
warm room will revive them but they
may die after all. They will have
awakened out of season."</p>
<p>"I wish I could put them back," said
Boy Will.</p>
<p>"We will study them a little and then
we will see," returned his father as he
took up his penknife and pointed to
the folded legs.</p>
<p>"Those big flat fore-legs are what do
all the mischief. They are like strong
little hands and have claws on them
and they are used for digging. The
main business of Sir Cricket is to burrow
and he works away with these
hands of his until he will have made a
number of underground passages.
And in his work he will cut off hundreds
of new, tender roots that belong
to plants and shrubs. And that's the
mischief of him."</p>
<p>"What do they eat?"</p>
<p>"Why, little bugs; but they are
fierce, hungry creatures, and when they
meet a mole cricket that is weak and
defenseless they pounce on him and
eat him. They are no respecter of
relatives."</p>
<p>"They don't deserve to live!" cried
Boy Will, with a stamp.</p>
<p>"But we can give them their chances,"
returned Mr. Rey. "Now look at this
one. There are two sets of wings. One
outside and one inside like grasshoppers,
but much shorter. Here are two
delicate feelers, or antennæ, bent backward,
and two at the end of the body.
I suppose those are for the purpose of
discovering any danger that might approach
them from behind while they
are busy at digging. The jaws are
toothed and horny, and so, all in all,
we may put Sir Cricket down in the
same order in which are the katydid,
grasshopper, field and house cricket,
cockroach, earwig and so on, which is
the order <i>Orthoptera</i>. Now come and
show me where you found them."</p>
<p>Boy Will led the way where stood
his half-built snow-man, and Mr. Rey
with a stick felt about in the chamber
for the opening to another cavity to
the lodge.</p>
<p>"Ah, here it is—a warmer and a better
one than the other because it is
deeper," and he slipped the two objects
in and stopped the doorway with
earth and snow.</p>
<p>"Well, I declare!" said Mr. Mole
Cricket from under his horny skin,
"What do you think of that?"</p>
<p>"Why," said his wife, "they've put
us in the cavern where we should have
been in the first place. What a mistake
it was to go to sleep in the nursery!
Now we shall be quite safe until spring."</p>
<p>"Well, well, true enough!" returned
Sir Mole Cricket. And they both fell
asleep again.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<h2><SPAN name="SNOW_BIRDS" id="SNOW_BIRDS"></SPAN>SNOW BIRDS.</h2>
<p>This poem, by Louis Honoré Frechette,
the laureate of Canada, is very
fine in the original, and holds the same
position in French-Canadian literature
that Bryant's "Lines to a Waterfowl"
occupies in American classics. It is one
of the poems that won for its author
the crown of the French academy and
the Grand Prix Monthyon of 2,000
livres.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">When the rude Equinox, with his cold train</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">From our horizons drives accustomed cheer,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Behold! a thousand winged sprites appear</div>
<div class="verse">And flutter briskly round the frosty plain.</div>
<div class="verse">No seeds are anywhere, save sleety rain,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">No leafage thick against the outlook drear;</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Rough winds to wildly whip them far and near;</div>
<div class="verse">God's heart alone to feel their every pain.</div>
<div class="verse">Dear little travelers through this icy realm,</div>
<div class="verse">Fear not the tempest shall you overwhelm;</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The glad spring buds within your happy song.</div>
<div class="verse">Go, whirl about the avalanche, and be,</div>
<div class="verse">O birds of snow, unharmed, and so teach me:</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Whom God doth guard is stronger than the
strong.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>C. G. B.</i></div>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="VEGETATION_IN_THE_PHILIPPINES" id="VEGETATION_IN_THE_PHILIPPINES"></SPAN> VEGETATION IN THE PHILIPPINES.</h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_m.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">MUCH attention has of late been
devoted to the Philippines, and
as one result considerable interest
has been evinced in their
natural products. In the matter of
vegetation they are highly favored.
Fruits grow in great abundance, and
the reputation of some of them is
already established abroad, as is the
case, for example, with the mango.
Other fruits grown in the islands are
the ate (the cinnamon apple of the
French colonists), the mangosteen, the
pineapple, the tamarind, the orange,
the lemon, the jack, the jujube, the litchi
(regarded by the Chinese as the
king of fruits), the plum, the chico-mamey
(the sapodilla of the West Indies),
the bread fruit, and the papaw.
The last named is eaten like a melon,
and is valued as a digestive; its juice
furnishes an extract which is used as
a medicament under the name of papaine,
or vegetable pepsin. The banana
grows abundantly and is a great boon
to the poor people, supplying them
with a cheap, delicious, and exceedingly
nutritive food; there are many
varieties, ten of which are in particular
highly esteemed.</p>
<p>Plants which are cultivated for industrial
purposes include the sugar
cane, of which four varieties are grown—yellow
cane, Otaheite cane, purple
or Batavia cane, and striped cane.
Of vegetables there are several pulses
used as food by the natives which never
appear on the tables of the European
settlers. These include the mango,
mentioned above, and three or four
kinds of beans, such as the butingue,
the zabache, the Abra bean, and the
Patami bean. These suit the natives
much better than the garbanzos, or
chick peas, that are so highly prized
by the Spaniards. Among the tuberous
roots valued as food the sweet potato
ranks first, with an annual production
of 98,000,000 pounds. The common
or white potato, although of inferior
quality, stands next in importance.
