week's start in growth, while one almost feather-less appeared freshly
hatched, sat huddled together where the eggs had lain, close against
the north wall and by the side of one of the cornice loop-holes left by
the architect for ventilating the garret. Round about the young birds
were scattered a dozen or more carcasses of mice (possibly a mole or
two), some of them freshly killed, and it was this fact that first
suggested to Mr. Bigell the thought of the destruction of his pigeons
by the parent owls, who had thus established themselves in the midst of
the latter's colony. But no squab was ever missed from the neighboring
nests, and no sign of the death of any of the other feathered tenants
of the garret at any time rewarded a search.
As the janitor stood looking at the nestlings for the first time, a
very large parent bird came in the loop-hole, fluttered near him and
went out, to return and again fly away, leaving him to wonder at the
staring, brown-eyed, monkey-faced creatures before him. Mr. Bigell
had thus found the rare nest of the barn owl, _Strix pratincola_, a
habitation which Alexander Wilson, the celebrated ornithologist, had
never discovered, and which had eluded the search of the author of
"Birds of Pennsylvania." One of the most interesting of American owls,
and of all, perhaps, the farmer's best friend, had established its home
and ventured to rear its young, this time not in some deserted barn of
Nockamixon swamp, or ancient hollow tree of Haycock mountain, but in
the garret of the most public building of Doylestown, in the midst of
the county's capital itself. When the janitor had left the place and
told the news to his friends, the dark garret soon became a resort for
the curious, and two interesting facts in connection with the coming
of the barn owls were manifest; first, that the birds, which by nature
nest in March, were here nesting entirely out of season--strange to
say, about five months behind time; from which it might be inferred
that the owls' previous nests of the year had been destroyed, and
their love-making broken up in the usual way; the way, for instance,
illustrated by the act of any one of a dozen well remembered boys who,
like the writer, had "collected eggs;" by the habitude of any one of a
list of present friends whose interest in animals has not gone beyond
the desire to possess them in perpetual captivity and watch their sad
existence through the bars of a cage; or by the "science" of any one of
several scientific colleagues who, hunting specimens for the sake of a
show-case, "take" the female to investigate its stomach.
Beyond the extraordinary nesting date, it had been originally noticed
that the mother of the owlets was not alone, four or five other barn
owls having first come to the court-house with her. Driven by no one
knew what fate, the strange band had appeared to appeal, as if in a
body, to the protection of man. They had placed themselves at his mercy
as a bobolink when storm driven far from shore lights upon a ship's
mast.
But it seemed, in the case of the owls, no heart was touched. The
human reception was that which I have known the snowy heron to receive,
when, wandering from its southern home, it alights for awhile to cast
its fair shadow upon the mirror of the Neshaminy, or such as that
which, not many years ago, met the unfortunate deer which had escaped
from a northern park to seek refuge in Bucks County woods. At first it
trusted humanity; at last it fled in terror from the hue and cry of men
in buggies and on horseback, of enemies with dogs and guns, who pursued
it till strength failed and its blood dyed the grass.
So the guns of humanity were loaded for the owls. The birds were too
strange, too interesting, too wonderful to live. The court house was no
sanctuary. Late one August night one fell at a gun shot on the grass
at the poplar trees. Then another on the pavement by the fountain.
Another, driven from its fellows, pursued in mid air by two crows,
perished of a shot wound by the steps of a farm-house, whose acres it
could have rid of field mice.
The word went out in Doylestown that the owls were a nuisance. But we
visited them and studied their ways, cries, and food, to find that they
were not a nuisance in their town sanctuary.
In twenty of the undigested pellets, characteristic of owls, left
by them around the young birds, we found only the remains, as
identified by Mr. S. N. Rhoads of the Academy of Natural Sciences
of Philadelphia, of the bones, skulls, and hair of the field mouse
(_Microtus pennsylvanicus_) and star nose mole (_Condylura cristata_).
