BIRDS and NATURE
IN NATURAL COLORS
A MONTHLY SERIAL
FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY
A GUIDE IN THE STUDY OF NATURE
TWO VOLUMES EACH YEAR
VOLUME VIII
JUNE, 1900, TO DECEMBER, 1900
EDITED BY WILLIAM KERR HIGLEY
CHICAGO
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER
203 Michigan Ave.
1900
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD
NATURE AND ART
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
VOL. VIII. JUNE, 1900. NO. 1.
CONTENTS.
Page
ALONE WITH NATURE. 1
A PATTERN FLOWER. 2
GOD'S HANDIWORK. 7
NATURAL RIGHTS OF BIRDS. 8
STRUCTURE AND HABITS OF BIRDS. 12
WILSON'S THRUSH. 13
THE FISH'S PLACE IN NATURE. 14
SOME INTERESTING THINGS ABOUT RIVERS. 20
SOME WATER INSECTS. 25
INSECT MUSIC. 31
CATTLE. 32
HOMING PIGEON. 36
THE TWO-STORIED NEST. 41
WHEAT HARVESTING. 42
A CHARMING HOME. 48
ALONE WITH NATURE.
Alone with nature I love to roam,
'Midst forest shades, o'er meadows green,
Where the soft winds blow 'neath the azure dome,
And only the Works of God are seen.
Away, away, from the city's din,
Long murmuring brooks, by placid ponds;
Far from the sight of human sin,
And moral weakness in Satan's bonds.
Away, away 'neath the towering trees,
Where the thrush pours forth his wildwood song.
And the grey squirrel nimbly leaps with ease,
From branch to branch of the maple strong.
Where the hornets build their marvelous nest,
And hang it high from human foe.
Where the blackbird 'neath her soft warm breast
Shelters her young when the storm winds blow.
Where the tortoise gravely stalks along
Like sage of old in sombre thought,
And the great horned owl in utterance strong
Bemoans the changes time has wrought.
Along the hillsides facing south,
Where the earliest wild-flowers may be found;
Where the big bull-frog with cavernous mouth,
Welcomes Spring from the marshy ground.
Where the red-wing, swinging among the reeds,
Saucily sings, "Yer can't cum 'ere."
Where the cunning rail-bird yearly breeds,
And raises her brood with little fear.
On the banks of streams to lie,
And watch the gambols of the fish,
While the pond-turtles lazily bask near by,
In indolent freedom from care or wish.
Thus with Nature to commune,
And to note her creatures gay;
While mind and heart are in attune,
With creation's work from day to day.
F. ALEX. LUCAS.
FLOWERS
A PATTERN FLOWER.
JOHN M. COULTER.
Flowers are of very many patterns, and it must not be supposed that
there is any special pattern for them all. There are four parts which
belong to flowers in general, and they are repeated in various flowers
in numberless ways, or one or more of the parts may be omitted.
The flower of the common wild lily, chosen for our illustration, is
highly organized, with all the parts represented and well developed.
Each part is constructed for some definite work, which we may or may
not fully understand.
The flower of the illustration shows on the outside six leaf-like
bodies, colored a deep orange or reddish, and bearing dark spots. These
six bodies are in two sets of three--an outer and an inner set. When
there are two sets of these leaf-like bodies the outer set is called
the _calyx_, and the inner one the _corolla_. The three leaves of the
calyx are called _sepals_, and the three leaves of the corolla _petals_.
In this case the sepals and petals look alike, and then it is usual
to speak of the whole set of six as the _perianth_. In many flowers,
however, the sepals and petals do not look at all alike. In the common
wake-robin, or _Trillium_, a near relative of the lily, the three
sepals are like ordinary small green leaves, while the petals are much
larger and showy, giving the characteristic color to the flower.
In the lily it should be further noticed that the sepals and petals
are all separate, but in many flowers they are united in various ways
to form urns, tubes, funnels, trumpets, etc. The common morning glory
is an illustration of a flower in which the petals are united so as to
form a beautiful trumpet-shaped or funnel-form corolla.
The general purpose of the perianth, that is, the two outer parts of
the flower, is to protect the far more important inner parts in the
bud, and when the flower opens the perianth unfolds and exposes the
inner parts, which are then ready for their peculiar work.
The bright color usually shown by the corolla, and sometimes also by
the calyx, as in the lily, is probably associated with the visits of
insects, which come to the flower for nectar or other food. Since it
has been found, however, that some visiting insects are color blind, it
is doubtful whether the color is so universal an attraction as it was
once thought to be, but it is certainly associated with some sort of
important work.
A summary of these various duties is as follows: The green, leaf-like
calyx is certainly for bud protection; the brightly colored corolla
(and sometimes calyx) adds to the duty of protection that of attracting
necessary insects, or some other duty that we do not as yet understand.
Just within the corolla the third part or set appears, consisting of
six _stamens_. These six stamens are also in two sets of three each,
an outer and an inner one. Each stamen consists of a long stalk-like
part, called the _filament_, and at the summit of the filament is borne
the _anther_, which in the lily consists of two long, narrow pouches
lying side by side. When the anther is ripe these pouches are filled
with a yellow, powdery dust called the _pollen_. Each particle of
this dust-like pollen consists of a minute, but beautifully organized
globular body, known as the _pollen-grain_. The anther pouches are
therefore full of pollen-grains.
