Chameleons I ever had: its temper, if it can be so called, was extremely
sagacious and cunning. This one was not of the order of the green kind,
but a disagreeable drab, and it never once varied in its colour in two
months. On my arrival in Cairo. I used to let it crawl about the room on
the furniture. Sometimes it would get down, if it could, and hide itself
away from me, but in a place where it could see me; and sometimes,
on my leaving the room and on entering it, would draw itself so thin
as to make itself nearly on a level with whatever it might be on, so
that I might not see it. It had often deceived me so. One day having
missed it for some time, I concluded it was hid about the room; after
looking for it in vain, I thought it had got out of the room and made
its escape: in the course of the evening, after the candle was lighted,
I went to a basket that had got a handle across it: I saw my Chameleon,
but its colour entirely changed, and different to any I ever had seen
before: the whole body, head and tail, a brown with black spots, and
beautiful deep orange-coloured spots round the black. I certainly was
much gratified. On being disturbed, its colours vanished, unlike the
others; but after this I used to observe it the first thing in the
morning, when it would have the same colours. Some time after, it made
its escape out of my room, and I suppose got into the garden close by.
I was much vexed, and would have given twenty dollars to have recovered
it again, though it only cost me threepence, knowing I could not get
another like it; for, afterwards being in Rosetta, I had between fifty
and sixty; but all those were green, yellow, and black; and the Arabs,
in catching them, had bruised them so much, that after a month or six
weeks they died. It is an animal extremely hard to die. I had prepared
two cages with separate divisions, with the intention of bringing them
to England; but though I desired the Arabs that used to get them for me
to catch them by the tail, they used to hurt them much with their hands;
and if once the body is squeezed, it will never live longer than two
months. When they used to sleep at night, it was easy to see where they
had been bruised; for being of a very light colour when sleeping, the
part that had been bruised, either on the body or the head, which was
bone, was extremely black, though when green it would not show itself so
clear. Their chief food was flies: the fly does not die immediately on
being swallowed, for upon taking the Chameleon up in my hands, it was
easy to feel the fly buzzing, chiefly on account of the air they draw in
their inside: they swell much, and particularly when they want to fling
themselves off a great height, by filling themselves up like a balloon:
on falling, they get no hurt, except on the mouth, which they bruise a
little, as that comes first to the ground. Sometimes they will not drink
for three or four days, and when they begin they are about half an hour
drinking. I have held a glass in one hand while the Chameleon rested its
two fore-paws on the edge of it, the two hind ones resting on my other
hand. It stood upright while drinking, holding its head up like a fowl.
By flinging its tongue out of its mouth the length of its body, and
instantaneously catching the fly, it would go back like a spring. They
will drink mutton broth: how I came to know this was, one day having a
plate of broth and rice on the table where it was: it went to the plate
and got half into it, and began drinking, and trying to take up some of
the rice, by pushing it with its mouth towards the side of the plate,
which kept it from moving, and in a very awkward way taking it into its
mouth."
In the autumn of 1868, a pair of Chameleons, in the possession of the
Hon. Lady Cust, of Leasowe Castle, Cheshire, produced nine active young
ones, like little alligators, less than an inch long. Such a birth has
been, it is believed, very rare in this country. It was remarked, in the
above case, that the male and female appeared altogether indifferent
about their progeny.
Whatever may be the cause, the fact seems to be certain, that the
Chameleon has an antipathy to objects of a black colour. One, which
Forbes kept, uniformly avoided a black board which was hung up in the
chamber; and, what is most remarkable, when the Chameleon was held
forcibly before the black board, it trembled violently and assumed a
_black colour_.[25]
It may be something of the same kind which makes Bulls and Turkey-cocks
dislike the colour of scarlet, a fact of which there can be no doubt.
FOOTNOTES:
[24] The Fables of John Gay. Illustrated. With Original Memoir,
Introduction, and Annotations. By Octavius Freire Owen, M.A., F.S.A.
1854.
[25] This, it will be seen by referring to page 307, does not correspond
with Calmet's statement.
RUNNING TOADS.
That the Toad, by common repute "ugly and venomous," should be made a
parlour pet, is passing strange; yet such is the case, and we find in a
letter from Dr. Husenbeth, of Cossey, the following curious instances.
