feminine principle, and as belonging and applying to things
terrestrial. To them the odd numbers were endowed with a masculine
virtue, which in time was strengthened into supernatural and celestial
qualities. The same belief was prevalent among the Chinese. With them
even numbers were connected with earthly things, partaking of the
feminine principle of Yang. Odd numbers were looked upon as proceeding
out of the divine and endued with the masculine principle. Thirty was
called the number of earth, because it was made up by the addition of
the even numbers 2, 4, 6, 8, and 10. On the other hand, 25, the sum of
the five odd numbers 1, 3, 5, 7, and 9, was called the number of
heaven.
It is generally true that, as lower peoples developed the need of
numbers and the power to use them, certain of these numbers came to be
surrounded with a superstitious importance and endued with certain
qualities which led at once to numerical preferences more or less
dominant in all their thinking connected with numbers.
It would certainly be unjustifiable to conclude from the evidence at
hand that the preferences shown in the guesses under consideration are
directly traceable to some such superstition; and yet one can scarcely
prevent himself from linking them vaguely together. Especially is this
true when some consideration is given to a probable connecting link as
shown in our modern superstitious notions. I have found through a
recent study of these superstitions that where numbers are introduced,
the odd are used to the almost complete exclusion of the even. For
example, I have collected and tabulated a series of more than sixty
different superstitions using odd numbers, and have found but four
making use of the even. Besides these specific examples there are many
more which in some form or another express the belief that odd numbers
have some vital relation with luck both good and bad.
It would be impossible to define precisely or even approximately just
what sort of a mental state the word "luck" stands for, but one
element in its composition is a more or less naïve belief in
supernatural and occult influences which at one time work for and at
another time against the believer. In its more pronounced forms, the
belief in luck lifts itself into a sort of a blind dependence upon
some ministering spirit which interposes between rational causes and
their effects. In a way one may say that the more or less vague and
shadowy notions of luck which float in the minds of people to-day are
but the emaciated and famishing forms of a once all-embracing
superstition, and that these shadows possess a potency over life and
action oftentimes beyond our willingness to believe.
There is another interesting and somewhat curious thing to be noticed
in connection with these guesses. There is a persistent tendency to
the duplication of digits, or, if one thinks of the numbers as at
first conceived in terms of language, a tendency to alliteration. For
example, the numbers 111, 222, 333, 444, 555, 666, 777, 888, and 999
occur oftener by sixty-seven per cent than any other combination
possible in the tens thus represented. That is to say, other things
equal, one would have a right to expect 334 or 332 to occur as often
as 333. But the fact is, in this particular case, 333 occurred
forty-eight times, while the other two put together occurred only
three times. Here, however, we have the combined influence of the
preference for the odd over the even and the digital sequence. Still,
if we select 444, we find that this number, made up though it is of
three digits in general least selected of all, the preference for
alliterative effect is strong enough to make the number occur 28 times
to 14 times for both 443 and 445. If we take 777, we find that it was
used more times than all the other combinations from 770 to 779
inclusive, put together.
Therefore, under conditions similar to those presented for these
guesses, one would be safe to expect these duplicative or alliterative
numbers to occur much oftener than any other single number in the
series.
It would evidently be unsafe to generalize upon the basis of this
study, notwithstanding the large number of guesses considered.
However, it seems to me that the results here obtained at least
suggest a field of inquiry which promises interesting returns. If it
be true, as here suggested, that odd numbers are preferred by
guessers, advantage could be taken of this preference in many ways.
Furthermore, as I suspect, it may be that this probable preference
points to a habit of mind which more or less influences results not
depending strictly on guessing. It has been shown, for example, that
the length of criminal sentences has been largely affected by
preferences for 5 or multiples of 5--that is to say, where judges have
power to fix the length of sentence within certain limits, there is a
strong probability that they will be influenced in their judgments by
the habitual use of 5 or its multiples. Here it would seem that
unconscious preference overrides what one has a right to consider the
most careful and impartial judgments possible, based upon actual and
well-digested data.[12]
Another thing is noticeable in these guesses. The consciousness of
number beyond 1,000 falls off very rapidly. The difference in the
values of 1,000 and 1,500 seems to have had less weight with the
guessers than a difference of 50 had at any place below 1,000. And so,
in a way, 1,000 seems to mark the limit of any sort of definite mental
measurement. This fact is more and more emphasized as the numbers
representing the guesses increase until one can see there exists
absolutely no conception of the value of numbers. For example, many
guessed 1,000,000, while several guessed more than 10,000,000.
Guessing means, with many people, no attempt at any sort of reasonable
measurement, but rather an attempt to express their guess in such a
way as to afford them the greatest amount of mental relief. And this
relief can not be wholly accomplished without satisfying number
preferences. Therefore, guessing is likely to exhibit, in a greater or
less degree, some habitual lines of preference subject to
predetermination. It may be that much practical advantage has been
taken of these facts in games of chance where number selections play
an important part.