"They killed the pigeons," said someone, speaking without authority,
after the manner of a gossip who takes away the character of a neighbor
without proof. But they had not killed the pigeons. About twelve pairs
of the latter, dwelling continually with their squabs in the garret,
though they had not moved out of the particular alcove appropriated by
the owls, had not been disturbed. What better proof could be asked that
THE BARN OWL IS NOT A POULTRY DESTROYER?
It was objected that the owls' cries kept citizens awake at night.
But when, one night last week, we heard one of their low, rattling
cries, scarcely louder than the note of a katydid, and learned that
the janitor had never heard the birds hoot, and that the purring and
hissing of the feeding birds in the garret begins about sundown and
ceases in the course of an hour, we could not believe that the sleep of
any citizen ever is or has been so disturbed.
When I saw the three little white creatures yesterday in the
court-house garret, making their strange bows as the candle light
dazzled them, hissing with a noise as of escaping steam, as their brown
eyes glowed, seemingly through dark-rimmed, heart-shaped masks, and as
they bravely darted towards me when I came too near, I learned that one
of the young had disappeared and that but one of the parent birds is
left, the mother, who will not desert her offspring.
On October 28 two young birds were taken from their relatives to
live henceforth in captivity, and it may be that two members of the
same persecuted band turned from the town and flew away to build the
much-talked-of nest in a hollow apple tree at Mechanics' Valley. If so,
there again the untaught boy, agent of the mother that never thought,
the Sunday school that never taught, and the minister of the Gospel
that never spoke, was the relentless enemy of the rare, beautiful, and
harmless birds. If he failed to shoot the parents, he climbed the tree
and caught the young.
If the hostility to the owls of the court house were to stop, if the
caged birds were to be put back with their relatives, if the nocturnal
gunners were to relent, would the remaining birds continue to add an
interest to the public buildings by remaining there for the future as
the guests of the town? Would the citizens of Doylestown, by degrees,
become interested in the pathetic fact of the birds' presence, and
grow proud of their remarkable choice of sanctuary, as Dutch towns are
proud of their storks? To us, the answer to these questions, with its
hope of enlightenment, seems to lie in the hands of the mothers, of the
teachers of Sunday schools, and of the ministers.
[Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
5-99
GRINNELL'S WATER THRUSH.
Life-size.
COPYRIGHT 1899,
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]
THE WATER THRUSH.
C. C. MARBLE.
I never see a skylark fly
Straight upward, singing, to the sky,
Or hear the bobolink's glad note
Issue with frenzy from his throat,
As though his very heart would break
In bars of music, but straight
I think, brave, happy bridegrooms they,
And this must be their wedding-day.
_C. C. M._
The water thrush (_Seiurus noveboracensis_) has so many popular names
that it will be recognized by most observers by one or more of them.
It is called small-billed water-thrush, water wagtail, water kick-up,
Besoy kick-up, and river pink (_Jamaica_), aquatic accentor, and New
York aquatic thrush. It is found chiefly east of the Mississippi River,
north to the Arctic coast, breeding from the north border of the
United States northward. It winters in more southern United States,
all of middle America, northern South America, and all of West Indies.
It is accidental in Greenland. In Illinois this species is known as
a migrant, passing slowly through in spring and fall, though in the
extreme southern portion a few pass the winter, especially if the
season be mild. It frequents swampy woods and open, wet places, nesting
on the ground or in the roots of overturned trees at the borders of
swamps. Mr. M. K. Barnum of Syracuse, New York, found a nest of this
species in the roots of a tree at the edge of a swamp on the 30th of
May. It was well concealed by the overhanging roots, and the cavity
was nearly filled with moss, leaves, and fine rootlets. The nest at
this date contained three young and one egg. Two sets were taken,
one near Listowel, Ontario, from a nest under a stump in a swamp, on
June 7, 1888; the other from New Canada, Nova Scotia, July 30, 1886.
The nest was built in moss on the side of a fallen tree. The eggs are
creamy-white, speckled and spotted, most heavily at the larger ends,
with hazel and lilac and cinnamon-rufous.
As a singer this little wagtail is not easily matched, though as it is
shy and careful to keep as far from danger as possible, the opportunity
to hear it sing is not often afforded one. Though it makes its home
near the water, it is sometimes seen at a considerable distance from it
among the evergreen trees.