[Illustration: RED OR WOOD LILY.
(Lilium Philadelphicum)]
In the lily it will be noticed that when the anthers are ripe and the
pollen is ready to be shed, a slit opens lengthwise in each of the two
pouches or sacs. This is the common method for opening the anther sacs,
but in some flowers it is curiously modified. For example, in the
heaths, such as the huckleberry, the sacs open by a hole at one end,
and sometimes the tips of the sacs are drawn out into long, hollow
tubes through which the pollen is discharged. In other cases, as in the
sassafras, the sacs open by little trap doors, which swing open as if
upon hinges.
Of the two parts of the stamen, the filament and anther, the latter
is the essential one, so that in some cases the filament may be
lacking entirely, only the anther appearing to represent the stamen.
Furthermore, the essential thing about the anther is the pollen, to
manufacture which is the sole purpose of the stamen.
The pollen is necessary to enable the flower to produce seeds, but it
must be transferred from the anther which produces it to the fourth
part of the flower, not yet described, in which the seeds are formed.
This transfer of pollen is known as _pollination_, and the transfer is
usually effected in one of two ways, by the wind or by insects. As a
rule, also, the pollen made by one flower must be transferred to some
other flower to do its work, and sometimes the other flower may be at a
considerable distance.
If the pollen is to be transferred by the wind it must be very light
and dry, and it must also be very abundant, for the wind is a chance
carrier and drops the pollen everywhere in a very wasteful fashion. In
such a case the pollen must come down like rain to be sure that some of
it strikes the right spot in the right flowers. Occasionally one hears
in the papers of "showers of sulphur," which always prove to be showers
of pollen carried by the wind from some forest (chiefly evergreen
forests) and dropped at random. In the case of pines the minute pollen
grains develop wings to assist in the wind transportation.
If the pollen is to be transferred by insects it does not need to
be so dry and powdery, or so abundant as in the other case, for the
insect passes directly from one flower to another, without any random
scattering of the pollen. Only winged insects are used for this
purpose, as those which must creep, or rather walk, would brush the
pollen from their bodies by rubbing against the various obstructions
in the way. The insects most commonly used are the numerous kinds of
bees, wasps, butterflies, and moths. These insects visit the flowers
for different purposes. The butterflies and moths are after the nectar,
while the bees and wasps feed upon the pollen. Visiting insects are
therefore often grouped as nectar feeders, and pollen feeders, but in
either case they are instrumental in transferring the pollen.
The fourth or innermost part of the lily flower is an organ called
the _pistil_. It stands in the center of the flower and is composed
of three distinct regions. At the base it is bulbous and hollow,
containing the bodies which are to become seeds. This bulbous region is
called the _ovary_, and the little bodies it contains, which, through
the action of the pollen, are to become seeds, are called _ovules_.
Rising from the top of the ovary is a slender, stalk-like part called
the _style_; and at the top of the style is a knob-like region called
the _stigma_.
The most essential region of the pistil is the ovary, for it contains
the ovules. Next in importance is the stigma, for it must receive the
pollen-grains. The style is of least importance, and therefore is
sometimes wanting, the stigma being directly upon the ovary. The duty
of the style, when it is present, seems to be to put the stigma into a
favorable position to receive the pollen. It must not be supposed that
the stigma always resembles a knob-like top to the style. It is really
only a surface prepared to receive pollen, so it may be upon the top of
the style, or may run like a line down one side of it, or may display
itself in some other way.
The pistil of the lily, however, is not a single structure. If
the ovary be cut across, it will be found to be made up of three
compartments, each one of which contains ovules. Each one of these
compartments represents a unit of structure which has entered into the
formation of the pistil. These units are called _carpels_, and the
pistil of the lily is made up of three carpels. In this case the three
are distinct only in the ovary, and have completely lost their identity
in the region of the style. In many relatives of the lily, however, the
three carpels are kept distinct in the style region, three styles or a
three-parted style appearing upon the ovary.
In some flowers the carpels are kept entirely distinct, each one
having its own ovary, style, and stigma. For example, in the buttercup
there is a little mound in the center of the flower made up of numerous
pistils, each consisting of a single carpel. It is evident, therefore,
that a pistil may consist of one carpel or several carpels, and that in
the latter case the carpels may be more or less completely united. The
sure indication of a carpel is that each carpel bears its own ovules.
In some flowers there is but a single carpel, as in peas and beans,
whose pods have developed from a pistil consisting of a single carpel,
as is indicated by the single lengthwise set of seeds.
In some plants the flowers do not have all the four parts described
above. In some cases the petals may be lacking, the one set of perianth
parts represented being regarded as the calyx, although it may look
like a corolla, as in the clematis or anemone. Such flowers are said to
be _apetalous_, which means "without petals." In other cases both the
calyx and corolla may be wanting, the flower consisting of only stamens
and carpels. Such flowers are spoken of as _naked_.