FOOTNOTE:
[12] See H. Le Poer. Influence of Number in Criminal Sentences.
Harper's Weekly, May 14, 1896.
CONCERNING WEASELS.
BY WILLIAM E. CRAM.
[Illustration: A Weasel standing on the ground]
Why is it that while popular fancy has attributed all sorts of uncanny
and supernatural qualities to owls and cats, and that no ghost story
or tale of horrid murder has been considered quite complete without
its rat peering from some dark corner, or spider with expanded legs
suddenly spinning down from among the rafters, no such grewsome
association has ever attached itself to the weasels, creatures whose
every habit and characteristic would seem to suggest something of the
sort? Now, fond as I am of cats, I should never think of denying that
they are uncanny creatures, to say the least. But, suppose it was the
custom of our domestic tabbies to vanish abruptly or even gradually on
occasion, like the Cheshire cat after its interview with Alice, that
would at least furnish some excuse for the general prejudice against
them, but would really be no more than some of our commonest weasels
do whenever it serves their purpose. I remember one summer afternoon I
was trout-fishing along a little brook that ran between pine-covered
hills. As I lay stretched on the bank at the foot of a great maple I
saw a weasel run along in the brush fence some distance away. A few
seconds later he was standing on the exposed root of the tree hardly a
yard from my eyes. I lay motionless and examined the beautiful
creature minutely, till suddenly I found myself staring at the smooth
greenish-gray root of the maple with no weasel in sight. Judging from
my own experience, I should say that this is the usual termination of
any chance observations of either weasels or minks.
Occasionally they may be seen to dart into the bushes or behind some
log or projecting bank, but much more frequently they vanish with a
suddenness that defies the keenest eyesight.
[Illustration: A weasel lying on a branch]
In all probability this vanishing is accomplished by extreme rapidity
of motion, but if this is the case then the creature succeeds in doing
something utterly impossible to any other warm-blooded animal of its
size. Mice, squirrels, and some of the smaller birds are all of them
swift enough at times, but except in the case of the humming bird none
of them, I believe, succeed in accomplishing the result achieved by
the weasels. The humming bird, in spite of its small size, leaves us a
pretty definite impression of the direction it has taken when it darts
away; but when a mink, half a yard in length and weighing several
pounds, stands motionless before one with his dark coat conspicuous
against almost any background, and the next instant is gone without a
rustle or the tremor of a blade of grass, it leaves one with an
impression of witchcraft difficult to dispel; and best appreciated
when one sees it for one's self. Nor is the everyday life of the
weasel quiet or commonplace; his one object in life apparently is to
kill, first to appease his hunger, then to satisfy his thirst for warm
blood, and after that for the mere joy of killing.
[Illustration: A white weasel]
The few opportunities I have had for observing these animals have
never shown them occupied in any other way, nor can any hint of
anything different be gained from the various writers on the subject,
while accounts of their attacking and even killing human beings in a
kind of blind fury are too numerous and apparently well authenticated
to be entirely ignored. These attacks are said usually to be made by a
number of weasels acting in concert, and the motive would appear to be
revenge for some injury done to one of their number. There seems to be
something peculiar about the entire family of weasels. The American
sable or pine marten is said to have strange ways that have puzzled
naturalists and hunters for years. In the wilderness no amount of
trapping has any effect on their numbers, nor do they show any
especial fear of man or his works, occasionally even coming into
lumber camps at night and being especially fond of old logging roads
and woods that have been swept by fire; but at the slightest hint of
approaching civilization they disappear, not gradually, but at once
and forever, and the woods know them no more. If there is anything in
the theory of the survival of the fittest, why is it that not one
marten has discovered that, like other animals of its size, it could
manage to live comfortably enough in the vicinity of man? The mink and
otter still follow the course of every brook and river and manage to
avoid the keen eyes of the duck hunter, while for six months in the
year their paths are sprinkled with steel traps set either especially
for them or for the more plebeian muskrat. If a pair of sables could
be persuaded to take up their quarters in some parts of New England
they could travel for dozens of miles through dark evergreen woods
with hollow and decaying trees in abundance, while at present there
are almost no traps set in a manner that need disturb creatures of
their habits. Partridges, rabbits, and squirrels, which form their
principal food, are nearly if not quite as abundant as before the
country was settled, so that it would certainly not require any very
decided change of habits to enable them to exist, but evidently the
root of the matter goes deeper than that, and, like some tribes of
Indians, it is impossible for them to multiply or flourish except in
the primeval forest.