Then follows the camotengcahoy or
manihot (cassava), the root of which is
made edible by the removal of its poisonous
juice in the same way as in the
West Indies. After expression of the
juice the pulp forms a sort of coarse-grained
flour that is very nutritious,
pleasant to the taste and easy to digest.
Besides these tubers other plants, such
as the ubi, the togui and the gabi, are
cultivated in the fields for the sake of
their edible roots. Other edible vegetables
include calabashes, melons, watermelons,
cucumbers, carrots, celery,
parsley, tomatoes, egg plants, peppers,
capers, cabbages, lettuce, endives, mustard,
leeks, onions, asparagus, and peas.
Of the cocoa palms the ordinary cocoanut
tree is the most important, the
oil of which is put to many and varied
uses. The bamboo is much valued,
the young and tender shoots making a
very acceptable article of food, in the
form of salads and other dishes, and
the fibre is used for numerous purposes.
Tobacco as a cultivated crop is generally
grown in the same field as maize.
Of spices the Philippines grow cinnamon,
nutmegs, pepper, ginger, and majoram.
Of medicinal plants the most
familiar are the papaw, already mentioned,
and ipecacuanha.</p>
<p>Among aromatic and ornamental
plants may be mentioned magnolias,
camellias, clematis, several kinds of
roses, dahlias, ylang-ylang, papua,
jessamine, and many species of orchids
and ferns. These, however,
grow wild in such profusion that little
care is bestowed upon their cultivation.
—<i>Gardener's Magazine.</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="CARBONS.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_080.jpg" id="i_080.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_080.jpg" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30"></td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">CARBONS.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">Bituminous Coal</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">Anthracite Coal</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">Graphite</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM COL. CHI. ACAD SCIENCES.<br/>
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40"></td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1900, BY<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="COMMON_MINERALS_AND_VALUABLE_ORES" id="COMMON_MINERALS_AND_VALUABLE_ORES"></SPAN>COMMON MINERALS AND VALUABLE ORES.</h2>
<p class="ac">3.—MINERALS CONTAINING CARBON.</p>
<p class="ac">THEO. F. BROOKINS, B. S.,<br/>
<span class="smaller">Principal Au Sable Forks Union Free School and Academy,
New York.</span></p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_a.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">AMONG minerals of economic importance
carbon minerals hold
the unique position of being
at the same time of the most
common and the most rare occurrence.
As far as external appearance
indicates, a piece of common
coal and the most brilliant diamond
are widely separated; with regard
to chemical composition they are
closely related. Intermediate between
the coal of the stoke furnace and the
"brilliant" of the jewelry shop is still
another well-known form of carbon,
the graphite of the lead pencil. These
three substances comprise the far
greater part of carbon-containing minerals.</p>
<p>In so far as our mind's picture of a
mineral is that of an aggregation of
crystals of fairly perfect form our consideration
of coal as a mineral is erroneous.
We must yield to a broader
interpretation of the essential characteristics
of a mineral and modify our
idea so as to include any homogeneous
substance (solid, with the single exception
of mercury) of fairly definite
chemical composition "occurring in
nature but not of apparent organic
origin." Organic substances are those
that are alive or have lived.</p>
<p>Vegetation is, undoubtedly, the origin
of all coal, but often much more than
a cursory examination is necessary to
prove such origin. In the less altered
coals the vegetable origin is readily
proved by the actual presence of seeds,
plant fibers, and other equally apparent
organic remains. A microscopic study
is necessary for finding the presence
of woody fiber in the more metamorphosed
form. The word metamorphose
comes from the Greek; <i>meta</i>
means after or over; <i>morphe</i> is form.
A metamorphosis is a change of form
or a forming over.</p>
<p>The history of the discovery of the
value of coal as a means of producing
heat and of the development of the
coal-mining industry covers a comparatively
recent period. Coal occurs in
such quantities near the surface of the
earth's crust and its outcrops are so
numerous that it cannot have failed to
attract the attention of the most ancient
of peoples. Indeed, that coal
could be used as a fuel is mentioned
by a writer, Theophrastus, who lived
300 years B. C. The ancient Celts of
Britain are reputed to have evidenced
knowledge of the industrial value of
coal. It was not until near the middle
of the thirteenth century, however,
that coal became so important an economic
product as to result in statutes
granting to certain places the privilege
of mining it. After a long period of
trial in England the superiority of coal
over other fuels was recognized, and
stone coal, as the harder form was
commonly known, came into general
use. In America bituminous, or soft
coal, was mined to a slight extent in
the latter half of the eighteenth century.
The form now commonly used
in house-heating furnaces, anthracite,
for a long time baffled the colonists in
their efforts to make it burn. The
knowledge that an anthracite fire is
most effective if not continually poked
is said to have been acquired generally
by accident.</p>
<p>Europe and the United States to-day
produce practically all the coal of the
world. In Europe, Great Britain, Germany,
France, Austria-Hungary, and
Belgium are the main sources of supply.