In other flowers the stamens may be lacking, and as the pistil is the
only essential part present such flowers are said to be _pistillate_.
It may be counted upon, however, that if there are pistillate flowers
there are also corresponding _staminate_ flowers in which the pistils
are lacking and the stamens present. In such cases both staminate and
pistillate flowers may occur on the same plant, or they may occur
on different plants, so that there may be not only staminate and
pistillate flowers, but also staminate and pistillate plants.
It also sometimes happens that staminate and pistillate flowers are
also naked, so that in such cases the flower is represented by stamens
alone, or even by a single stamen, or by carpels alone, or by a single
carpel. It would be hard to imagine a more simple flower than one
composed of a single stamen or a single carpel. Such flowers may be
found in the willows.
In this study of the lily it should be observed that the number three
runs through all the parts of the flower. The flower formula may be
expressed as follows: sepals 3, petals 3, stamens 3 plus 3, carpels 3.
This number is established in many families related to the lilies, and
is one of their characteristic features.
In other groups of flowering plants a different number is established,
the number five being the most common. For example, in the common
wild geranium the flower formula is as follows: sepals 5, petals 5,
stamens 5 plus 5, carpels 5. In still other flowers the number four is
established.
In many common flowers it will be noticed that no definite number is
established, or that it is not completely established. For example, in
the common wild rose there are 5 sepals and 5 petals, but an indefinite
number of stamens and carpels; while in the water lily there is no
definite number established, the sepals being usually 4, and the other
parts indefinitely repeated.
In those flowers in which some number is definitely established, it
often happens that one set may be reduced in number, and this is
usually the carpel set. In the families of highest rank among flowering
plants, such as the figworts, mints, and composites (sunflowers,
asters, dandelions, etc.) the flower formula is sepals 5, petals 5,
stamens 5, and carpels 2.
Another fact shown by the lily flower is that the different sets
alternate with each other in position. The three petals do not stand
directly in front of the three sepals, but in front of the spaces
between the sepals. In the same way the three outer stamens alternate
with the petals; the inner stamens alternate with the outer ones; and
the three carpels alternate with the inner set of stamens. It is very
uncommon to find one set standing directly in front of the next outer
set, and this position opposite the other set always needs some special
explanation. As a rule, therefore, the flower sets _alternate_ with one
another, but in some cases a set may be _opposite_.
The history of a flower does not end with the opening of the blossom.
If the stigma has succeeded in receiving some pollen, and the pollen
has succeeded in doing its work, the ovules within the ovary become
gradually transformed into seeds, and the ovary becomes transformed
into the fruit, the outer sets of the flower usually disappearing. In
the lily these fruits take the form of dry pods, some of which may be
seen in the illustration. Such pods have various ways of opening to
discharge their ripened seeds.
In many cases the commonly recognized fruit includes more than the
ovary. For example, in the apple and pear the modified ovary is
represented by what is called the "core," and the pulpy part outside,
forming the edible part of the fruit, is the thickened calyx. In the
strawberry the real fruits are the small, nut-like "pits" which are
more or less imbedded in the surface, while the pulpy part is the
very much enlarged and fleshy tip of the stem which bore the numerous
carpels. In the pineapple the change involves a whole flower cluster,
and a pineapple is a cluster of flowers which has formed a pulpy mass,
flowers, leaves, stems, and all.
From what has been said it will be noticed that some fruits ripen dry,
as in the case of the lily pod, bean pod, etc., and that others ripen
fleshy, as in the case of apples, strawberries, etc. It must not be
supposed that flesh can only be formed by parts outside of the ovary,
for the peach is a modified ovary, whose wall has separated into two
layers, the outer of which forms the pulp, and the inner the "stone,"
the kernel within the stone being the real seed.
Whatever form or structure the fruit may take, everything is with
reference to the dispersal of the seeds, which must be carried to
places suitable for their germination. How seeds are carried about is a
long story, which must be deferred to some later time, but it belongs
to the general subject of flowers.
It will be seen from the above brief account that flowers occur in
almost infinite variety, so that we are able to tell the various groups
of flowering plants by the kind of flowers they produce. Amidst all of
this infinite variety, however, there are but two purposes shown, the
variety being merely the different ways in which different plants have
carried them out. These two purposes are the securing of pollination,
in order that seeds may be formed, and the proper distribution of the
seeds. All structures found in flowers should be made to answer these
two problems.
GOD'S HANDIWORK.
JOHN WESLEY WAITE.
How beauteous every shade
On Spring's awakened trees!
How perfect the colors laid
By His most kind decrees!
BIRDS
NATURAL RIGHTS OF BIRDS.
LYNDS JONES.
What do we mean by a "natural right?" Are there rights of any other
sort in the world? Yes, a legal right may not always be a natural
right. On the contrary, a legal right is sometimes a natural wrong.
In many states it has, at one time or another, been legally right to
slaughter the hawks and owls, which are far more useful than harmful.