[Illustration: A weasel on the ground]
The common weasel or ermine, which is the only kind I have seen
hereabouts, would seem to have everything on its side in the struggle
for existence, and when one happens to be killed by some larger
inhabitant of the woods it must be due entirely to its own
carelessness. Nevertheless, they do occasionally fall victims to owls
and foxes, and I once shot a red-tailed hawk that was in the act of
devouring one. Still, these casualties among weasels are probably few
and far between. Fortunately, however, they never increase to any
great extent. Occasionally in the winter the snow for miles will be
covered with their tracks all made in a single night, and then for
weeks not a track is to be seen; but usually they prefer to hunt
alone, each having its beat a mile or more in length, over which it
travels back and forth throughout the season, passing any given point
at intervals of two or three days. This habit of keeping to the same
route instead of wandering at random about the woods is
characteristic of the family, the length of the route depending to a
certain extent on the size of the animal. The mink is usually about a
week in going his rounds, and may cover a dozen miles in that time,
while the otter is generally gone a fortnight or three weeks. When it
is possible the ermine prefers to follow the course of old tumble-down
stone walls, and lays its course accordingly. In favorable districts
he is able to keep to these for miles together, squeezing into the
smallest crevices in pursuit of mice or chipmunks. All the weasels
travel in a similar manner--that is, by a series of leaps or bounds in
such a way that the hind feet strike exactly in the prints made by the
fore paws, so that the tracks left in the snow are peculiar and bear a
strong family resemblance. On soft snow the slender body of the ermine
leaves its imprint extending from one pair of footprints to the next,
and as these are from four to six feet apart, or even more, the
impression left in the snow is like the track of some extremely long
and slender serpent with pairs of short legs at intervals along its
body. I have said that the ermine is the only true weasel I have found
in this vicinity, but this is not strictly true, at least I hope not.
One winter I repeatedly noticed the tracks of an exceedingly large
weasel--so very large, in fact, that I was almost forced to believe
them to be those of a mink. The impression of its body in the snow was
quite as large as that made by a small mink, but the footprints
themselves were smaller, and the creature appeared to avoid the water
in a manner quite at variance with the well-known habits of its more
amphibious cousin, while, unlike the common weasel, it never followed
stone walls or fences. I put my entire mind to the capture of the
little beast, and set dozens of traps, but it was well along in the
month of March before I succeeded. It proved to be a typical specimen
of the Western long-tailed weasel, though I can find no account of any
other having been taken east of the Mississippi. Its entire length was
about eighteen inches; the tail, which was a little over six, gave the
effect at first glance of being tipped with gray instead of black, but
a closer inspection showed that the black hairs were confined to the
very extremity and were partly concealed by the overlying white ones;
the rest of the fur was white, with a slight reddish tinge, and much
longer and coarser than that of an ermine. Since then I have
occasionally seen similar tracks, but have not succeeded in capturing
a second specimen. In all probability the least weasel is also to be
found here if one has the patience to search carefully enough; none,
however, have come under my observation as yet. All the small weasels
that I have seen have proved on close inspection to be young ermines
with thickly furred black-tipped tails; in the least weasel the tail
is thinly covered with short hair and without any black whatever. Late
in the autumn or early in the winter the ermine changes from
reddish-brown to white, sometimes slightly washed with greenish-yellow
or cream color, and again as brilliantly white as anything in Nature
or art; the end of the tail, however, remains intensely black, and at
first thought might be supposed to make the animal conspicuous on the
white background of snow, but in reality has just the opposite effect.
Place an ermine on new-fallen snow in such a way that it casts no
shadow, and you will find that the black point holds your eye in spite
of yourself, and that at a little distance it is quite impossible to
follow the outline of the weasel itself. Cover the tail with snow, and
you can begin to make out the position of the rest of the animal, but
as long as the tip of the tail is in sight you see that and that only.
The ptarmigan and northern hare also retain some spot or point of dark
color when they take on their winter dress, and these dark points
undoubtedly serve the same purpose as in the case of the ermine.
[Illustration: A weasel catching a bird]
An old hunter, one of the closest observers of Nature I have ever
known, once told me that female minks hibernated in winter in the same
manner as bears, though it was his belief that, unlike the bears, they
never brought forth their young at that season. At first I refused to
take the slightest stock in what he said; the whole thing appeared so
absurd and so utterly at variance with the teachings of those
naturalists who have made the closest possible study of the habits of
minks. Since then, however, I have kept my eyes open for any hint that
might have the slightest bearing on the subject, and to my surprise
have found many things that would seem to point to the correctness of
the old hunter's theory. To begin with, he said that late in the
winter he had repeatedly known female minks to make their appearance
from beneath snow that had lain undisturbed for days or even weeks,
the tracks apparently beginning where he first observed them, the
difference in size between the two sexes being sufficient to make it
easy to distinguish between their tracks at a glance; and, moreover,
since he first began trapping he had noticed that while the sexes were
about equally abundant in the autumn, the females always became very
scarce at the approach of winter and remained so until spring, when
they suddenly increased in numbers and became much the more abundant
of the two.
