Letty was out under the big elm tree watching the kitten playing with
the autumn leaves that were on the ground.
Suddenly something struck Letty on the shoulder. She looked around
quickly, thinking that somebody had thrown a stone at her. No one was in
sight, though she looked all about and even up in the tree. Then she
noticed that the kitten was rolling something with its paws. She stooped
and picked up what looked like a little bunch of elm leaves. She thought
it strange that they should be stuck together, and when she found that
it was quite heavy she was still more surprised.
She carried it into the house to show to her mother. “What is it?” she
asked. “It came down off the tree and hit me on my shoulder. Is there a
stone inside of it?”
“No,” said her mother. “It is a chrysalis. Some worm that lived on the
elm tree drew these leaves together and spun a little case inside, and
when the leaves were ready to fall, the chrysalis came down with them.”
“What kind of a worm do you suppose it was?”
“I do not know, but it must have been a large one, or the chrysalis
would not be so heavy. We will keep it, and in the spring when the worm
has turned into a butterfly and comes out of the case, perhaps we can
learn what its name is.”
“But how will it get out?” asked Letty, anxiously. “It is so hard and
tough. I tried to pull off one of the leaves and it stuck on tight.”
“Yes,” said her mother, “it is very tough and you could not tear it open
with your fingers even if you tried very hard. But the butterfly throws
out some kind of fluid which softens the silk—for it is a kind of silk,
you know—and makes a hole large enough to crawl through. It does not
have to be very big, as the butterfly’s wings are soft and wet. It has
to let them dry and grow strong and stiff before it can fly.”
The chrysalis was put in a safe place and Letty forgot all about it for
many months, which was not strange when there were so many things for
her to do all through the winter and early spring.
But her mother did not forget, and one day in June she called Letty in
from her play telling her that she had something to show her.
“Do you remember the elm chrysalis?” she asked, and she put it in
Letty’s hand.
“Why how light it is!” she cried. “The butterfly has come out, oh! where
is it?”
Her mother led the way to the plant stand. “See, on that begonia,” she
said.
“Oh, oh!” cried Letty, “what a beautiful butterfly!”
It was very large, nearly five inches across when its wings were spread.
It was dull yellow, with darker shadings, a little red in waving lines,
and a gray stripe along the front edge of its outer wings. It was quite
furry, especially the large yellow body. Each of the four wings had a
transparent eye spot, and the under wings had a good deal of black about
these little round windows, as Letty called them.
“And, mamma, see! It has beautiful little dark-blue eyes.”
“Yes, it has, but I did not notice them before.”
“Well, what kind of a butterfly is it?”
“It is not a butterfly at all.”
“Not a butterfly?” said Letty, surprised.
“No; it is a moth. Have you noticed its antennae—the horns on the front
of its head?”
“They look like feathers,” said Letty; “no, like ferns.”
“So they do,” said her mother. “Well, that is how we know it is not a
butterfly, for they have thread-like antennae, with a little knob on the
end. Moths fly by night and that is probably why this one stays so still
now.”
“I wish I knew its name,” said Letty.
“If you will take my card and run over to the public library and ask the
librarian to give you a book that tells about moths and butterflies, we
will find out.”
Letty came back in a little while with the book and her mother began to
look in it.
“Oh!” she said pretty soon, “it has such a long name that I don’t
believe you can remember it. It is Telea polyphemus.”
“I’ll call it Polly for short,” said Letty.
When they had learned all they could about the moth Letty asked what
they should do with it.
“This book says they do no very great harm,” said her mother, “and it is
so beautiful that I think we will let it have its liberty.”
So the Telea polyphemus was carried out and placed on a tree trunk where
it stayed all the rest of the day. But the next morning when Letty went
to look for it, it was gone.
Susan Brown Robbins.
Hark! ’tis the bluebird’s venturous strain
High on the old fringed elm at the gate—
Sweet-voiced, valiant on the swaying bough,
Alert, elate,
Dodging the fitful spits of snow,
New England’s poet-laureate
Telling us Spring has come again!
—Thomas Bailey Aldrich, “Spring in New England.”
THE AMERICAN WHITE PELICAN.
(_Pelecanus erythrorhynchos._)
In the year 1758 the naturalist Linnaeus gave to the birds called
Pelicans the generic name Pelecanus. In this genus he also placed the
cormorants and the gannets. These with the snake-birds, the
frigate-birds and the tropic-birds were for a long time grouped together
under the family name Pelecanidae. This name, however, is now restricted
to the various species of the Pelicans which are included in a single
genus.
The generic name Pelecanus and the common name Pelican are derived from
pelekan, the Greek name for these birds. They were well known to the
ancients by whom they were called Ornacrotalus. There is a legend of
great antiquity for which there is no foundation in fact, which states
that the pelican feeds to her young blood drawn from her own breast, in
which she herself has made the incision.
There are about ten species of pelicans distributed throughout the
world, mostly confined to those countries having warm climates. Two or
three species, however, extend their range into the colder regions
during the summer months. Three of the species inhabit North America and
two of these are seldom seen except on the sea coasts; the brown pelican
(Pelecanus fuscus) on the Atlantic coast and the California brown
pelican (Pelecanus californicus) on the Pacific coast. The other species
is the bird of our illustration, and is common in the interior as well
as on the seaboard of California.
The pelicans are notably social in their habits, a large number nesting
together. The flight of a large flock is an attractive sight. Their
wings move in unison and apparently without much effort. After a few
strokes of the wings they frequently sail, forming graceful circles,
often at great elevations.