The birds had a clear title to the natural right of life, which the
laws denied until the lawmakers discovered their mistake. Long ago our
forefathers declared that all men possess the natural right to "Life
Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness." Certainly no one will deny that
any creature has a right to life so long as in its life it contributes
more toward the welfare of the world than in its death. It also has
a right to liberty so long as it can do more good at liberty than as
a captive. Granting that the lower animals are capable of happiness,
no one would think of denying them the right of the pursuit of their
happiness except for some higher good. Without discussing these general
principles further let us see how they will apply to the birds as
natural rights.
Has the bird a right to live? According to our first principle he has
if he is more useful alive than dead. What, then, does he do that can
be called really useful? If he is a diver, a gull, a tern, or any one
of the really seafaring birds, he eats fish, water insects, offal and
whatever small animals resort to the water, doing little or no harm and
a great deal of good. Near large sea-coast cities the gulls dispose of
the garbage which is taken out a distance from shore and dumped into
the ocean, and so prevent its drifting back upon the beach. If he is a
duck, goose or swan, he feeds upon fish, the plants which grow in the
water and at its margins, upon the insects and worms which inhabit the
ooze at the bottom, and sometimes upon grains in the fields and about
the marshes. He does a great deal of good and rarely any harm. If he
is a heron, crane, rail, coot or gallinule, his food is frogs, snakes,
insects and worms, and so he is useful. If he is a snipe, sandpiper
or plover, he destroys large numbers of insects, worms and such small
animals as are to be found in wet places, and is always a very useful
help to the farmer. If he is a bird of the fowl kind or a pigeon, he
eats grain mostly, but also many insects. He may sometimes do a little
damage to the ripe grain, but he usually gathers that which has gone
to waste. If he is a vulture, hawk, eagle or owl, he destroys great
quantities of animals that are harmful to man, not often visiting the
poultry yard, and so does great good. If he is a kingfisher he eats
small fish mostly, and so is not harmful. Among all the remaining birds
there are but a few which do not feed almost entirely upon insects
or other creatures which menace vegetation. Even these seed eaters
feed the young upon insects and worms, and do good by destroying vast
quantities of injurious plants. Those which eat ripe fruit pay for what
they eat by scattering broadcast the seeds of the fruit. When there is
no ripe fruit they eat insects and worms. The crows and blackbirds and
bobolink are rather overly fond of green corn and ripe grains in the
fall of the year, but they pay for what they eat by destroying immense
quantities of insects and worms in the spring. When the whole life of
the bird is taken into account we cannot escape the fact that the bird
has a natural right to life on account of the good he does.
[Illustration: WILSON'S THRUSH.
2/3 Life-size.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]
How does the value of the bird's body used for food compare with the
good the bird would do if allowed to live? Reckoned in dollars
and cents the flesh on an average bird's body would be worth,
say twenty-five cents at the price of good beef. But let us say
seventy-five cents to do full justice to the greater excellence of
the bird's flesh as food. We must consider, however, that the most of
the birds which are not good for food, civilized food, are among our
largest birds. The size of the average edible bird would therefore be
greatly reduced, so our estimate is a very liberal one. But during the
average lifetime of the average bird it would destroy many times its
own weight of injurious animals. Careful investigations have shown that
these injurious animals would do many times more damage than the worth
of the bird's flesh. We have no need, then, to take into account the
real good we derive in the pleasure which the beautiful plumage, the
sweet voice and the graceful form bring to us. That is an added value
which nothing can compensate for.
How does the value of the bird's skin as an ornament of dress or of
the dwelling, or as a scientific specimen compare with its value as
a living creature? As an ornament it may be a thing of beauty, or a
hideous caricature. Even as a thing of beauty it could not be made more
so than the living bird. No one will be willing to declare that the
quill, or the wing, or the skin is _necessary_ to the bonnet. Many of
us honestly think that the bonnet would look far better without either.
As a scientific specimen the skin will serve some purposes, some
legitimate purposes, which the living bird will not. The living bird
cannot be fully understood without a careful study of its structure any
more than a living man can. Unfortunately, birds which die a natural
death cannot be found while their bodies are fit to study, if found
at all. But happily, the number of dead birds necessary for study is
limited. Even for scientific purposes there is no possible excuse for
indiscriminate slaughter. Collecting should be left to those and those
only who know what is needed and are content with enough. In these days
of large collections and advanced knowledge, it is the rare exception
when the dead bird will be more useful than the living one. These
exceptions do not affect the right of the bird to live. Boys who begin
to study birds have a passion for making a collection of the eggs.
Eggs are beautiful things, and they look well in a cabinet properly
arranged. But all of the eggs which most boys would be likely to find
are already well known, so that a study of the eggs in the nest and of
the young birds will teach him far more that we really need to know
about the birds. The greater good is not to make a collection of birds'
eggs.
What shall we say about the bird's right to liberty? Clearly the bird
at liberty to perform the part which Nature intended for him can fully
accomplish that part only when at liberty to go his own way. But it
would be idle to declare that the caged bird is in nowise useful to the
world. There are some things which can be learned about birds only from
caged ones. If a bird be caged for the purpose of learning these things
the very few that will be needed for this purpose will be fulfilling
a high good, and if given their freedom again when the lessons have
been learned the harm, if there be any, will be fully repaid. But here,
again, the caged bird will be the rare exception and so does not affect
the right of the average bird to liberty.
