We were at breakfast one morning, when a loitering breeze from the woods
filled the room with delicious aroma. The graceful spring flowers and
the wild fruit trees were just beginning a life of promise.
“There’s sweet smelling fern in that,” exclaimed Charley, sniffing
critically.
“I think it’s from the crab-apple trees by the chalybeate spring,” said
grandma.
“No, it’s the chicksaw plums by the creek,” cried Margaret.
“It ’mells ’ike ’bacco moss to me,” murmured Pearl, touching the tip of
her nose with her dainty forefinger.
“I know what it is,” asserted Grace; “it’s the wild cherry tree; it’s
full of blossoms.”
“There’s Ginseng in it somewhere,” laughingly commented papa.
“Ginseng?” cried the children. “What’s that?”
“The name of a plant in the wood. The word is supposed to be of Chinese
origin. The Iroquois called the root garentoqucu, literally, legs and
thighs separated. The plant belongs to the genus Pauax, and it is a
great medicine with the Chinese. We export it in large quantities, but
northern Asia grows it as well as we.”
“And there is some in our wood?”
“Yes, I saw some yesterday near the tobacco-plant bed.”
“Can we go for some as soon as we have finished breakfast?”
“Yes, and I will go with you. A walk through the wood will be good for
us; I feel like I had slept a hundred years and been one of Tennyson’s
characters in The Day Dream.”
“And I,” said the artist, “will take my pencil and sketching block.”
Six plants were found, all having good long roots.
“What you have now would cost you a quarter of a dollar if you were
buying it,” said papa.
“One could live very well then, by gathering Ginseng to sell,” commented
practical Charley.
“Why, yes, you remember old Uncle Baskett, the colored doctor?”
“Yes,” said Margaret. “He cured toothache by hanging a rabbit’s foot
about your neck.”
“And fits with a four-leafed clover,” cried Gracie.
“He made his living,” went on papa, “after he was freed, by collecting
the roots of Ginseng, Calamus and other medicinal plants, and it was
then, too, he gained his almost marvelous knowledge of herbs, becoming
famous, even among the white people, for his success in curing certain
diseases.”
“I think this leaf and root are accurate,” said the artist presenting
the sketch.
“To a ‘T,’” cried the children. “You must go with us every walk we
take.”
Sallie Margaret O’Malley.
Gaunt shadows stretch along the hill;
Cold clouds drift slowly west;
Soft flocks of vagrant snow flakes fill
The redwing’s empty nest.
—Thomas Bailey Aldrich, “Landscape.”
THE CAROLINA WREN.
(_Thryothorus ludovicianus._)
This little brown bird is sufficiently hardy to remain throughout the
year a resident of the localities which it frequents. This is true
except in the northern part of its range, which covers the eastern
United States as far north as the states of Wisconsin and Connecticut.
The Carolina Wren does not enjoy the society of men and unlike its
relative, the house wren, does not seek “the cozy nooks and corners
about the house of man,” but rather the distant shrubbery and the
forest. Here it hides and is more often heard than seen. In spite of
this show of timidity it is not so shy and retiring as it would seem. It
loves the privacy and seclusion of the forest yet it will frequently
visit the garden and explore outhouses. “If we attempt to penetrate its
hidden resorts” it hurries away into deeper recesses with a low
fluttering near the ground, or scrambling and hopping from one bush to
another, very likely mocking us with its rollicking song as soon as it
feels perfectly secure.
It is restless and curious like the other wrens. Perhaps it is even more
inquisitive than its sister species, for it is certainly more active.
Frightened from a favorite perch the Carolina Wren will return and, from
a safe cover of foliage, slyly examine the cause that disturbed it,
“peering from among the leaves with an inquisitive air, all the while
teetering its body and performing odd nervous antics as if it were
possessed with the very spirit of unrest.” When disturbed it seems to
challenge the intruder with a chattering note that has a harsh and
decidedly querulous tone.
It seems almost incredible that such a delicate and sprightly being
should exhibit so much temper and resentment. Intrusion of its chosen
territory by its own kind is resented even more vehemently.
The Carolina Wren possesses a wonderful vocabulary with appropriate
notes for all occasions. It is highly musical. Its song is rich and
sweet, voluble and melodious, loud and clear and seemingly as happily
delivered in one season as in another. Mr. Chapman says: “He is
sometimes called Mocking Wren, but the hundreds of birds I have heard
were all too original to borrow from others. In addition to his peculiar
calls he possesses a variety of loud, ringing whistles somewhat similar
in tone to those of the tufted titmouse or cardinal and fully as loud,
if not louder, than the notes of the latter.”
It is difficult to state its preference in regard to its choice of
nesting sites, for it will select any place that suits its fancy. The
hollow of a tree or a stump, a thickly branching shrub or a secluded
nook in some unfrequented outhouse, perhaps with a knothole for a
doorway—all these places are equally suitable and some one of them will
meet the taste of this positive little bird.
The materials used in the construction of the bulky nests are any
fibrous substance, sticks, leaves, fine grasses and “in fact trash of
any kind.” The lining of the ball-like nest, which has a side entrance,
is made of finer fibers, hair and grasses. In this cozy home are laid
from four to six creamy white eggs which are “variously marked with
reddish brown and lilac, in a wreath or cluster at the larger end.”
[Illustration: CAROLINA WREN.
(Thryothorus ludovicianus.)
About Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.]