It is a trite saying, but a very true one, that one-half the world does
not know how the other half lives. This will apply to food and drink, as
well as to other things, so widely do customs vary in different regions.
While tea, coffee and chocolate, all products of warm climates, have
come into general use as table drinks over the greater portion of the
globe, so as to be universally known, there is a beverage of similar
use, the favorite of millions, which is practically unknown to the world
at large.
Mate (two syllables) is the name of the prepared leaves of a shrub or
tree belonging to the Rhamses family, and has the scientific name of
Cassine gonhonha, but is more generally known as Ilex paraguayensis, as
it was first used by the Indians of Paraguay. It belongs to the natural
order of the holly, to which it bears much resemblance. Its leaves are
six to eight inches long, short stalked, oblong, wedge-shaped, and
finely toothed at the margin. The small white flowers are borne in
clusters at the axils of the leaves. It bears a four-seeded berry, but
the leaves are used for decoction, except for a very fine quality, which
is made from the dried flower buds.
It abounds in the forests of Paraguay and Brazil, where it is a tree of
considerable size. It is cultivated to some extent, but in this state
remains a shrub, and the quality is finer. It may be gathered at any
season of the year, and the leaves must become dry enough to pulverize
before they are fit for use.
Where it is cultivated it is dried in metal pans, after the manner of
Chinese tea, but far greater quantities are gathered in the forests and
dried in the primitive method adopted from the Indians.
A drying floor is prepared by clearing a space of ground and pounding it
hard with a mallet. On this a fire is built, and after the ground is
well heated, it is swept off clean and branches from the neighboring
forests spread upon it. Afterwards they are placed upon a rude arbor
made of hurdles and a slow fire beneath completes the drying process.
When quite brittle the leaves are pounded in a mortar and reduced to
small particles, but not to a powder. The preparation of it consists in
placing a small quantity of it in a vessel, with sugar if desired, and
adding a little cold water. After a little while boiling water is poured
on and it is then ready for use. As the leaf particles do not settle
well, it must be sipped through a tube. The natives for steeping it used
a calabash gourd called mate, whence its common name, mate yerba, or
calabash plant. These gourds are still often used, and are convenient,
as they have a handle. Cocoa-nut shells, with handles of silver or other
metal, are also popular. A reed or a metal tube, with a small perforated
bowl at the bottom is used to sip it through. This is called a bombilla.
It is customary with the Spaniards and Portuguese to offer mate to
visitors.
In the gardens of that sunny region vineclad arbors are furnished with
seats, where the family with their visitors will sit in the cool of the
evening, each one supplied with a bombilla and a cocoa-nut or calabash
bowl of mate. Through a small opening in the top of the vessel the tube
is inserted and the grateful infusion is enjoyed while matters of
interest are discussed.
Great virtues are ascribed to this drink. Its properties appear to be
chiefly due to theine and caffeine.
In Chili and Peru it is in universal use, and is considered more
necessary than meat. On the plains of Argentina the gaucho or cowboy
washes down his dried beef with copious draughts of mate and is content
with his meal. To northerners the taste is not agreeable. It seems weedy
and slightly bitter. For shipment the leaves, when dried, are packed in
oblong cases or bags made of rawhide carefully sewed. These packages
contain 120 pounds each. Since the beginning of the seventeenth century
this drink has been used in Paraguay, and its use now extends all over
South America. It is estimated that the amount used annually exceeds
60,000,000 pounds.
It is being introduced into other countries and the time may come when
the bombilla and the bowl of mate may become a rival of five o’clock tea
in English and American parlors.
Anna Rosalie Henderson.
Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all his works,
Has left his Hope with all!
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
THE AMERICAN BUFFALO.
(_Bison americanus._)
The supremacy of man over the lower forms of animal life has no better
illustration than that furnished by the rapid extermination of the
American Buffalo (Bison or Bos americanus.)