THE TARSIER.
Along with Tagals, Ygorottes, and other queer human beings Uncle Sam
has annexed in the Philippine islands, says the Chronicle, is the
tarsier, an animal which is now declared to be the grandfather of man.
They say the tarsier is the ancestor of the common monkey, which is the
ancestor of the anthropoid ape, which some claim as the ancestor of man.
A real tarsier will soon make his appearance at the national zoological
park. His arrival is awaited with intense interest.
Monsieur Tarsier is a very gifted animal. He derives his name from the
enormous development of the tarsus, or ankle bones of his legs. His
eyes are enormous, so that he can see in the dark. They even cause him
to be called a ghost. His fingers and toes are provided with large
pads, which enable him to hold on to almost anything.
Professor Hubrecht of the University of Utrecht has lately announced
that Monsieur Tarsier is no less a personage than a "link" connecting
Grandfather Monkey with his ancestors. Thus the scale of the evolution
theorists would be changed by Professor Hubrecht to run: Man, ape,
monkey, tarsier, and so on, tarsier appearing as the great-grandfather
of mankind.
Tarsier may best be described as having a face like an owl and a body,
limbs, and tail like those of a monkey. His sitting height is about
that of a squirrel. As his enormous optics would lead one to suppose,
he cuts capers in the night and sleeps in the daytime, concealed
usually in abandoned clearings, where new growth has sprung up to a
height of twenty feet or more. Very often he sleeps in a standing
posture, grasping the lower stem of a small tree with his long and
slender fingers and toes. During his nightly wanderings he utters a
squeak like that of a monkey. During the day the pupils of his eyes
contract to fine lines, but after dark expand until they fill most
of the irises. From his habit of feeding only upon insects he has a
strong, bat-like odor.
John Whitehead, who has spent the last three years studying the animals
of the Philippines, foreshadows the probable behavior of the tarsier
when he arrives at the national "zoo." The Philippine natives call the
little creature "magou."
"In Samar," says Mr. Whitehead, in a report just received at the
Smithsonian, "where at different times I kept several tarsiers alive,
I found them very docile and easily managed during the day. They feed
freely off grasshoppers, sitting on their haunches on my hand. When
offered an insect the tarsier would stare for a short time with its
most wonderful eyes, then slowly bend forward, and, with a sudden
dash, would seize the insect with both hands and instantly carry it to
its mouth, shutting its eyes and screwing up its tiny face in a most
whimsical fashion. The grasshopper was then quickly passed through the
sharp little teeth, the kicking legs being held with both hands.
"When the insect was beyond further mischief the large eyes of the
tarsier would open and the legs and wings were then bitten off, while
the rest of the body was thoroughly masticated. My captive would also
drink fresh milk from a spoon. After the sun had set this little
animal became most difficult to manage, escaping when possible and
making tremendous jumps from chair to chair. When on the floor it
bounded about like a miniature kangaroo, traveling about the room on
its hind legs with the tail stretched out and curved upward, uttering
peculiar, shrill, monkeylike squeaks and biting quite viciously when
the opportunity offered."
THE TRAILING ARBUTUS.
WILLIAM K. HIGLEY.
Thou dainty firstling of the spring,
Homage due to thee, I bring.
The faintest blushes of the morn
Do tint thy petals and adorn,
And thy fine perfume, sweetly faint,
Is like the breathings of a saint.
Oh my sweet! how fair thou art;
How chaste and pure thy dewy heart!
Thou poem of perfumed grace,
Dear hope and truth beam from thy face.
I drink deep draughts of joyfulness,
And bow before thy loveliness.
--_Albert C. Pearson._
The great heath family (_Ericineæ_) are scattered over many parts
of the world, and include a great variety of plants, many like the
American laurel (_Kalmia_) being large shrubs or small trees. Others
are much smaller, and among the smallest plants, there is none more
beautiful and universally loved than the charming trailing arbutus
(_Epigæa repens_).