Several important coal areas exist
in our own country, notably that of
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</SPAN></span>
the New England basin, with an area
of 500 square miles; the Appalachian
district, with an area of 65,000 square
miles; the northern area, in Michigan,
covering 7,000 square miles; the central
area, comprising parts of Illinois,
Indiana and Kentucky, and including
48,000 square miles; the scattered western
area, with a total of 98,000 square
miles; the indefinite Rocky Mountain
area, and the Pacific coast region, including
parts of California, Oregon,
and Washington. Coal mining is yet
an undeveloped industry in our territorial
possessions. Alaska has an
abundant supply of coal, and lesser
quantities are found in Cuba and Porto
Rico.</p>
<p>Mention has already been made of the
two common kinds of coal, bituminous
and anthracite. These two kinds mark
different stages in the transformation
from plant organism to mineral product.
As the biologist traces the successive
steps in the evolution of an individual
of a species from germ to
adult, so the geologist unfolds before
us the wonderful history of a piece of
coal from its first appearance on the
earth to the time when it is thrown
into our fire grate as fuel. Coal is the
metamorphosed product of vegetable
growths, changed by atmospheric agencies
and the internal forces of the earth
acting through a total period of perhaps
millions of years. In the remote
past, ages before man had appeared on
the earth, the atmosphere or our globe
was highly charged with carbon gases.
Vegetation flourished in luxuriance.
Great swamps were common. The
ocean alternately covered and receded
from verdure-clothed land areas. Ponds
were transformed to morasses and
swamps. In the swamps thus formed,
the accumulated sediment of centuries
upon centuries covered alternate layers
of decayed plant organisms, until
finally beds of peat were formed.
Great masses above pressed on those
underneath; the internal heat of the
earth reached up and transformed the
densely packed masses of peat until
the beds became hard and brown, the
product of the partial metamorphism
being what we know as lignite, or
brown coal. With the continued action
of the forces of metamorphism, the
lignite turned still darker, and as more
gases were driven off, became heavier,
until the bituminous stage was reached,
which, in turn, was succeeded by the
anthracite stage.</p>
<p>Graphite, or black lead, is a mineral
containing not more than five per cent
of impurities, and is generally supposed
to have originated as did mineral coal,
and to represent a still more advanced
stage of development. It occurs in
various localities both in the vicinity
of coal measures and far removed from
them. The chief part of the world's supply
comes from Ceylon, though Germany
and the United States produce
quantities of graphite of excellent
quality. In the Laurentian rocks of
Canada, and of course with as ancient
origin, extensive deposits are found.
This presence of graphite in strata in
which as yet no certain traces of organic
life have been found has led
some to believe that this form of carbon
mineral may have another than
organic origin.</p>
<p>Various uses are served by graphite.
The chemist finds it of great value in
making his crucibles; the engineer
uses it, finely powdered, as a lubricant;
the housekeeper polishes stoves with
it; the electrician uses it in his arc
lights; all civilized nations use it in the
lead of lead pencils. The stem, <i>grapho</i>
(to write), on which so many of our
words, as geography, telegraph, graphophone,
etc., are formed, suggests also
the origin of the name, graphite. The
finest quality lead pencils are those
made from graphite occurring in a state
sufficiently pure to allow the cutting
and grinding of pieces to the size
needed. In the case of the medium
and poorer grade pencils, the graphite
has first been finely powdered and then
pressed into the requisite shape and
size.</p>
<p>The purest form of carbon found in
nature is the diamond. The rare occurrence
of diamonds indicates that
the essential conditions in nature for
causing the transformation of some less
pure form of carbon into diamond are
seldom present. While diamonds have
actually been produced in the laboratory
by far-seeing and indefatigable
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</SPAN></span>
chemists, yet the cost of such products
is so great as to preclude the possibility
of the most precious of gems becoming
at all common. The diamond
is the hardest of all known substances,
and will scratch any other mineral
across which it may be drawn.</p>
<p>Three localities have successively
furnished the main part of the world's
stock of diamonds. A century and a
half ago, practically all the diamonds
came from India, where at one time
60,000 persons were employed in diamond
digging. Toward the middle of
the eighteenth century, when the diamondiferous
districts of India were becoming
exhausted, the discovery of the
precious gem in Brazilian deposits was
made. At present, the supply of diamonds
from Brazil has much diminished,
and the diamond fields of South
Africa, where is located the famous
Kimberley mine, produce the larger
part of the world's output of diamonds.</p>
<p>Among famous diamonds of the
world should be mentioned the Koh-i-noor
of the British crown, which, Hindu
legend relates, was worn five thousand
years ago by one of their national heroes.