Much less than a century ago, in immense herds, this animal swarmed over
the prairies of the United States, unmolested except by the Indians who
sought it for food and for the economic value of its hide. It was free
to seek those localities which would furnish it the best and most
abundant food supply. Even as late as the sixties of the last century
the American Buffalo was represented by thousands upon thousands of
individuals, whose numerous paths leading from the feeding grounds to a
supply of fresh water were known to the frontiersman as “Buffalo
trails.” “In 1889 Mr. William T. Hornaday estimated the number of
survivors to be eight hundred and thirty-five, inclusive of the two
hundred then living in the Yellowstone Park under the protection of the
government.”
The passing from the face of the earth of this, the largest of the
native animals of North America, has taken place within the last thirty
years and this extermination may be laid at the door of the zealous
hunter and trapper who systematically shot and destroyed them in order
to obtain the small profit that their skins would bring. It is said that
one of the railroads crossing the continent from the Mississippi river
to the Pacific coast carried about two hundred thousand skins within a
year after it was opened to traffic. One writer records the reception of
over forty thousand pelts by a single firm in the year 1875. Many
instances of the wanton butchery of this noble and useful animal might
be mentioned, but it is much better illustrated by the absence of the
Buffalo at the present time, from all localities, except where it is
protected by the same hand which has brought about its destruction. In
1858, when a party was traversing the country by wagon train from the
state of Missouri to Mexico, they were continually surrounded by large
herds of Buffaloes. An eye witness said, “In bands, in masses, in hosts,
the shaggy, black creatures thundered along in front of us, sometimes
from north to south, sometimes from south to north; for forty
consecutive hours we had them in sight, thousands upon thousands, tens
of thousands upon tens of thousands, an innumerable mass of untamed
animals, the flesh of which, as we believed, was sufficient to provide
the wigwams of the Indians unto all eternity.”
The American Buffalo belongs to the ox tribe of the family of horned
animals (Bovidæ). Among its immediate relatives are the musk ox of the
Arctic regions of America, the yak of the mountainous regions of Tibet,
the zebu, an East Indian species, the Cape buffalo, a ferocious animal
of the central and southern portions of Africa, the Indian buffalo
living in southern Asia and the European bison.
The European bison, like its American relative, has suffered from the
hunter and the advance of civilization and is practically exterminated.
It now exists only in a few forests on the Caucasus and in the famous
forest and game preserve of the Czars of Russia called Lithuania. Here,
protected by stringent laws through several centuries, the European
bison has been saved from absolute extermination. “In former times this
was different, for the bison ranged all over Europe and a large portion
of Asia.” In the time of Cæsar, according to his own record, they
abounded in Germany and Belgium.
So it is with the American Buffalo. Were it not for government and
private preserves this, one of the largest of living quadrupeds, would
be unknown to future generations except by museum specimens. Correctly
speaking, the American species should be called Bison. So universal,
however, is the use of the term Buffalo that the word Bison would puzzle
many people. Strictly speaking, the name buffalo should be applied only
to designate the Cape and Indian species.
[Illustration: AMERICAN BISON OR BUFFALO.
(Bison americanus).]
The original range of the American Buffalo extended from but little west
of the Atlantic coast westward to the Rocky Mountains and from Mexico on
the south northward to about the sixty-fifth degree of north latitude.
By the trappers the Buffaloes were placed in two classes. Those that
frequented the mountain ranges were called Bison. They were seldom seen
on the plains, the home of the other class. Their limbs were shorter and
stouter and better fitted for a rough country. There existed in former
ages two other species entirely distinct from the animal with which we
are familiar. They were much larger, possibly as large as an elephant,
and were probably associates of the mastodon and the mammoth.
A fully adult male Buffalo will measure about nine or ten feet in length
from the muzzle to the tail. Its height at the fore quarters is from
five to six and one-half feet. The female is much smaller and weighs
from seven to eight hundred pounds less than the male, the weight of
which averages eighteen hundred pounds.