Thus he describes a species, there often met with, the eyes of which
have the pupil surrounded with bright golden-yellow, whereas in the
common toad the circle is red or orange. This remarkable peculiarity
Dr. H. has not seen anywhere noticed. The head is like that of the
common sort, but much more blunt, and rounded off at the nose and mouth,
and the arches over the eyes are more prominent. The most remarkable
difference is a line of yellow running all down the back. Also down each
side this Toad has a row of red pimples, like small beads, which are
tolerably regular, but appear more in some specimens than in others.
The general colour is a yellowish-olive, but the animal is beautifully
marked with black spots, very regularly disposed, and exactly
corresponding on each side of the yellow line down the back. Like all
other Toads, this one occasionally changes its colour, becoming more
brown, or ash-colour, or reddish at times, probably in certain states
of the weather. This species is much more active than the common Toad.
It never leaps, and very seldom crawls, but makes a short run, stops a
little, and then runs on again. If frightened or pursued, it will run
along much quicker than one would suppose.
During the previous summer Dr. H. kept three Toads of this kind in
succession. "The first (says Dr. H.) I procured in July; but after a
few days, when I let him have a run on the carpet of my parlour, he
got into a hole in a corner of the floor, of which I was not aware,
and fell, as I suppose, underneath the floor, into the hollow space
below. I concluded that he could never get up again, and gave him up to
his fate. I then began to keep another Running Toad, which fed well at
first, but after three weeks refused food, and evidently wasted; so I
turned him out into the garden, and have not met with him since. After
more than three weeks, the former Toad reappeared, but how he came up
from beneath the floor I never could conceive, or how he had picked
up a living in the meantime. He was, however, in good condition, and
seemed to have lived well, probably on spiders and woodlice. He had been
seen by a servant running about the carpet, but I knew nothing of his
having come forth again, till in the evening, when he had got near the
door, and it was suddenly opened so as to pass over the poor creature,
and crush it terribly. I took it up apparently dead. It showed no sign
of life; the eyes were closed, it did not breathe, and the backbone
seemed quite broken, and the animal was crushed almost flat. I found a
very curious milky secretion exuding from it, where it had been most
injured and the skin was most broken. This was perfectly white, and had
exactly the appearance of milk thrown over the toad. It did not bleed,
though much lacerated; but instead of blood appeared this milky fluid,
which had an odour of a most singular kind, different from anything I
ever smelt. It is impossible to describe it. It was not fetid, but of
a sickly, disgusting, and overpowering character, so that I could not
endure to inhale it for a moment. I had read and seen a good deal of the
extraordinary powers of revivification in toads, but was not prepared
for what I witnessed on this occasion. I laid this poor animal, crushed,
flattened, motionless, and to all appearance dead, upon a cold iron
plate of the fireplace. He fell over on one side, and showed no sign of
life for a full hour. After that he had slightly moved one leg, and so
remained for about another half-hour. Then he began to breathe feebly,
and gathered up his legs, and his back began to rise up into its usual
form. In about two hours from the time of the accident, he had so far
recovered as to crawl about, though with difficulty. The milky liquor
was reabsorbed, and gradually disappeared as the toad recovered. The
next morning it was all gone, and no mark of injury could be seen,
except a small hole in his back, which soon closed. He recovered so far
as to move about pretty well, but his back appeared to have been broken,
and one fore-leg crippled. I therefore thought it best to give him his
liberty in the garden. But so wonderful and speedy a recovery I could
never have believed without ocular testimony.
"I then tried my third and last Running Toad. I began to keep him on
Sept. 13th. He was a very fine specimen, and larger than the two former.
He fed well, and amused me exceedingly. He was very tame, and would sit
on my hand quite quiet, and enjoy my stroking him gently down his head
and back. Soon after I got him he began to cast his skin. I helped him
to get rid of it by stripping it down each side, which he seemed to
like much, and sat very quiet during the operation. The new skin was
quite beautiful, and shone as if varnished. This Toad lived in a crystal
palace, or glass jar, where I had kept all the others before him. He
took food freely, and his appetite was so good that in one day he ate
seven large flies and three bees without stings. He was particularly
fond of woodlice and earwigs, but would take centipedes, moths, and
even butterflies. Being more active than common Toads, he often made
great efforts to get out of his glass jar. I used to let him run about
the room nearly every day for a short time, and often treated him to a
run in the garden. Toads make a slight noise sometimes in the evenings,
uttering a short sound like 'coo,' but I never heard them croak. Before
wet weather, and during its continuance, my Toad was disinclined for
food, and took no notice of flies even walking over his nose. He would
then burrow and hide himself in the moss at the bottom of his glass
palace. Thus I kept him, and found him very tame and amusing. But after
about two months he became more impatient of confinement, and refused
to take any food. I did not perceive that he fell away, though his feet
and toes turned of a dark colour, which I knew was a sign of being out
of condition; and, on the 10th of November, I found him dead. I have
now tried three of this sort, and have come to the conclusion that the
Running Toad will not live in captivity. This I much regret, as its
habits are interesting, and its ways very amusing.