The largest known diamond,
weighing three hundred sixty-seven
carats, was found in Borneo, and is
now owned by the Rajah of Matan.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<h2><SPAN name="FEBRUARY" id="FEBRUARY"></SPAN>FEBRUARY.</h2>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">FEBRUARY,—fortnights two—</div>
<div class="verse">Briefest of the months are you,</div>
<div class="verse">Of the winter's children last.</div>
<div class="verse">Why do you go by so fast?</div>
<div class="verse">Is it not a little strange</div>
<div class="verse">Once in four years you should change,</div>
<div class="verse">That the sun should shine and give</div>
<div class="verse">You another day to live?</div>
<div class="verse">May be this is only done</div>
<div class="verse">Since you are the smallest one;</div>
<div class="verse">So I make the shortest rhyme</div>
<div class="verse">For you, as befits your time:</div>
<div class="verse">You're the baby of the year,</div>
<div class="verse">And to me you're very dear,</div>
<div class="verse">Just because you bring the line,</div>
<div class="verse">"Will you be my Valentine?"</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Frank Dempster Sherman.</i></div>
</div></div>
<hr class="sect" />
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">The snow had begun in the gloaming,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And busily all the night</div>
<div class="verse">Had been heaping field and highway</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">With a silence deep and white.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Every pine and fir and hemlock</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Wore ermine too dear for an earl,</div>
<div class="verse">And the poorest twig on the elm-tree</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Was ridged inch-deep with pearl.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">From sheds new-roofed with Carrara</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,</div>
<div class="verse">The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And still fluttered down the snow.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Lowell.</i></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="LICORICE" id="LICORICE"></SPAN>LICORICE.<br/> <span class="xx-smaller"><span style="font-weight:lighter;"> (<i>Glycyrrhiza glabra L.</i>)</span></span></h2>
<p class="ac">DR. ALBERT SCHNEIDER,<br/>
<span class="smaller">Northwestern University School of Pharmacy.</span></p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">But first he cheweth greyn and <i>licorys</i></div>
<div class="verse">To smellen sweete.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Miller's Tale, l. 504; Chaucer.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t_alt.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE licorice yielding plant is a
perennial herb with a thick root-stock,
having a number of long
sparingly branched roots and
very long runners or rhizomes. It belongs
to the same family as the peas
and beans (<i>Leguminosæ</i>). It has purplish
flowers with the irregular corolla
characteristic of the family. The pods
are rather small, much compressed,
each with from two to five seeds.</p>
<p>The plant is in all probability a native
of the warm parts of the Mediterranean
region. There are several varieties
of <i>G. glabra</i>, all of which are more
or less extensively cultivated and
placed upon the market.</p>
<p>As to the exact habitat of licorice
there is some difference of opinion.
According to some authorities its native
home is in the vicinity of the sea
of Azov. Dioscorides was among the
first to give a description of the plant
and designated the pontic lands and
Kappadonia of Asia Minor as its home.
The Romans named the plant <i>Glycyrrhiza</i>.
Celsius, Scribonius Largus, and
Plinius described it as <i>Radix dulcis</i>,
sweet root, on account of its sweet
taste. Galenus, the eminent Roman
physician, made extensive medicinal
use of the roots as well as of the juice.
Alexander Trallianus also recommended
licorice very highly. Although
this plant enjoyed extensive use during
the middle ages it was apparently not
included in the herbal list of Charlemagne,
<i>Karl der Grosse</i>. In the 13th
century licorice was highly prized in
Switzerland as a remedy for lung
troubles. It was similarly used in
Wales and in Denmark. Pietro di
Crescenzi of Bologna (1305) was the
first to give a full report of the occurrence
and cultivation of licorice. The
Benedictine monks of St. Michaelis
cultivated it extensively in the vicinity
of Bamberg. The eminent authority,
Flückiger, reports a peculiar practice
by these monks. A new hand in the
horticultural work was initiated by requiring
him to dig up a complete root
of a licorice plant with all its branches
including the rhizome. This was by
no means an easy task on account of
the ramification of the roots and the
extreme length of the rhizome.</p>
<p>Glycyrrhiza is extensively cultivated
in Greece, Italy, France, Russia, Germany,
the Danubian Provinces, southern
China, northern Africa, and to
some extent in England. In the Italian
province of Calabria licorice is planted
with peas and corn. In the course of
three years the roots are collected, the
juice expressed and root evaporated to
the proper consistency for shipping.
New crops are grown from cuttings of
the rhizomes. There is an excellent
quality of licorice grown in the vicinity
of Smyrna. The principal commercial
varieties are grown in Spain, southern
Russia, Turkey and Italy. Spanish
and Russian licorice root is dried and
shipped in bales or bundles. Spanish
licorice root is unpeeled and occurs in
pieces several feet in length. Russian
licorice is usually peeled. Most of the
licorice used in the United States is
obtained from Italy, Russia, and Germany.
Some of the licorice found
upon the market is quite fragmentary
and very dirty. The licorice raised in
England is intended for home consumption
and is placed upon the market
in both the fresh and dried state.
The fresh roots have an earthy and
somewhat nauseous odor. The peel, or
bark, of the roots contains tannic acid
and a resinous oil, both of which are
undesirable; hence the peeled article is
usually preferred.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="LICORICE.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_093.jpg" id="i_093.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_093.jpg" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">FROM KŒHLER'S MEDICINAL-PFLANZEN.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">LICORICE.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">CHICAGO:<br/>
A. W. MUMFORD PUBLISHER</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<p class="bq"><span class="sc">Description of Plate.</span>—<i>A</i>,
flowering portion of plant; 1, flower; 2, 3, 4,
parts of the flower; 5, stamens; 6,
stigma; 7, ovary; 8, fruit; 9, one valve
of pod with seeds; 10, 11, 12, different
views of seed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The characteristically sweet taste of
the licorice roots and rhizomes is due
to glycyrrhizin and some sugar. Glycyrrhizin
is a glucoside which splits up
into glucose, a substance closely akin
to sugar, and glycyrretin, a bitter substance.
The extract of licorice is prepared
by crushing the fresh roots or
rhizomes, then boiling repeatedly in
water, expressing and then condensing
the sap in copper kettles until it is
quite hard when cooled. In Calabria
the condensed juice, while still warm
and pliable, is rolled into sticks and
stamped with the name of the locality
where it was prepared. In those countries
where the fresh roots cannot be
obtained the dried roots are crushed
and then treated as above. The licorice
sticks prepared in this country usually
have stamped upon them the initials
of the manufacturing firm. Much
of the evaporated juice is also placed
upon the market in large lumps or
masses. The pure licorice extract,
prepared as indicated above, is a glossy
black, very brittle, with a glassy fracture.