The Buffalo’s massive head, with its short, curved horns which are set
far apart on the broad forehead, is connected with the body by a short
deep and narrow neck. From the neck the body rises, forming a large hump
on the back over the forelegs, which gives the animal an odd and
unwieldy appearance. This hump consists of fat and strong muscles which
control the movements of the massive head. From the hump the body tapers
downward so that the hind quarters are low and narrow. The anterior
portion of the body, the forelegs and the head are covered with long
hair. On the forehead and back the hair is curly and matted. In the
early spring most of the long hair is shed, resulting in a modification
of the color of the Buffalo. The new coat is a uniform grayish brown,
deepening into black-brown in the mane, which covers the top part of the
head, forehead, neck and under surface of the throat.
Captain Doyle in an article published in the American Naturalist says,
“White Buffaloes have frequently been seen and killed. All the Indian
tribes regard them as ‘big medicine,’ but they have different
superstitions regarding them. For instance Catlin, the painter, while
among the Mandans in 1832, saw a white buffalo robe erected on a pole in
their village as a sacrifice to the Great Spirit. It had been purchased
from the Blackfeet, who killed the Buffalo, for eight horses and a
quantity of goods. On the other hand, the Comanches believe it very
dangerous to see a white Buffalo. In 1869 I saw a young Comanche, who
had seen a white Buffalo, return to his camp almost dead with fear. He
was taken into his tent, the medicine man was sent for and they smoked
him and kept up incantations over him day and night for a week. When he
came out he believed that he had had a very narrow escape from death. In
1859 a white Buffalo was killed by a white man on the north fork of the
Red river. He desired to have it dressed to preserve it, but failed to
get any Indian to undertake the task for a long time. At last he
prevailed on a Comanche chief, named ‘Horseback’ to have the operation
performed. ‘Horseback’ selected one of his squaws, had the medicine man
of his band go through various ceremonies over her to preserve her life
and then placed her in a tepee some distance from his camp, where the
hide was taken to her by a soldier and brought away by him when dressed.
No other Indian would look at the hide, much less touch it. Her food was
left for her at some distance from the tepee and when the robe was
dressed, medicine ceremonies were held over her before she was allowed
to join the camp.”
These gregarious animals, during the period of their supremacy, rarely
remained for any great length of time in any given locality. Frequently,
as if moved by a sudden and general impulse, the whole herd, made up of
many smaller companies, each with its leader, would start, all the
individuals moving in the same direction. No barriers seemed too great
to overcome. Moving in a straight line they would swim or ford rivers,
find some means of crossing chasms, but still move on as if led by some
irresistible impulse.
These migrations, in many instances, may have been due to the necessity
of seeking a more plentiful supply of food, especially when the pastures
in the more northern regions became covered with snow. This caused them
to move southward. The northern tribes of Indians did not believe that
the same individuals returned, as the climatic conditions permitted, but
that the Buffaloes were produced in immense numbers under ground and
that in the spring they came forth from a great mountain far to the
south, a herd of new individuals coming north each season. Since the
Buffaloes have disappeared from the plains, some Indians claim that the
holes in the southern mountains, in which the Buffaloes were formed,
have been closed by some evil spirit.
Dr. Brehm tells us that “among the Buffalo’s perceptive senses those of
smell and hearing rank first. In its mental qualities it does not differ
from its other relatives. It is little gifted, good-natured and timid,
incapable of rapid excitement, but when it is irritated it is apt to
forget all considerations which generally influence it and it will then
oppose an enemy with courage.”
It would seem that the Buffalo depends upon the sense of smell rather
than that of sight, for when running from danger it holds the muzzle
near the ground and rushes with incredible swiftness in the opposite
direction. Obstinacy is one of the most marked characteristics of the
Buffalo. When once moved to a certain action nothing seemed to sway a
herd from its decision. Boats on rivers have been known to stop and wait
for the passing of a herd that was swimming across the stream. Railroad
trains have also been brought to a standstill by the herds crossing the
tracks.
The American Buffalo was in reality an inoffensive beast and its
ferocious appearance was due to its great bulk. “They are not
intractable to domestication, readily entering into friendly relations
with individuals who treat them kindly; at least they learn to recognize
their keeper and to love him to a certain degree.”