We then have only to inquire whether the bird has a right to the
pursuit of happiness. No one who has studied the living bird with
anything like an appreciation of it will think of denying that birds
are creatures of intense life, capable of strong feeling and keen
enjoyment. They speak out their feelings in song and action. It is
really their human attributes which makes them appeal so strongly to
us. We know that they are capable of love and hate, of joy and sorrow,
of pleasure and pain. In them we recognize the heroic attribute of
martyrdom. In order, therefore, to determine what the attitude of the
bird would likely be were his right to the pursuit of happiness denied,
we have only to ask what our own attitude would be under the same
circumstances. If our happiness should be threatened in this place we
would certainly go where it would not be. The birds do the same. But we
have already seen that the birds have a right to life and liberty on
account of the services they render to the world. If we deny them the
right of happiness they will not be able to perform their service for
us. Under persecution they cannot do their best, even if they remain to
do anything for us. Persistent persecution will either drive them away
or destroy them altogether. Since we cannot do without their services
even for a single year, it is clear that we must agree that they do
have the natural right to the pursuit of happiness.
We are ready, then, to concede to the birds as natural rights what we
long ago declared were the natural rights of mankind,--"Life, Liberty
and the Pursuit of Happiness." We might properly discuss the question,
What do we owe to the birds? but that is a separate topic for a later
time.
STRUCTURE AND HABITS OF BIRDS.
From a lecture by Frank M. Chapman, April, 1900.
How have the various types of bird life come into existence? To
understand this we must study the wings of the creature to learn its
evolution from the early reptile-like type of bird. The most primitive
use of the wing is as a hand, by which the bird may climb about. In
contrast the albatross has the finest developed wings of any species
which are fourteen feet across. The man-o'-war, however, is even a
better example, perhaps, for although having a body no larger than a
hen, it has wings which spread apart to a distance of seven or eight
feet, enabling it to soar in the air for several days without touching
the earth.
By intertwining the outer feathers of the wings some birds can remain
stationary in the air for hours at a time, not once moving a wing. The
razor-billed hawk is the nearest living representative of the extinct
great hawk, a bird which, having small wings, could not fly, and soon
became extinct. The penguin, with its flippers, can fly only on the
water, and has to waddle when on land. Certain grebes which find their
food in lakes have also lost their power of flight. This is true of
some pigeons, auks, parrots, grebes, ducks and other birds which have
not found it necessary to obtain their food by flying.
Wings are also used to express emotion. Many young birds, of which
the oriole furnishes an example, cause their wings to quaver in
supplication. Certain birds also make use of their wings as a musical
organ, as is evinced in the whistling sound produced by the woodcock.
Our nighthawk makes a booming sound with its wings by extending its
outer quills as it dives earthward. A weapon is also found by some
birds in their wings, the pigeon, hen and other of our common birds
using their wings to strike with.
The foot shares with the wing the duties of locomotion. Birds with
highly developed wings have poor feet. The swallow, an aerial bird, is
an example. The chimney-swift has a tiny foot, but enormously developed
wings, and if placed on a flat surface is unable even to support
itself. All aquatic and terrestrial birds have excellently developed
feet. The loon is so thoroughly aquatic that it cannot walk on land
without the support of its breast and wings. The sea snipe has a foot
especially fitted for swimming, and can be found a few hundred miles
off the Atlantic coast in flocks of hundreds of thousands, perfectly at
home in the water.
The foot is generally related to the length of the neck. The flamingo
wades out into the water, and is able to duck its head and secure its
food with the aid of its particularly constructed neck. In securing
prey the foot also plays an important part. The great horned owl and
the duck hawk have enormous grasping power in their claws. In our
grouse or partridge a horny, fringe-like growth appears on the toes
late in the fall, serving as a sort of snowshoe during the winter, by
which the bird is enabled to walk on the surface of the snow. This
growth is shed in the spring.
The bill is the most important organ of the four we are discussing. It
has the offices of the hand. There is an almost limitless variation in
its shape, admirably adapted in each instance to its food requirements.
The fish-eating duck grasps its prey with a saw bill. The pelican
catches its fish by diving from the air, often from distances of forty
feet, and catches its fish in a bill an inch and a half in width. As
it throws its head out in diving, it widens the rim of its bill and
catches the prey in its curious pouch. The flamingo catches, with
its food, mud and sand, which it expels through a curious straining
apparatus. The woodcock has the power of curving up the upper portion
of its bill, giving it the grasping power of a finger, which greatly
aids it in probing for worms. The woodpecker uses its bill as a
chisel. In southern Arizona the Californian woodpeckers have used
the poles of the Western Union Telegraph Company in which to store
acorns, and in some instances have bored large holes entirely through
the poles. In those woodpeckers which feed on bark we find the tongue
brush-like to swab up the sap. Where woodpeckers chisel the tongue
is horny. In prying off cones from trees the cross-bill finds its
apparently malformed tongue most helpful. In humming birds there is a
marked variation in the bill, enabling them to feed on different sorts
of flowers.
The hurabird of New Zealand has the most curious bill known. The male
has one sort which he uses in excavating, after which the female can
insert her bill and secure the food which the male has thus obtained.