For shipment it must be carefully
packed to prevent its being broken
into small bits. To reduce the brittleness
various substances are added as
starch and gum arabic.</p>
<p>Licorice extract is a highly appreciated
sweetmeat but unfortunately it
is often grossly adulterated with dextrin,
starch, sugar, and gum arabic.
Many of the licorice drops, etc., contain
very little licorice, but even the
poorest article seems to be highly
prized by the average child. Licorice
extract in mass is known as licorice
paste and is extensively employed in
preparing chewing tobacco and in
brewing beer, to which substances it
imparts a peculiar flavor and a dark
color.</p>
<p>Licorice extract is a popular remedy
for colds and sore throat, though its
curative powers are certainly very
slight. Physicians make extensive use
of it to disguise the disagreeable taste
of medicines, such as quinine. It is an ingredient
of many cough remedies. The
finely powdered roots are dusted over
pills to prevent their adhesion and to
give them consistency.</p>
<p>Licorice roots have the same properties
as the extract and may be similarly
used. Many children prefer the dried
roots obtained at the drug store to the
stick licorice or the licorice drops.
This choice is in many respects a good
one; the roots are at least not adulterated,
but of course only the juice
should be swallowed—a precaution
which it is not necessary to emphasize—as
the fibrous nature of the wood makes
it difficult to swallow. Even if a little
of it is swallowed no particular harm
would be done, as it is not in the least
poisonous, though the fibers may act as
an irritant to the stomach.</p>
<p>As already indicated there are several
species of <i>Glycyrrhiza</i> of which the
roots and rhizomes are used like those
of <i>G. glabra</i>, but, in addition to these
there are a number of other plants designated
as licorice. Indian licorice or
the wild licorice of India (<i>Abrus precatorius</i>),
is a woody twining plant growing
quite abundantly in India; it is
sometimes substituted for true licorice.
Prickly licorice (<i>Glycyrrhiza echinata</i>)
resembles true licorice quite closely.
The wild licorice of America (<i>Glycyrrhiza
lepidota</i>) is found in the Northwest.
Its roots are quite sweet and
often used as a substitute for true licorice.
The European plant known as
"rest harrow" (<i>Ononis spinosa</i>), so-called
because its tangled roots impede the
progress of the harrow, has roots with
an odor and taste resembling licorice.
The roots are extensively employed by
the country practitioners of France and
Germany in the treatment of jaundice,
dropsy, gout, rheumatism, toothache,
ulcers, and eruptive diseases of the
scalp. The name, wild licorice, also
applies to <i>Galium circaezans</i> and <i>Galium
lanceolatum</i> on account of the sweetish
roots. The wild licorice of Australia
is <i>Teucrium corymbosum</i>. Licorice
vetch (<i>Astragalus glycyphyllus</i>) has
sweet roots. Licorice weed (<i>Scoparia
dulcis</i>) is a common tropical plant
which also has sweet-tasting roots.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="A_WINTER_WALK_IN_THE_WOODS" id="A_WINTER_WALK_IN_THE_WOODS"></SPAN> A WINTER WALK IN THE WOODS.</h2>
<p class="ac">ANNE W. JACKSON.</p>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_l.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">LAST week I had the good fortune
to be invited with two other
girls to spend a few days in the
country. We hailed the invitation
with delight and accepted it with
alacrity, for we all three love to get out
into the woods and fields.</p>
<p>We started on Friday afternoon, going
the first part of the journey by train.
The sky was cloudy and the weather
mild. We watched the moving pictures
that sped by the car windows as eagerly
as children.</p>
<p>After a half-hour's ride we arrived at
a little "town" consisting of the station,
one store, one house, one grain elevator,
and a blacksmith's shop. Here
our hostess met us with a surrey and
pair, and we were soon driving along at
a brisk pace, drinking in the fresh air
and country scenery with pure delight.
The person whose power of enjoyment
in little things has become blunted, is
greatly to be pitied. "Ours was as
keen as though newly sharpened for
the occasion; and nothing we saw, from
the fields, trees, and hedges, to the setting
sun, failed to give us pleasure.</p>
<p>A merry drive of three or four miles
brought us to the farm-house, where we
were cordially welcomed.</p>
<p>I should like to tell you about all the
fun we had that night, for it was our
hostess' birthday, and there was a surprise
party, at which <i>we</i> were as much
surprised as she was. But as it is our
walk I'm going to tell about, I must
leave the events of our first evening
unrelated.</p>
<p>The next morning we three girls decided
to take a walk, as we were anxious
to see what birds there were about.
It was a gray day, threatening rain, and
very wild for December.</p>
<p>The moment we set foot out of doors
the distant "caw-caw" of the crows
sounded like an invitation in our ears.