"F. C. Husenbeth, D.D."
* * * * *
FROG AND TOAD CONCERTS.
It would be hard to believe the stories of the vocal powers of Frogs
and Toads were they not related by trustworthy travellers, who tell of
animal concerts,
"Wild as the marsh, and tuneful as the harp."
Mr. Priest, the traveller in America, who was himself a musician,
records:--"Prepared as I was to hear something extraordinary from these
animals, I confess the first _Frog Concert_ I heard in America was so
much beyond anything I could conceive of the power of these musicians,
that I was truly astonished. This performance was _al fresco_, and took
place on the eighteenth of April, in a large swamp, where there were at
least 10,000 performers; and I really believe not two exactly in the
same pitch, if the octave can possibly admit of so many divisions, or
shades of semitones."
Professor and Mrs. Louis Agassiz, in their recent "Journey in Brazil,"
record:--"We must not leave Parà without alluding to our evening
concerts from the adjoining woods and swamps. When I first heard this
strange confusion of sounds, I thought it came from a crowd of men
shouting loudly, though at a little distance. To my surprise. I found
that the rioters were the frogs and toads in the neighbourhood. I hardly
know how to describe this Babel of woodland noises; and, if I could do
it justice, I am afraid my account would hardly be believed. At moments
it seems like the barking of dogs, then like the calling of many voices
on different keys; but all loud, rapid, excited, full of emphasis and
variety. I think these frogs, like ours, must be silent at certain
seasons of the year, for on our first visit to Parà we were not struck
by this singular music, with which the woods now resound at nightfall."
SONG OF THE CICADA.
The Greeks have been scoffed at for rendering in deathless verse the
song of so insignificant an insect as the Cicada; and hence it has
been asserted that their love for such slender music must have been
either exaggerated or simulated. It is pleasant, however, to hear an
independent observer in the other hemisphere confirm their testimony.
Mr. Lord tells us that in British Colombia there is one sound or song
which is clearer, shriller, and _more singularly tuneful than any
other_. It never appears to cease, and it comes from everywhere--from
the tops of the trees, from the trembling leaves of the cotton-wood,
from the stunted under-brush, from the flowers, the grass, the rocks and
boulders--nay, the very stream itself seems vocal with hidden minstrels,
all chanting the same refrain.
An especial feature of the Cicada's song is, that it increases in
intensity when the sun is hottest; and one of the later Latin poets
mentions the time when its music is at its highest, as an alternative
expression for noon. Mr. Tennyson, inadvertently, speaks in "Ænone" of
the Grasshopper being silent in the grass, and of the Cicada sleeping
when the noonday quiet holds the hill. Keats sings more truly:--
"When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:
That is the Grasshopper's."
Then the Greek poets show us how intimately the song of the Cicada is
associated with the hottest hours of the day. Aristophanes describes it
as mad for the love of the sun; and Theocritus, as scorched by the sun.
When all things are parched with the heat (says Alcæus), then from among
the leaves issues the song of the sweet Cicada. His shrill melody is
heard in the full glow of noontide, and the vertical rays of a torrid
sun fire him to sing. Over and over again Mr. Lord met with allusions to
the same peculiarity.
Cicadæ are regularly sold for food in the markets of South America. They
are not eaten now, like they were at Athens, as a whet to the appetite;
but they are dried in the sun, powdered, and made into a cake.
STORIES ABOUT THE BARNACLE GOOSE.
"As barnacles turn Poland geese
In th' islands of the Orcades."--_Hudibras._
One of the earliest references to this popular error is in the "Natural
Magic" of Baptista Porta, who says:--"Late writers report that not only
in Scotland, but also in the river of Thames by London, there is a kind
of shell-fish in a two-leaved shell, that hath a foot full of plaits
and wrinkles.... They commonly stick to the keel of some old ship. Some
say they come of worms, some of the boughs of trees which fall into the
sea; if any of them be cast upon shore, they die; but they which are
swallowed still into the sea, live and get out of their shells, and grow
to be ducks, or such-like birds."