After a study of the various forms of bird structure and habits has
been made, it still remains a problem whether their structure is the
result of natural selection, or natural selection is the result of
their structure.
WILSON'S THRUSH.
(_Turdus fuscescens._)
This very interesting bird is found in all parts of eastern North
America. Breeds in the states bordering on the Great Lakes and as far
north as Manitoba. It winters in Central America. It is generally
partial to low, swampy woodlands. He is much more shy than his pretty
cousin, the wood thrush; he lives nearer the ground and is not so
likely to leave the cover of his haunts. In localities where he is
equally common with the wood thrush he is less frequently observed.
The nest of this thrush is made of strips of bark, rootlets and leaf
stems, wrapped with leaves and lined with fine rootlets. The nest is
always on or near the ground.
Mr. Chapman says of him: "He has a double personality, or he may repeat
the notes of some less vocally developed ancestor, for on occasions
he gives utterance to an entirely uncharacteristic series of _cacking_
notes, and even mounts high in the tree to sing a hesitating medley of
the same unmusical _cacks_, broken, whistled calls and attempted trills.
Fortunately, this performance is comparatively uncommon, and to the
most of us he is known only by his own strange, unearthly song. His
notes touch chords which no other bird's song reaches. The water thrush
is inspiring, the wood and hermit thrushes 'serenely exalt the spirit,'
but Wilson's thrush or the veery appeals to higher feelings. All the
wondrous mysteries of the wood find a voice in his song; he thrills us
with emotions we can not express."
FISHES
THE FISH'S PLACE IN NATURE.
DAVID STARR JORDAN.
Some animals have their hard parts on the outside. These may be a horny
coat or skin, such as the beetle has, or a double shell, like the
oyster's, or a single shell, like the house of a snail. Or they may be
a hard crust, like the lobster's coat of mail, or a brittle crust, like
the sea-urchin's, or with tough nodules on a leathery hide, as in the
star-fish, or any one of a hundred variations from these. But in all
such cases there is no backbone, no true skeleton and no real skull.
Then there are a host of animals that have their hard parts on the
inside. When this is the case the animal has a regular head, generally
with a skull inside to protect a brain from hard knocks.
Then behind the skull is a backbone made up of a number of separate
joints of bone. To the skeleton other bones are attached to help
the animal to move himself about on land or in the water. Sometimes
these bones grow out as legs, with toes and claws at the tip of them.
Sometimes they take the form of wings or they may spread out into flat
paddles or oars of one kind or another, and these we call fins. What
shape the parts take depends on what the animal does with them, for
every kind of beast is built with direct reference to his business in
life.
The backboned animals are the highest of all the animal kingdom. That
is, in general; they can do more things, they have a greater variety
of relations to the things around them, and they are more definitely
fitted for a high position. Some of them are not very high nor very
intelligent, even as compared with their lower brethren, the insects.
The ant is a tiny creature, with no skull and no backbone, and cannot
do any very big thing. But she is a very wise beast by the side of
a carp or a herring. Still, on the whole, the backboned animals are
the highest and as you and I both belong to that class we could never
afford to confess to any doubts as to their superiority.
But we are the highest of the type--that is, we men--and the rest of
the tribe are all lower. And the lowest of all backboned animals we
call fishes. And we shall know a fish when we see one because the
hard parts or skeleton are on the inside, and he stays in the water,
breathing the air which is dissolved in it, and he has never any toes
or claws or feathers. He breathes with gills and he swims with fins. He
has no hair or feathers on his body and when he has any cover on his
skin at all it takes the shape of scales. A fish is a water backboned
animal. A backboned animal is called a vertebrate. A fish is therefore
a water-vertebrate.
There were fishes before there were any other kind of vertebrates. They
have been on the earth longer than birds or beasts or reptiles. They
came first, and we have good reason to believe that the fishes are the
ancestors of all the others.
But when the forefathers of the land animals found means of keeping
alive on the land, so many new opportunities opened out to them and
they found so much variety in their surroundings, that they throve and
spread amazingly. And there came to be many kinds of them, of many
forms, while the rest of the tribe kept in the water and stayed fishes.
[Illustration: COMMON SUNFISH.
Life-size.
COPYRIGHT 1900, BY
A. W. MUMFORD, CHICAGO.]
And there was always a host of these, and nearly all of them had fishes
for their food. So they fought for food and fought for place. Those who
could swim fastest got away from the rest, and those who could move
quickest got the most to eat. Those with the longest teeth were
present at the most meals, and those with the biggest mouths dined
with them. And some escaped because they had hard, bony scales, too
tough to crack. Some were covered over with thorns, and some had spines
in their fins, which they set erect when their enemies would swallow
them. And some had poison in their spines and benumbed their enemies,
and some gave them electric shocks. Some hid in crevices of rock, or
bored holes in the mud, and lay there with their noses and their beady
eyes peeping out. Some crawled into dead shells. Some stretched their
slim, ribbon-like bodies out in the hanging sea-weed. Some fled into
caves, whither no one followed them, and where they lay hid for a whole
geological age, until, seeing nothing, they had all gone blind. And
some went down into the depths of the sea--two miles, three miles, five
miles--I have helped haul them up to the light--and these went blind
like the others, for the depths of the sea are black as ink and cold as
ice. And even there they are not safe, for other fishes go down there
to eat them. And some carry lanterns, large, shining spots on their
heads or bodies, sometimes like the head-light of an engine. And with
these flashing lanterns, these burglars of the deep hunt their prey.