How I love that sound! It is to the
ear what a dash of color is to the eye.</p>
<p>We took the road to the right, where
we saw some woods a quarter of a mile
or more away.</p>
<p>Before we had gone far we heard a
medley of bird notes coming from the
fields on our left. We couldn't make
out what they were, as they were some
distance away, but I caught a note now
and then that sounded like a fragment
of the meadow-lark's song—just a faint
reminiscence of it.</p>
<p>After passing two pastures and a
cornfield on our left, we came to a piece
of thin timber land. The road, which
began to descend here, had been cut
down somewhat, leaving banks more or
less steep on either side. We went
along slowly, stopping frequently to
examine the beautiful mosses and lichens
which abounded. We had seen no
birds, with the exception of a woodpecker,
at close range yet.</p>
<p>Presently we came to a turn in the
road which led us up a slight rise of
ground, bordered on both sides by
woods. Arrived at the top of this hillock
we loitered about looking at the
many interesting thing that are always
to be seen in the woods. All at once
we were startled by a shrill scream, or
cry, which sounded like some young
animal being strangled, and behold! an
immense hawk flew off over the tree-tops.
It didn't fly very far though, and
gave us more of its music at intervals.</p>
<p>The road from this point led down to
a small brook spanned by a wooden
bridge. Looking down toward this
bridge, a gorgeous sight met our eyes. A
flock of cardinals, half a dozen or more,
were flying and sporting about among
the low bushes near one end of it. What
a delicious touch of color for a winter
landscape! There were chickadees,
too, hopping about among them in a
most neighborly fashion. We watched
them closely, quietly drawing nearer
and nearer. Pretty soon they flew into
the trees close by, and from thence
deeper into the woods. We saw and
heard many woodpeckers, both the
downy and the hairy being very plentiful.</p>
<p>As the place where we had seen the
redbirds was such a pretty one, we
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</SPAN></span>
were in no haste to leave it, even after
they had departed. So we perched ourselves
on top of an old rail fence, and
waited for some birds to come to us and
be looked at. We hadn't been there
very long before some tufted titmice
came into the trees near us, and delighted
us with their cheery notes and
cunning ways. The "caw" of the crows
was quite loud here and, with the added
notes of the woodpeckers and chickadees,
made it quite lively. Every once
in a while a few drops of rain would
fall. But this only added to the wildness
of our surroundings, and seemed
to put us farther away from the rest of
the world.</p>
<p>Though we found our rural perch
very enjoyable, we felt obliged to move
on again, however reluctantly. So we
crossed the bridge and climbed the hill
beyond. A short walk then brought us
to another turn, to the right, but on the
left an open gate into the woods.</p>
<p>We lost no time in turning in here,
you may be sure. We found many
more birds inside the woods than we
had along the road. Here were titmice,
chickadees, plenty of nut-hatches
white-breasted; hairy and downy
woodpeckers, and also a third kind that
we were uncertain about. Its upper
parts looked like black and white shepherd's
plaid, and the back of its head
and nape were deep red. Its note was
a sonorous <i>cow-cow-cow-cow-cow</i>. We
heard brown creepers about, and saw
many flocks of juncos.</p>
<p>When we came to the end of the
woods we saw a pair of our cardinals
flying about some low brushwood. It
was like seeing old friends.</p>
<p>I must not forget to mention the blue-jay,
who added his voice and brilliant
color to the pleasure of our walk.</p>
<p>We had entered a cornfield, and as we
advanced, flocks of little birds, mostly
juncos, would start up before us and
fly into the hedge or next field, twittering
gaily. Twice we heard distinctly
the goldfinch's note; but as the birds
all flew up at our approach, we couldn't
get near enough to distinguish them.
It seemed very odd to hear this summery
note amidst that wintry scene.</p>
<p>We crossed the cornfield and came to
a fence, at right angles, following
which took us in the direction of the
road. Just as we came up to a few
scattered trees, part in the field, and
part in the pastures on the other side
of the fence, we again heard our medley
chorus of many voices, some of which
had reminded us of the meadow-lark's.
The members of the chorus who
proved to be the meadowlarks' cousins,
the rusty blackbirds settled in these
trees and gave us a selection in their
best style. Some of the solo parts were
really sweet.</p>
<p>After climbing a rail fence we crossed
a small pasture and looked in vain for
a gate. Nothing but barbed wire. We
finally made our escape through a pigs'
corn-pen, from whence we emerged into
another pasture where the grass was
like the softest carpet to our feet.
This pasture had a gate opening onto
the road; so we were very soon back
again at the house, with appetites for
dinner fully developed.</p>
<p>We saw and heard no less than fourteen
different kinds of birds during our
walk. So those who desire to see birds
need not despair of finding them because
it is winter. Nature always has
plenty of beautiful things to show us,
no matter what the time of year.</p>
<p>My story ought to end here, but I
must tell you about the tufted "tits" we
saw next morning. The weather turned
very cold that night, and in the morning
a keen wind was blowing, so we
didn't think many birds would be about.