Those who are fortunate enough to live in the localities where it is
found have the rare pleasure of searching for the early blossoms, which
prefer to nestle cosily at the foot of the evergreen trees, though they
are sometimes found in the open.
The late snows may even cover the blooms, but when their delicate heads
are peering through, we know that winter has fled, and that the snow
mantle is only a cast-off garment which, too, will slip away, dissolved
by the long rays of the early spring sunshine.
In New England the trailing arbutus is called May flower, and in other
places is known as the ground laurel. Its scientific name (_Epigæa
repens_) is from two Greek words, _epigæa_, meaning "upon the earth,"
and _repens_, "trailing, or creeping."
The word arbutus is from the Latin, meaning a tree, and is first
applied to another tribe of the same family, and is pronounced with the
accent on the first syllable--_ar_butus. This must not be confounded
with the trailing arbutus, where usage allows the accent on the second
syllable--ar_bu_tus (_Standard Dictionary_) and whose characteristics
are very different.
The trailing arbutus is a native of the eastern portion of North
America, but is found as far west as Wisconsin. It grows among the
rocks, or in a sandy soil, as in Michigan, and it blossoms from March
until May, though April is its chosen month.
The flowers are sometimes pure white though usually beautifully tinged
with various shades of pink and red, and though really forming terminal
clusters, they are apparently clustered in the axils of the evergreen
and leathery leaves.
The leaves may be oval or orbicular, and the stems which are tough and
hairy grow to the length of six to fifteen inches.
The fragrance of the flower is very strong and attractive, though its
strength varies with its locality and with the character of the soil in
which it grows, and it is especially fine when growing under evergreen
trees.
The stamens of the flower are interesting to the botanist as they vary
greatly, apparently to insure cross-fertilization.
A study of this species, as well as of plant-life in general, teaches
us that nature abhors self-fertilization and, as a rule, so develops
plants that two individuals of the same species are essential to the
production of seed.
This species especially enjoys nature, and is not easily cultivated.
A few florists have succeeded in producing mature plants with fair
results, but it may be stated that even transplanting, with much soil
attached to the roots, to a soil identical with the native, results in
a weakened development.
The trailing arbutus is greatly loved by the poet and writer, and has
received many tributes from gifted pens.
Donald G. Mitchell, in speaking of the desolation of earliest spring,
tells us that "the faint blush of the arbutus, in the midst of the
bleak March atmosphere will touch the heart like a hope of heaven, in a
field of graves."
THE HAIRY-TAILED MOLE.
In the March number of BIRDS AND ALL NATURE the common American mole,
which is the most common species in the eastern portion of the United
States, is described, and the habits of moles, which are identical,
were rather fully set forth. The hairy-tailed mole (_Scapanus breweri_)
is found principally in the western part of the United States.
This little animal has so many enemies besides man, as polecats,
owls, ravens, storks, and the like, who watch it as it throws up its
hillocks, that it is a wonder it has not been exterminated. It betrays
its home by its own handiwork, as it is obliged constantly to construct
new hillocks in order to earn its living. These hillocks always
indicate the direction and extent of its hunting-grounds. The little
weasels pursue it in its conduits, where it also frequently falls
a prey to the adder. Only foxes, weasels, hedgehogs, and the birds
already mentioned, eat it.
"Take the mole out of its proper sphere," says Wood, "and it is
awkward and clumsy, but replace it in the familiar earth, and it
becomes a different being--full of life and energy, and actuated by
a fiery activity which seems quite inconsistent with its dull aspect
and seemingly inert form. The absence of any external indication of
eyes communicates a peculiar dullness to the creature's look, and the
formation of the fore-limbs gives an indescribable awkwardness to its
gait. In the ground only is it happy, for there only can it develop
its various capabilities. No one can witness the eagerness with which
it flings itself upon its prey, and the evident enjoyment with which
it consumes its hapless victim without perceiving that the creature is
exultantly happy in its own peculiar way. His whole life is one of
fury, and he eats like a starving tiger, tearing and rending his prey
with claws and teeth. A mole has been seen to fling itself upon a small
bird, tear its body open, and devour it while still palpitating with
life. 'Nothing short of this fiery energy could sustain an animal in
the life-long task of forcing itself through the solid earth.'"