And these are hunted by others fish-hungry, too, who lurk in the dark
and swallow them, lanterns, head-light and all!
And so, with all this eating and chasing and fighting and fleeing and
hiding and lurking, it comes about that wherever there is decent water
on land or sea there are fishes to match it. And every part of every
fish is made expressly for the life the fish has to lead. If any kind
failed to meet requirements, other fishes would devour and destroy it.
So only the fit can survive and these people the water after their kind.
All kinds of fishes are good to eat except a few which are too tough,
a few which are bitter, and a few that feed on poisonous things about
the coral reefs and so become poisonous themselves. Some are insipid,
some full of small bones and some are too lean or too small to tempt
anybody, unless it be another fish. But this is their business, not
ours, and they have flesh enough for the things they have to do.
The biggest fish is the great basking shark, which grows to be
thirty-five feet long, and lies on the surface of the sea, like a huge
saw-log, filling its great mouth with the little things that float
along beside it.
The smallest of all fishes lives in the everglades of Florida and the
streams that run out of them. You can find them in the little brook
that runs through Jacksonville. I have netted them there with a spread
umbrella, which will serve when you cannot get a better dip-net. They
are prettily barred with jet black on a greenish ground, and they
belong to that group of top minnows to which Agassiz gave the name of
_heterandria_. It is hard to say what is the highest fish--what is the
one which has undergone the greatest modification of structure. Perhaps
this place should be assigned to the sole, with its two eyes both on
one side of the head, peering through the same socket, while the socket
on the other side has no eye at all. Or perhaps we may place as highest
some specialized form as the angler or the sargassum fish, which has
the paired fins greatly developed almost like arms and legs, and which
has a dorsal spine modified into a fishing rod, which has a bait at the
end, hanging over the capacious mouth.
Agassiz put the sharks higher than all these bony fishes because, while
lower in most respects, the sharks have greater brain and greater
power of muscle. Others again might give the highest place to the lung
fishes, fishes of the tropical swamps, with lungs as well as gills, and
which can breathe air after a fashion when the water is all gone. These
are not high in themselves, but they are nearest the higher animals,
especially interesting to us because from such creatures in the past
all the frogs and salamanders, and through these all the beasts that
bite, the birds that fly and the reptiles that crawl are descended.
These are near the primitive fish stock, the ancestors of true fishes
on the one hand and of the land vertebrates on the other. As such, they
partake of the nature of both. More correctly, their descendants have
divided their characters. Their land-progeny lost the gills, scales
and fins of the lung fishes, while their water descendants have lost
their lungs, or rather the use of them, for the lung of the fish is
generally a closed sac, called the air bladder. Sometimes it is only
partly closed, and sometimes it is lost altogether.
But while we may dispute about the highest fish, there is no doubt
about the lowest one. This is the lancelet. It is of the size and shape
of a toothpick, translucent, scaleless, and almost finless, burying
itself in the sand on warm coasts, in almost every region.
The lancelet has no real bone in it, just a line of soft tissue
blocking out the space where the backbone ought to be. It has no
skull, nor brain, nor eyes, nor jaws, nor heart, nor anything in
particular--just transparent muscle, spinal cord, artery gills, stomach
and ovaries, with a fringe of feelers about the slit we call the mouth.
And even these organs are rather blocked out than developed, yet it
is easy to see that the creature is a vertebrate in intention and
therefore essentially a fish--a fish and a vertebrate reduced to their
lowest terms.
You can go fishing almost anywhere, but whether it is good to do it
or not depends on your reasons for doing it. There are about three
good reasons for going a-fishing, one indifferent one, and one that is
wholly bad.
One good reason is that you may learn to know fish. Isaac Walton tells
us that "it is good luck to any man to be on the good side of the man
that knows fish." This is true, but you cannot learn to know fish
unless you go forth to find them. There are about 15,000 kinds of fish
in the world; 4,000 of them in North America, north of Panama. Now no
man knows them all, not even on one continent, though some have written
books upon them.
But the man who knows a large part of them has not only learned fish,
but a host of other things as well. He calls to mind rosy-spotted trout
of the Maine woods, and still rosier of many brooks of Unalaska. He
has seen the blue parrot fishes of the Cuban reefs and the leaping
grayling of the Gallatin and the Au Sable. He has tried the inconnu
of the Mackenzie River and the tarpon of the Florida reefs. He knows
the sparkling darters of the French Broad and the Swannanoa, the
clear-skinned _pescados blancos_ of the Chapala Lake and the pop-eyes
and grenadiers of three miles drop of Bering Sea. Till you learn to
know fish you cannot imagine what the water depths still have for you
to know.