But hearing some chickadees in the
yard, we ventured out, and went across
the road, where we sat down in the
shelter of a large corncrib.</p>
<p>From here we saw plenty of chickadees,
titmice, nut-hatches, and other
woodpeckers busily engaged in hunting
their breakfasts. We had a fine opportunity
of studying them with our
glasses.</p>
<p>One bold "tit" stole a grain of corn
from the crib and carried it off to the
tree in front of us, where he took it in
his claw, and proceeded to pick the
choicest morsel out of it. Presently
another tufted rogue flew up and there
were some "passages of arms," and a
flight into another tree, and in the
midst of the fray, alas! the corn was
dropped.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_SCARLET_PAINTED_CUP" id="THE_SCARLET_PAINTED_CUP"></SPAN> THE SCARLET PAINTED CUP.</h2>
<p class="ac">PROF. WILLIAM KERR HIGLEY,<br/>
<span class="smaller">Secretary of The Chicago Academy of Sciences.</span></p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">These children of the meadows, born</div>
<div class="verse">Of sunshine and of showers.</div>
<div class="verse ar">—<i>Whittier.</i></div>
</div></div>
<div class="p2">
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_t.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">THE scarlet painted cup belongs
to a large and interesting group
of plants known as the figwort
family (<i>Scrophulariaceæ</i>). The
common name of the family is derived
from the reputed value of some of the
species in the cure of ficus or figwort,
a disease caused by the growth of a
stalked excrescence on the eyelids,
tongue, or other parts of the body that
are covered with a mucous membrane.
The technical name is derived from
scrofula, as some of the species are
considered efficacious in the treatment
of that disease. This family includes
about one hundred and sixty-five genera
and over twenty-five hundred species.
They are common all over the
world, reaching from the equator into
the regions of constant frosts. It is
claimed by some authorities that fully
one thirty-fifth of all the flowering
plants of North America are classed in
this family.</p>
<p>Besides the painted cup there are
classed in this group the mullen, the
common toad-flax, the foxglove (<i>Digitalis</i>),
the gerardias, and the calceolarias.</p>
<p>The foxglove, though causing death
when the extract is taken in excess, is
one of the most highly valued medicinal
plants known. Nearly all the species
of the family are herbs, without
fragrance. Some of the species are
known to be partially parasitic. True
parasites are usually white or very
light colored and contain no green coloring
matter, which is essential when
the plant is self-supporting. The parasitic
forms of this family, however, do
contain green coloring matter and are
thus not entirely dependent on their
host for the preparation of their food
supply. The gerardias (false foxgloves)
are frequently found attached to the
roots of oaks, large shrubs, and even
on the roots of grasses. It has also
been shown that there is a cannibalistic
tendency in some of the species of
gerardia. They will not only fasten
their sucker-like roots on those of
other species, but also upon those of
other individuals of the same species,
and even upon the root branches of
their own plants. This double parasitism
is not rare.</p>
<p>The scarlet painted cup of our illustration
(<i>Castilleja coccinea, L.</i>) is a
native of the eastern half of the United
States and the southern portion of Canada.
It prefers the soil of meadows
and moist woods and has been found
growing abundantly at an elevation of
from three to four thousand feet.</p>
<p>The generic name was given this
plant by Linnæus in honor of a Spanish
botanist. The specific name is from
the Latin, meaning scarlet. Nearly all
of the forty species are natives of North
and South America.</p>
<p>The flowers are dull yellow in color
and are obscured by the rather large
floral leaves or bracts, which are bright
scarlet—rarely bright yellow—in color.
These conspicuous leaves are broader
toward the apex and usually about
three-cleft. By the novice they are
usually mistaken for the flower, which
is hardly noticeable. The stem seldom
exceeds a foot in height and bears
a number of leaves that are deeply cut
in narrow segments. The bright color
of this plant has given it many local
common names more or less descriptive.
Prominent among these is the
Indian paint brush.</p>
<p>A pretty myth tells us that the
painted cup was originally yellow, but
that Venus, when lamenting the death
of Apollo, pressed a cluster of the blossoms
to her parched lips and drank
the dew from the flowers, the outer
leaves of which have ever since retained
the color of her lips.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</SPAN></span></p>
<table class="sp2 mc w50" title="YELLOW LADY'S SLIPPER AND PAINTED CUP.">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="3"><span class="ac w100 figcenter">
<SPAN name="i_104.jpg" id="i_104.jpg"> <ANTIMG style="width:100%"
src="images/i_104.jpg" alt="" /></SPAN></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">BY PER HARRIET E. HIGLEY.<br/>
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.</td>
<td class="x-smaller ac w40">YELLOW LADY'S SLIPPER AND PAINTED CUP.</td>
<td class="xx-smaller ac w30">COPYRIGHT 1900, BY<br/>
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</SPAN></span></p>
</div>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_YOUNG_NATURALIST" id="THE_YOUNG_NATURALIST"></SPAN> THE YOUNG NATURALIST.</h2>
<div>
<ANTIMG class="drop-cap" src="images/initial_s.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="drop-cap">SAHARA SEA.—Much of the
great desert of Sahara is below
the level of the Atlantic. It is
proposed that the water be let
in. The space covered would be big
enough to warrant us in speaking of it
as an ocean. There would be islands
in it, as there are places that are of
considerable elevation.</p>
<p>So much water would make a difference
in climate in all directions from
the present desert. It is thought the
vineyards of southern Europe would
be injured, as they are dependent on
the dry winds that come across the
Mediterranean from the great desert.