The hidden habitation of the mole is described as a nearly spherical
chamber, the roof of which is nearly on a level with the earth around
the hill, and therefore situated at a considerable depth from the apex
of the heap. Around this are driven two circular galleries--one just
level with the ceiling, and the other at some height above. The upper
circle is much smaller than the lower. Five short, descending passages
connect the galleries with each other, but the only entrance into the
inner apartment is from the upper gallery, out of which three passages
lead into the ceiling. It will be seen, therefore, that when a mole
enters the house from one of its tunnels, it has first to get into the
lower gallery, to ascend thence to the upper gallery, and so descend
into its chamber. There is another entrance from below, however, by a
passage which dips downward from the center of the chamber, and then,
taking a curve upward, opens into one of the larger tunnels.
The mole comes from the earth with unsoiled fur, which is due in part
to the peculiar character of the hair, and partly to strong membraneous
muscles beneath the skin, by means of which the animal gives itself a
frequent and powerful shake.
[Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
5-99
HAIRY-TAILED MOLE.
Life-size.
COPYRIGHT 1899,
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]
TREES.
W. E. WATT.
Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
--_Morris._
The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees,
Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees;
Three centuries he grows, and three he stays
Supreme in state; and in three more decays.
--_Dryden._
Sunlight and moisture fall upon the earth and find it full of germs of
life. At once growths begin each after its own kind. There is such a
multitude of them that they have not yet been counted. Each locality
has forms peculiar to itself. The places most abundantly watered have
different forms from those less favored by rain and dew, and those
receiving more heat and sun allow more luxuriant growths than others if
the water supply is large.
The business of life and growth is mostly carried on by means of water
set in motion and sustained by heat. Those forms of life which reach
highest above the surface of the earth are called trees. They are
always striving to see what heights they can attain. But the different
forms of life have limits set them which they cannot pass. The
structure of one tree is limited to carrying its top twenty feet from
the ground, that of another is so favored that it can reach twice that
height, and others tower high above us and stand for centuries.
But the same tree does not flourish with the same vigor in different
places. The nourishment of the soil may favor it or poverty dwarf its
growth. Moisture and heat must be supplied or the growth will be slight.
I have stood upon the thick tops of cedar trees on high places in
the White mountains near the tree-line. Towards the summit the trees
diminish in size until they become veritable dwarfs. They are stunted
by the cold. They shrink aside or downward trying to find shelter from
the angry winds that are so cutting. Diminutive tree trunks are found
that have curled themselves into sheltering crannies of rock and grown
into such distorted shapes that they are gathered as curiosities.
The last trees to give up the fight on Mount Adams are the cedars
of which I speak. They hug the rock for the little warmth that may
be lurking there in remembrance of the sun's kindly rays; they mat
themselves together and interlock their branches so as to form a
springy covering to the whole ground. One may lie down upon their tops
as upon a piece of upholstery, and in the openings below are rabbits
and woodchucks and sometimes bears safely hidden from the view of the
hunter.
From these ground-hugging trees of the mountain-tops to the great
redwoods of our western slopes the mind passes the entire range of tree
life. No trees are so great as our redwoods, though in Australia the
eucalyptus reaches higher with a comparatively slender trunk. Where the
forests are thickest, and the growth of the trees consequently tallest,
the eucalyptus towers sometimes four or five hundred feet towards the
sky.
The shrinking of mountain trees where the rock affords some warmth and
shelter is shown on a larger scale in the forms of trees that stand at
the edge of a forest. Where a stream divides the forest we find the
trees upon the bank reaching out their branches and spreading luxuriant
foliage over the water, because the open air in that direction helps
the growth of leaves and twigs. Shade trees by the road-side reach
out towards the open space of the road and grow one-sided because the
conditions of light and air are better over the road than against the
buildings or other trees that are behind them.
The prevailing winds of any country bend the trees largely in one
direction. In the vicinity of Chicago, where the return trade winds
blow day after day from the southwest, we find the willows of the
prairie all bending their heads gracefully to the northeast.