Professor Max Müller, in a learned lecture, enters fully into the origin
of the different stories about the Barnacle Goose. He quotes from the
"Philosophical Transactions" of 1678 a full account by Sir Robert Moray,
who declared that he had seen within the barnacle shell, as through a
concave or diminishing glass, the bill, eyes, head, neck, breast, wings,
tail, feet, and feathers of the Barnacle Goose. The next witness was
John Gerarde, Master in Chirurgerie, who, in 1597, declared that he had
seen the actual metamorphosis of the muscle into the bird, describing
how--
"The shell gapeth open, and the first thing that appeareth is the fore
said lace or string; next come the leg of the birde hanging out, and
as it groweth greater, it openeth the shell by degrees, till at length
it is all come forth, and hangeth only by the bill, and falleth into
the sea, when it gathereth feathers and groweth to a foule, bigger than
a mallart; for the truth hereof, if any doubt, may it please them to
repair unto me, and I shall satisfie them by the testimonies of good
witnesses."
As far back as the thirteenth century, the same story is traced in the
writings of Giraldus Cambrensis. This great divine does not deny the
truth of the miraculous origin of the Barnacle Geese, but he warns the
Irish priests against dining off them during Lent on the plea that they
were not flesh, but fish. For, he writes, "If a man during Lent were
to dine off a leg of Adam, who was not born of flesh either, we should
not consider him innocent of having eaten what is flesh." This modern
myth, which, in spite of the protests of such men as Albertus Magnus,
Æneas Sylvius, and others, maintained its ground for many centuries, and
was defended, as late as 1629, in a book by Count Maier, "De volucri
arborea," with arguments, physical, metaphysical, and theological, owed
its origin to a play of words. The muscle shells are called _Bernaculæ_
from the Latin _perna_, the mediæval Latin _berna_; the birds are called
_Hibernicæ_ or _Hiberniculæ_, abbreviated to _Berniculæ_. As their names
seem one, the creatures are supposed to be one, and everything conspires
to confirm the first mistake, and to invest what was originally a good
Irish story--a mere _canard_--with all the dignity of scientific, and
all the solemnity of theological truth. The myth continued to live
until the age of Newton. Specimens of _Lepadidæ_, prepared by Professor
Rolleston of Oxford, show how the outward appearance of the _Anatifera_
could have supported the popular superstition which derived the
_Bernicla_, the goose, from the _Bernicula_, the shell.
Drayton (1613), in his "Poly-olbion," iii., in connexion with the river
Lee, speaks of
"Th' anatomised fish and fowls from planchers sprung;"
to which a note is appended in Southey's edition, p. 609, that such
fowls were "Barnacles, a bird breeding upon old ships." A bunch of the
shells attached to the ship, or to a piece of floating timber, at a
distance appears like flowers in bloom; the foot of the animal has a
similitude to the stalk of a plant growing from the ship's sides, the
shell resembles a calyx, and the flower consists of the tentacula, or
fingers, of the shell-fish. The ancient error was to mistake the foot
for the neck of a goose, the shell for its head, and the tentacula for
feathers. As to the body, _non est inventus_.
Sir Kenelm Digby was soundly laughed at for relating to a party at
the castle of the Governor of Calais, that "the Barnacle, a bird in
Jersey, was first a shell-fish to appearance, and, from that striking
upon old wood, became in time a bird." In 1807, there was exhibited in
Spring-gardens, London, a "Wonderful natural curiosity, called the Goose
Tree, Barnacle Tree, or Tree bearing Geese," taken up at sea on January
12th, and more than twenty men could raise out of the water.[26]
Sir J. Emerson Tennent asks whether the ready acceptance and general
credence given to so obvious a fable may not have been derived from
giving too literal a construction to the text of the passage in the
first chapter of Genesis:--
"And God said, Let the _waters bring forth abundantly_ the
moving creature that hath life, and the _fowl_ that may fly in the
open firmament of heaven."
The Barnacle Goose is a well-known bird, and is eaten on fast-days in
France, by virtue of this old belief in its marine origin. The belief
in the barnacle origin of the bird still prevails on the west coast of
Ireland, and in the Western Highlands of Scotland.
The finding of the Barnacle is thus described by Mr. Sidebotham, to
the Microscopical and Natural History Section of the Literary and
Philosophical Society:--"In September, I was at Lytham with my family.