The rainfall in at least one-third of the
inhabited parts of the globe would be
affected by this great change in the
amount of water on the surface. Ships
would be able to sail to ports at the
south of Morocco and Algiers where
now are shifting sands and few people,
and new cities would spring into being
far to the south where the new coast
line would be formed.</p>
<p>There are other low and barren spots
on the earth's surface that are below
sea level. They would form useful
basins of water if the proper canals
were dug. A company has been formed
to let water into the Yuma desert in
southern California, where 13,000
square miles of land with no inhabitants,
lies below the sea level, some of
it as much as 1,000 feet. A great desert
in the middle of Australia is also
low. If it were flooded it would make
of Australia a great rim of continent
reaching round an immense sea.</p>
<p>One scientist has advocated the making
of the Red Sea into a great fresh
water lake by changing the course of
the Nile so as to make that sea its outlet
instead of the Mediterranean. By preventing
the flow of salt water from the
north through the Suez canal, and
building an embankment at the south,
it has been estimated that the Red Sea
would become fresh in the course of
time.</p>
<p>The Red Sea project is not at all
likely to be carried out, but those for
California and the Sahara may soon be
made effective. When the world of
commerce comes to realize what the
Sahara Sea will mean for its enterprise,
there will be a lively prospect of much
digging and plenty of fighting over the
damages done to existing interests and
the rights of the various European nations
to the new seaboard that will be
formed.</p>
<p>FEEDING.—One of the duties of
the teamster is to see that his horses are
well fed. Where the team must be on
the road at five in the morning it is the
business of the man who feeds them to
get up at four to give them time to eat.
Incidentally he rubs them down and gets
his own breakfast in a leisurely manner.
An Ohio man has an electric device
which will give the teamster a chance
to lie a little longer in the morning.
He has arranged an alarm clock which
may be set for any hour so that instead
of striking the hour it will make an
electric connection. This connection
lets fall a bag that is placed the night
before over the manger of the horse to
be fed at that hour in the morning.
The first sound that greets the ear of
the horse is not the teamster coming
to open the stable, but the rattle of
oats into his feed-box, and he has ample
time to eat and begin the operation
of digestion before he sees the man
who used to be so welcome. Possibly
he will not greet the man so affectionately
in the future when his coming
means not food for a hungry stomach
but a hard day's work. But those who
know the horse best are inclined to believe
that the horse will always greet
his master affectionately in the morning
regardless of the state of his stomach.</p>
<p>RUBBER.—The use of rubber has
grown wonderfully in the last ten years.
Every year a rubber famine is predicted,
and every year someone announces
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</SPAN></span>
that a substitute has been
found that is just as good as the real
article. The facts seems to indicate
that neither the famine nor the substitute
is really at hand. Rubber plantations
are being extended in Mexico to
meet the demands of the growing trade,
but the bulk of our rubber still comes
from the Amazon country in South
America, and that country is almost
limitless in its supplies of this article.
It is true that the trees along the banks
of the rivers have been tapped until
their product is much inferior to what
it once was, but this condition exists
only for a distance of two or three miles
along the river banks. There are plenty
of magnificent trees standing untouched
a little farther back. All that
is needed to get more rubber is to get
more men into these forests gathering
it. The real difficulty is to get the
men to do the work. The finest rubber
forests remaining near the river
fronts are along the Purus, one of the
large rivers flowing into the Amazon
from the south.</p>
<p>SUNSHINE CAUGHT.—For thousands
of years men have tried to use
the heat of the sun's rays in the place
of fire. It is now claimed that Dr.
William Calver of Washington has
finished an invention which will bring
into the space of a few inches all the
rays of heat from the sun that would
naturally fall upon one acre of ground.
By bringing so many rays to a focus he
gets such a powerful heat that iron and
steel melt in it like icicles.</p>
<p>A magnifying glass or lens of almost
any sort held in the sunshine makes a
bright, warm spot. Dr. Calver's machine
gets the same effect, only more
powerfully. He has secured a temperature
of several thousand degrees
Fahrenheit. To make his machine useful
for heating houses and making
steam for factories he has invented a
reservoir to store the heat gathered
while the sun is shining, so that it may
be used at night or on dark days. Men
of science have been looking for such
a machine for a long time, and if Dr.
Calver and his friends are not much
mistaken his invention will be as great
a help to civilization as the harnessing
of Niagara Falls for electric work. His
laboratory is in the outskirts of Washington,
D. C.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<h2><SPAN name="WASHINGTONS_MONUMENT" id="WASHINGTONS_MONUMENT"></SPAN> WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT.</h2>
<p class="ac">GEO. P. MORRIS.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">A monument to Washington?</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">A tablet graven with his name?</div>
<div class="verse">Green be the mound it stands upon,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And everlasting as his fame!</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">His glory fills the land—the plain,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The moor, the mountain and the mart!</div>
<div class="verse">More firm than column, urn or fane,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">His monument—the human heart.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">The Christian, patriot, hero, sage!</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The chief from heaven in mercy sent;</div>
<div class="verse">His deeds are written on the age—</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">His country is his monument.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">"The sword of Gideon and the Lord"</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Was mighty in his mighty hand—</div>
<div class="verse">The God who guided he adored,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">And with his blessing freed the land.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">The first in war, the first in peace,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">The first in hearts that freemen own;</div>
<div class="verse">Unparalleled till time shall cease—</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">He lives, immortal and alone.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Yet let the rock-hewn tower rise,</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">High to the pathway of the sun,</div>
<div class="verse">And speak to the approving skies</div>
<div class="verse indent-2">Our gratitude to Washington.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<div class="transnote">
<h3>Transcriber's Note:</h3>
<ul>
<li>Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.</li>
<li>Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant form was
found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.</li>
<li>Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.</li>
<li>The Clapper Rail illustration was moved from page 63 to page 62.</li>
<li>The Contents table were added by the transcriber.</li>
</ul></div>
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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