[Illustration: A weasel on a log]
This is also the experience of trappers in general, and may be
verified by any one who cares to take the trouble to look into the
matter. Evidently no one has ever discovered a mink in a state of
hibernation; at any rate, no such case appears ever to have been
reported; but this does not necessarily prove that it is not a regular
habit among them.
The cry of the mink is seldom heard, even in places where they are
fairly abundant, as they have evidently learned that the greatest
safety lies in silence. It is a peculiarly shrill, rattling,
whistlelike scream, that can be heard at a considerable distance.
CARE OF THE THROAT AND EAR.
BY W. SCHEPPEGRELL, A. M., M. D.,
PRESIDENT WESTERN OPTHALMOLOGIC AND OTO-LARYNGOLOGIC ASSOCIATION, NEW
ORLEANS, LA.
Hygiene is that branch of medical science which relates to the
preservation and improvement of the health. As the prevention of
disease is more important than its cure--in fact, superior to all
methods for its cure--this is a subject which demands our most earnest
attention. Hygiene is not limited to the preservation and improvement
of the health of the individual, but includes that of whole
communities. As, however, the health of a community depends upon the
state of the health of the various families composing it, and this
again of its members, the proper understanding of the hygienic laws by
each individual is of the utmost importance.
For some reason, however, the subject of hygiene or the prevention of
disease does not create the enthusiasm caused by methods advocated for
its cure. A Koch, who publishes to the world a supposed means of
curing tuberculosis, or a Behring, who introduces the serum therapy of
diphtheria, arouses an interest which is limited only by the four
corners of the world. The modest worker in sanitation, however, who
explains the means of the development of these diseases, and the
conditions and laws by means of which they may be prevented, is looked
upon without interest and frequently with disfavor. But in spite of
these conditions, the laws of hygiene are gradually becoming more
farspread, and their influence is felt more with each advancing year.
The nose, throat, and ear are so intimately connected with the other
parts of the body that their health depends to a large extent upon the
condition of the system in general. The laws of hygiene and their
application which refer to the body in general are also applicable to
these parts, and whatever condition benefits the former will have a
useful influence on the upper respiratory passages, and, inversely,
any injurious effect will injure the health of these organs.
The physiology of this region is of much importance. Formerly the nose
was considered principally in its relation to the organ of smell. This
is a most important function, as it is a constant sentinel over the
air we breathe and the food we eat. It is a curious circumstance that
many of the functions that are referred to the organ of taste really
belong to that of smell. In eating ice cream, for instance, the sense
of taste simply informs us that it is sweet or otherwise, but the
flavor is perceived only by the sense of smell. A proof of this is
that where this function is destroyed, all ability in this direction
disappears, and the patient thus affected will frequently complain
that his sense of taste is defective, not realizing that it is the
sense of smell which performs this act.
The nose, however, has a much more important function to
perform--viz., in respiration. Strange to say, however, this has only
recently been realized, and it is even yet not well understood. You
have all observed that, when you had a severe "cold" which prevented
nasal breathing, the next morning the mouth and throat were dry and
parched and frequently inflamed, the voice sometimes hoarse, and there
was a general feeling of depression. While the progress of the
inflammatory process may be a factor in this, still the mechanical
obstruction of the nose from any cause whatsoever will have a similar
effect. In patients in whom, for various reasons, an artificial
opening has been made in the trachea, the air of the room has to be
heated to an almost intolerable point and saturated with moisture, or
severe bronchial inflammation will soon develop in the patient, simply
because the nose has not taken an active part in the act of
respiration. These effects, therefore, clearly demonstrate that the
nasal passages have an important function to perform in the breathing
process. Summarized in a few words, it is simply to warm, moisten, and
clean the air which we inhale.
The healthy nostrils are anatomically and physiologically so formed
that when the current of air passes through them it will have been
freed of its mechanical impurities, warmed to within a few degrees of
the temperature of the body, and moistened to saturation. This has
been experimentally demonstrated.
The opening of the passage of the ear into the throat has several
objects, the most important being ventilation and the adjustment of
the atmospheric equilibrium. This passage leads outward until it
enters the cavity of the middle ear, which is closed by the drum on
the outside, thus separating it from the external canal of the ear. We
know that atmospheric pressure varies at different times and in
different altitudes. It is much less, for instance, at the top of a
mountain than at the seaside. The opening into the throat allows the
air to enter, and adjusts the atmospheric pressure within the ear to
these various external conditions. Those of you who have ascended
Lookout Mountain by means of the incline cable car may have noticed
the adjustment taking place by a peculiar click when different
altitudes were reached.