Years ago the Buffalo was the friend of the American Indian. It
furnished him not only with food but its skin served him as a blanket
and as a covering for his tepees. Its skin also provided the leather
from which he made his clothing and footwear. At this time, as
Moellhausen has said, “The Buffalo could, in a certain sense, be
considered a domestic animal of the Indians, no diminution of the
innumerable herds could be noticed; on the contrary, they throve and
multiplied on the rich pastures.” Ever content if all their wants were
satisfied, the American Indians killed only those that were required for
their present needs. It was not till the white man visited them with his
stock of glittering trinkets, so attractive to the red man, that he
began to kill indiscriminately. He learned that the white man was
pleased with their robes and that the flesh of the Buffalo delighted his
taste; that he was willing to trade his trinkets for robes and flesh. It
was then that the Indian’s whole demeanor toward the Buffalo changed and
he became the weak servant of the trader, bartering the lives of
thousands of noble animals for valueless things which pleased his eye or
caught his fancy.
The value of the Buffalo to the Indian’s welfare can be shown in no
better way than by quoting the words of Captain Butler. “‘What shall we
do?’ said a young Sioux warrior to an American officer on the Upper
Missouri. ‘What shall we do? The Buffalo is our only friend. When he
goes, all is over with the red man. I speak thus to you because, like
me, you are a brave.’ It was little wonder that he called the Buffalo
his only friend. Its skin gave him a house, its robe a blanket and a
bed, its undressed hide a boat, its short, curved horn a powder-flask,
its meat his daily food, its sinew a string for his bow, its leather a
lariat for his horse, a saddle, bridle, rein and bit. Its tail formed an
ornament for his tent, its inner skin a book on which to sketch the
brave deeds of his life, the medicine robe of his history. House, boat,
food, bed and covering, every want from infancy to age and after life
had passed; wrapped in his Buffalo robe the red man waited for the
dawn.”
MR. CHAT, THE PUNCHINELLO.
A TRUE STORY.
If Mr. Chat were an ordinary performer he would doubtless select a spot
in the center of the village square; he would put up his little stage
and his drop-curtain and would send small boys all through the village
with his flaming posters:
ATTENTION, EVERY ONE!
This Afternoon—in the Village Square
At Two O’clock,
Mr. Yellow-Breasted Chat will give one of his
REMARKABLE PERFORMANCES
Mr. Chat is acknowledged by all to be the best imitator, the most gifted
singer, the finest elocutionist, the cleverest ventriloquist, the
greatest athlete in all bird-dom.
MR. CHAT
Orator, Singer, Gymnast and Punchinello!
Don’t fail to see him!
and by two o’clock the village square would be alive with people, and
after the show the dimes would rattle into the hat and no one would go
away disappointed, as Mr. Chat’s poster would be nearer the truth than
most posters of its kind.
All this if Mr. Chat were an ordinary performer, but he is not. His
performance is so far ahead of anything that was ever advertised on a
poster, that there are not dimes enough in all the world to buy it. You
may set a day for him and invite all your friends, or you may take your
friends and go seek him in his own haunts; you may try to coax, hire,
threaten; you may do everything in your power; but Mr. Chat is a happy
creature of inspiration, and makes dates with nobody.
When he will, he will—
You may depend on’t;
And when he won’t, he won’t—
And there’s an end on’t!
His only tent is the blue sky; his stage-setting a jungle of trees near
a swamp; his stage a thick bough near the top of a tree; his curtain the
leaves of a white birch, or willow, or butternut; his orchestra and
curtain-raiser the wind, and his audience his wife sitting patiently on
the eggs in her nest, and—you, if you belong to Nature’s elect and
happen to be near the swamp at that moment and have the kind of eyes
that really see and the kind of ears that really hear. Mrs. Chat can
command the performance with one little bird sigh. You could not buy it
with the wealth of the world. After the entertainment is over, Mr. Chat
drives his wife from the nest and takes her place on the eggs while she
flies out over the tree-tops for a little outing. Not many bird husbands
are so considerate.