The second good reason why you should go a-fishing is that you may know
the places where fishes go. All the finest scenery is full of fish. The
Fire-Hole Canyon, the Roaring River, the Agna Bonita, the Rio Blanco,
de Orizaba, the creek of Captains Harbor, the Saranna, the Roanoke,
the Restigouche, the Nipigon, and the lakes of the St. John, all these
are good fishing water of their kind. So is the Rio Almendares, the
Twin Lakes, and the Eagle River, the Sawtooth Mountains, the Venados
Islands, the shores of Clipperton, the Pearl Islands, Dead Man's Reef,
No Man's Land, and the sand reaches of San Diego, Santa Barbara,
Pensacola, and Beaufort. If you know all these you know the rest of the
United States, with Canada and Mexico as well. All this is a goodly
country, which it is well for a good citizen to understand. If you
go a-fishing to know the fish, the rest will be granted to you. And
with all the rest you have filled your mind not only with pictures of
plunging trout, of leaping muscallonge and diving barracuda, but you
have enriched it with endless vistas of deep, green pools; of foamy
cascades, flower-carpeted meadows, of dark pines and sunny pines, white
birch and clinging vines and wallowing mangrove. You have "dominion
over palm and pine," the only dominion there is, for your dominion doth
not "speedily pass away." You know the crescent bay, with its white
breakers, the rush of the eager waters through the tide-worn estuary,
the clinging fucus on the rocks at low-tide, the bark of sea wolves,
and the roar of sea lions in the long lines of swaying kelp which reach
far out into the farthest sea. This is good for you to know, for it is
an antidote to selfishness and doubt and care. Then, too, it is good
to know the men that live in the open where the fishes are. To shake
their hands and share their hospitality will cure you of pessimism and
distrust of democracy, and banish all the chimeras and goblins which
vex those who live too long in cities. To hear the elk's whistle and
the ouzel's call, the whirr of the grouse's wings and the rush of the
water in the canyon, will get out of your brain the shriek of cable
cars, the rattle of the elevated railway, and all the unwholesome
jangle of men who meet to make money.
So there is a third reason for going a-fishing--not so good as the
first two, but still very noble. We may fish for rest or exercise,
which is but another form of rest. We may fish placidly in the placid
brooks as Walton did, for chub and dace, till our thoughts flow as
placidly as the Charles, or the Suwanee, or the Thames. Or we may fish
in the rush and roar of the Des Chutes or the Buttermilk, tramping high
through the pines to Agua Bonita, or far across the desert to Trapper's
Lake, or struggling through the wooded reaches to the Saranac. We may
come back at night tired enough to lie flat on the floor and "drip off
the edges" of it, but withal at peace with all the world--it matters
not whether we have fish or not.
There is one reason for fishing which is wholly indifferent--that is to
go a-fishing for the meat which is in the fish. This is pan-fishing or
pot-fishing. If you get your living by it, that is your business. It
is frequently an honest business. But it is not a matter of pride. If
you caught a hundred trout in the Au Sable and ate them all you were
fortunate. They helped out your store of provisions, and trout are very
fair eating when properly fried. But don't brag about it. It interests
the rest of us no more than if you boasted of catching ten frogs, or
eating a hundred chickens in a hundred consecutive days. The matter
of fish as food belongs to economics or some other dismal science. By
eating trout or bass you can never get "on the good side of the man who
knows fish."
There remains one reason for going fishing which is positively
horribly, disgustingly bad--that is, to see how many fish you can
catch, just for numbers' sake. This is called "hog fishing," and
whether your purpose be to brag over the size of your basket or to lie
about the catch, or both, it is bad--bad for the fish, bad for the
rivers, bad for your neighbors, bad for you. The good man will never
slay fish wantonly. We creatures of God on the earth together should
enjoy each other, and the beautiful world, which is ours alike.
Because man is the wisest of all, with greatest power of knowledge and
capacity for happiness, it is all the more incumbent on him to preserve
the world as fair as he found it, and to respect the rights so far as
may be of every other man and beast.
[Illustration: Page decoration]
WATER
SOME INTERESTING THINGS ABOUT RIVERS.
JENKIN LLOYD JONES.
Did the rivers make the valleys or did the valleys make the rivers?
This is not only an interesting but a very difficult question to answer
correctly. Ask your teachers about it. Be sure you do not make any
mistakes, because when you answer it correctly you have found out a
great deal about geology. And geology is a hard name for a subject that
contains many interesting and easy things, and the study of the river
will help you understand many of these things.
However, it may be about the valleys, we are very sure that the river
made many, many other things that we know about. Did you ever hear of
the orator in the New York Legislature, who wondered how it was that
the rivers most always flowed by the big cities? He certainly got his
"cart before the horse," for it is the big cities that always grow by
the big rivers. History has always grown along the banks of rivers,
because all civilization has grown along their banks. The boundaries
of nations change. The political maps of Europe that I studied when I
was a boy are now out of date, and you would find they are all wrong,
because the boundaries of kingdoms, states, and empires have changed so
often; but the life of the world continues to be found largely along
the banks of the rivers.
Why is this? And here is another question for you to talk with your
teachers about. If you get the answer, you will have the key that will
let you into much of the wonders and triumphs of art, architecture, and
commerce.