The day was very stormy, and the previous night there had been a strong
south-west wind, and evidences of a very stormy sea outside the
banks. Two of my children came running to tell me of a very strange
creature that had been washed up on the shore. They had seen it from
the pier, and pointed it out to a sailor, thinking it was a large dog
with long hair. On reaching the shore I found a fine mass of Barnacles,
_Pentalasinus anatifera_, attached to some staves of a cask, the whole
being between four and five feet long. Several sailors had secured the
prize, and were getting it on a truck to carry it away. The appearance
was most remarkable, the hundreds of long tubes with their curious
shells looking like what one would fancy the fabled Gorgon's head with
its snaky locks. The curiosity was carried to a yard where it was to be
exhibited, and the bellman went round to announce it under the name of
the sea-lioness, or the great sea-serpent. Another mass of Barnacles
was washed up at Lytham, and also one at Blackpool, the same day or the
day following. This mass of Barnacles was evidently just such a one as
that seen by Gerard at the Pile of Foulders. It is rare to have such a
specimen on our coasts. The sailors at Lytham had never seen anything
like it, although some of them were old men who had spent all their
lives on the coast."
FOOTNOTE:
[26] "Notes and Queries," No. 201.
LEAVES ABOUT BOOKWORMS.
On paper, leather, and parchment are found various animals, popularly
known as "Bookworms." Johnson describes it as a worm or mite that eats
holes in books, chiefly when damp; and in the "Guardian" we find this
reference to its habits:--"My lion, like a moth or bookworm, feeds upon
nothing but paper."
Many years ago an experienced keeper of the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford
collected these interesting details of Bookworms:--"The larvæ of
_Crambus pinguinalis_ will establish themselves upon the binding of a
book, and spinning a robe will do it little injury. A mite, _Acarus
eruditus_, eats the paste that fastens the paper over the edges of the
binding and so loosens it. The caterpillar of another little moth takes
its station in damp old books, between the leaves, and there commits
great ravages. The little boring wood-beetle, who attacks books and
will even bore through several volumes. An instance is mentioned of
twenty-seven folio volumes being perforated in a straight line, by the
same insect, in such a manner that by passing a cord through the perfect
round hole made by it the twenty-seven volumes could be raised at once.
The wood-beetle also destroys prints and drawings, whether framed or
kept in a portfolio."
There is another "Bookworm," which is often confounded with the
Death-watch of the vulgar; but is smaller, and instead of beating
at intervals, as does the Death-watch, continues its noise for a
considerable length of time without intermission. It is usually found
in old wood, decayed furniture, museums, and neglected books. The
female lays her eggs, which are exceedingly small, in dry, dusty
places, where they are least likely to meet with disturbance. They are
generally hatched about the beginning of March, a little sooner or
later, according to the weather. After leaving the eggs, the insects are
so small as to be scarcely discerned without the use of a glass. They
remain in this state about two months, somewhat resembling in appearance
the mites in cheese, after which they undergo their change into the
perfect insect. They feed on dead flies and other insects; and often,
from their numbers and voracity, very much deface cabinets of natural
history. They subsist on various other substances, and may often be
observed carefully hunting for nutritious particles amongst the dust in
which they are found, turning it over with their heads, and searching
about in the manner of swine. Many live through the winter buried deep
in the dust to avoid the frost.
The best mode of destroying the insects which infest books and MSS.
has often occupied the attention of the possessors of valuable
libraries. Sir Thomas Phillips found the wood of his book-case attacked,
particularly where beech had been introduced, and appeared to think
that the insect was much attracted by the paste employed in binding.
He recommended as preservatives against their attacks spirits of
turpentine and a solution of corrosive sublimate, and also the latter
substance mixed with paste. In some instances he found the produce of
a single impregnated female sufficient to destroy a book. Turpentine
and spirit of tar are also recommended for their destruction; but the
method pursued in the collections of the British Museum is an abundant
supply of camphor, with attention to keeping the rooms dry, warm, and
ventilated. Mr. Macleay states it is the _acari_ only which feed on the
paste employed in binding books, and the larvæ of the Coleoptera only
which pierce the boards and leaves.
The ravages of the Bookworm would be much more destructive had there
not been a sort of guardian to the literary treasures in the shape of
a spider, who, when examined through a microscope, resembles a knight
in armour. This champion of the library follows the Worm into the
book-case, discovers the pit he has digged, rushes on his victim, which
is about his own size, and devours him. His repast finished, he rests
for about a fortnight, and when his digestion is completed, he sets out
to break another lance with the enemy.