The most remarkable characteristic of these birds, however, is the large
pouch formed by an elastic skin depending from the two sides of the
lower mandible and extending nearly the whole length of the bill. This
pouch may be greatly distended and will hold a large quantity of either
solid or liquid matter. The bills are depressed and strongly hooked.
The American White Pelican ranges throughout the whole of North America
as far north, in the interior, as the 61° north latitude, and as far to
the southward in winter as Central America. Northward from Florida,
along the Atlantic coast, it is now rare.
In the year 1838 Audubon gave this species the specific name Americanus,
in view of his discovery that it differed in essential characteristics
from the European form, called Ornacrotalus. The most marked difference
that he noticed was the crest upon the upper mandible which he supposed
was permanent and not, as we now know, a characteristic of this species
only during the breeding season. In writing of the naming of this
species he uses the following beautiful language: “In consequence of
this discovery, I have honored it with the name of my beloved country,
over the mighty streams of which may this splendid bird wander free and
unmolested to the most distant times, as it has already done in the
misty ages of unknown antiquity.”
Much as we desire to honor Audubon, who has given us so much of interest
concerning the life histories of the birds, yet we are restrained by the
rules of scientific naming, which require under ordinary circumstances,
the use of the earliest name. Audubon’s name was antedated by that of
Gmelin, a German Naturalist, who in 1788 noticing the peculiar
characteristics of the American White Pelican and that it differed from
the European form, gave it the name erythrorhynchos, which is now used
by ornithologists. This name has its origin in two Greek words, meaning
red and bill.
[Illustration: ]
The peculiar growth or crest on the bill which disappears soon after the
breeding season, varies greatly both in size and shape. Dr. Ridgway
says: “Frequently it consists of a single piece, nearly as high as long,
its vertical outlines almost parallel, and the upper outline quite
regularly convex, the largest specimen seen being about three inches
high, by as many in length. More frequently, however, it is very
irregular in shape, usually less elevated, and not infrequently with
ragged anterior, or even posterior continuations.” At this time the bill
is also more or less orange-red in color.
An excellent narrative of the habits of the White Pelican is given in
the Ornithology of Illinois, where Dr. Ridgway quotes the words of Col.
N. S. Goss regarding those who “have not seen the White Pelicans upon
their feeding grounds, but may have read Audubon’s interesting
description of the manner in which the birds unite and drive the fishes
into shallow water, where they can catch them, which they cannot well do
in deep water, as their skins are honey-combed with air cells that buoy
them up like cork, and prevent their diving, and they do not plunge for
their food when upon the wing, like their cousins, the Brown Pelicans,
and therefore have to adopt fishing habits suited to shallow waters. I
have often noticed the birds in flocks, in pairs, or alone, swimming on
the water with partially opened wings, and head drawn down and back, the
bill just clearing the water, ready to strike and gobble up the prey
within their reach; when so fishing, if they ran into a shoal of
minnows, they would stretch out their necks, drop their heads upon the
water, and with open mouths and extended pouches, scoop up the tiny fry.
Their favorite time for fishing on the seashore is during the incoming
tide, as with it come the small fishes to feed upon the insects caught
in the rise, and upon the low form of life in the drift, as it washes
shoreward, the larger fishes following in their wake, each, from the
smallest to the largest, eagerly engaged in taking life in order to
sustain life. All sea-birds know this, and the time of its coming well.
The White Pelicans, that have been patiently waiting in line along the
beach, quietly move into the water and glide smoothly out so as not to
frighten the life beneath. At a suitable distance from the shore they
form into line in accordance with the sinuosities of the beach, each
facing shoreward and awaiting their leader’s signal to start. When this
is given, all is commotion; the birds, rapidly striking the water with
their wings, throwing it high above them and plunging their heads in and
out, fairly make the water foam as they move in an almost unbroken line,
filling their pouches as they go. When satisfied with their catch, they
wade and waddle into line again upon the beach, where they remain to
rest, standing or sitting as suits them best, until they have leisurely
swallowed the fishes in their nets; then, if undisturbed, they generally
rise in a flock and circle for a long time high in air.”
The White Pelicans will consume a large amount of food; in fact, they
are gluttonous. It is said that the remains of several hundred minnows
have been taken from the stomach of a single pelican. Usually they are
the most active in the pursuit of their prey for a short time after
sunrise and also before sunset.
The chief breeding grounds of the White Pelican are from Minnesota
northwards to the limit of its range. It nests also in isolated and
greatly separated localities to the westward. It is said that several
thousand permanently breed on the islands of the great Salt Lake. There
are reasons for believing that it also breeds in Florida and westward
along the Gulf of Mexico as far as Texas.
The White Pelican builds its nest on the ground using small sticks and
twigs. They usually select a clump of sage or some other plant that will
afford the nest some protection. Frequently sand is heaped around the
nest to the depth of about six inches. The nests are about one foot in
diameter. The color of the two to four eggs is a chalky white and the
surface is quite rough, due to the irregular thickness of the outer
coating. The average size of the eggs is about three and one-half by two
and one-third inches.
The White Pelican as it calmly floats on the surface of the water, some
distance from the shore, has been mistaken for the sail of a boat as the
moist white feathers glisten in the sunshine.
Longfellow has beautifully woven this fact into the “Song of Hiawatha.”
“O’er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted from the water,
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
Was it Shingebis the diver?
Or the pelican, the Shada?
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white-goose, Waw-be-wawa,
With the water dripping, flashing
From its glossy neck and feathers?
It was neither goose nor diver,
Neither pelican nor heron
O’er the water floating, flying,
Through the shining mist of morning,
But a birch canoe with paddles,
Rising, sinking on the water.”
Seth Mindwell.