Once upon a time (you see the story is just beginning now) I happened to
find myself in a pasture; not a tame, every-day, green pasture tacked on
one end of a nice smooth farm—not at all! but a pasture on top of a high
hill, with beautiful fields stretching out below it, and all pink and
white with laurel. The cows, who, they say, do not care either for
laurel or scenery, may not have liked this pasture, but I did. So when I
had climbed the bars and seated myself on the top one to view the
country, I saw at the far edge of the pasture, a jungle of trees, and I
liked it still more, and determined to explore it. On the way I flushed
a brown thrasher in a laurel bush, and he flew into the jungle. There
seemed to be but one bird singing in all the neighborhood, and this song
which was a peculiar one, lured me into the thicket. On I went very
cautiously till the sound seemed to be directly overhead. I paused and
listened and peered into the tree tops.
“Caw-caw!” cried the bird harshly.
“Nothing but an old crow,” said I in disgust.
I started to go, when from the same spot overhead came a loud, clear
double note, and again I waited.
“Meow! meow!” remarked my new friend.
“How stupid of me!” said I. “I might have known it was Mr. Catbird.” But
immediately there came a glorious trill—first over my head, then almost
under my feet, then at my right hand, then at my left; though there was
no flutter of wings or other sound in all the jungle. At last the fallen
branch upon which I had been sitting gave way and I went into the swamp
with a splash of mud. “Look out, look out!” came a sarcastic voice from
the tree top.
“It is an escaped Poll-parrot,” said I, to reassure myself, but I took
out my handkerchief and mopped my heated brow. The unknown then
proceeded to bark like a dog, quack like a duck, and squeal like a pig,
with occasionally a measure of song in between. At last in desperation I
seized a young sapling near at hand and shook it with all my might,
thinking to frighten him into showing himself.
“Haw-haw-haw!” rang out clearly from the top of the very sapling itself.
“That is no bird,” I announced to the swamp; “it is an imp of the forest
trying to lure me to destruction in the jungle,” and I turned and fled.
I felt better when I met a cotton-tail rabbit, though he did not stop to
be greeted; and still better when I reached the sunlight and the pink
and white laurel pasture; and when I neared the bars and saw my horse
grazing patiently on the other side, I was quite myself again. On an
upright stake at the side of the bars sat a strange, yellowish bird. I
did not know him, for I had not so many bird friends then as I have now.
Suddenly he rose in the air with a shriek, his legs dangling helplessly.
“Is this a magical pasture,” I said to myself, “where birds are shot
without the report of a gun?” and then with legs still dangling, he made
a beautiful gyration in the air, and calling out: “That’s it—that’s
it—tut—tut—tut!” disappeared in the direction of the thicket. This was
my first attendance upon one of the remarkable performances of Mr.
Yellow-Breasted Chat, and I can without hesitation pronounce it the most
wonderful in all bird-dom.
The next day I invited some skeptical friends to prove the truth of my
story. So at the same time of day we drove up the long hills till we
spied the pink and white of the laurel, and halted at the gray bars. The
pasture which had been deserted the day before, was now spotted with
cows, the laurel had begun to fade, and though we waited one long, weary
hour, not a sight or sound of a bird of any description did we see. The
towhee and the shore lark whom I had seen the day before, seemed to have
dropped out of existence, and those disagreeable people hinted that even
the brown thrasher was a myth. But as I ventured alone into the dark
swamp, hoping still to stir up Mr. Chat, I came face to face with the
beautiful purple-fringed orchis—the large, early variety—blooming alone
in the damp thicket, so straight and stately, and of such a delicate,
refined beauty, I fell on my knees beside it, and felt it to be ample
compensation for any disappointments. So you see it is true that there
is not wealth enough in all the world to force a bird-song at the moment
when you want it, but at the same time and in the same swamp the purple
orchis may be blooming for you.
Nell Kimberly McElhone.
[Illustration: AGATES
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.]
Center Column
BANDED AGATE (Lake Superior).
MOSS AGATE.
Bottom Row
BANDED AGATE (Brazil).
CLOUDED AGATE.