Birds and All Nature, Vol. IV, No. 5, November 1898

Authorities agree that the number of the Otters is rapidly decreasing in America, because of the systematic way in which they are pursued by trappers for the value of their fur. The skin of the American Otter is in high reputation and general use with furriers, but those from Canada are said to be more valuable than those from the more southern sections.

The Otter, when taken young, is easily tamed. Audubon had several young Otters which he says "became as gentle as Puppies in two or three days. They preferred milk and boiled corn meal, refusing fish or meat till they were several months old." They became so tame that they would romp with their owner, and were very good-natured animals.

Rivers whose banks are thickly grown with forests are the favorite home of the Otter. There, says Brehm, it lives in subterraneous burrows, constructed in accordance with its tastes and mode of life. "The place of exit is always located below the surface of the water, usually at a depth of about eighteen inches; a tunnel about two yards long leads thence, slanting upwards into a spacious chamber, which is lined with grass and always kept dry. Another narrow tunnel runs from the central chamber to the surface and aids in ventilation. Under all circumstances the Otter has several retreats or homes." When the water rises, it has recourse to trees or hollow trunks.

The Otter is the fastest swimming quadruped known. In the water it exhibits an astonishing agility, swimming in a nearly horizontal position with the greatest ease, diving and darting along beneath the surface with a speed equal, if not superior, to that of many fishes.

The Otter, said an eminent naturalist, is remarkable in every way; in its aquatic life, as well as in its movements; in its hunt for food and in its mental endowments. It belongs without question to the most attractive class of animals.

THE SKYLARK

JOHN BURROUGHS relates that a number of years ago a friend in England sent him a score of Skylarks in a cage. He gave them their liberty in a field near where he lived. They drifted away, and he never heard or saw them again. But one Sunday a Scotchman from a neighboring city called on him and declared, with visible excitement, that on his way along the road he had heard a Skylark. He was not dreaming; he knew it was a Skylark, though he had not heard one since he had left the banks of the Doon, a quarter of a century or more before. The song had given him infinitely more pleasure than it would have given to the naturalist himself. Many years ago some Skylarks were liberated on Long Island, and they became established there, and may now occasionally be heard in certain localities. One summer day a lover of birds journeyed out from the city in order to observe them. A Lark was soaring and singing in the sky above him. An old Irishman came along and suddenly stopped as if transfixed to the spot. A look of mingled delight and incredulity came into his face. Was he indeed hearing the bird of his youth? He took off his hat, turning his face skyward, and with moving lips and streaming eyes stood a long time regarding the bird. "Ah," thought the student of nature, "if I could only hear the bird as he hears that song – with his ears!" To the man of science it was only a bird song to be critically compared to a score of others; but to the other it brought back his youth and all those long-gone days on his native hills!

NATURE STUDY AND NATURE'S RIGHT

There is another study which should go hand in hand with nature-work – nature's rights, people's rights. Too many little feet are learning to trespass; too many little hands are learning to steal, for that is what it really is. Children are young and thoughtless and love flowers. But does loving and wishing for things which are not ours make it right to take them? If the teacher can develop the love of nature, can she not develop the sense of honor also? Cannot the moral growth and the mental growth of the child develop together?

To love nature is not to ruthlessly rob her of her treasures. Therefore in collecting for the school-room teach the children to use thought and care in breaking the tender branches. They should remember that each flower on the fruit-tree will in time become fruit. Mother Nature has taken time and loving care to bring forth the leaves and flowers. The different parts of the flowers may be studied without sacrificing many blossoms.

And the birds, why rob them of nests or eggs? Many ways can be found for studying nests, eggs, and birds, without causing suffering. Nature and science study, taught by the thoughtless teacher, can do much harm. —A. G. Bullock in School Journal.

AMERICAN GOLDEN PLOVER

GOLDEN YELLOW RUMP Is one of the names often applied to this most beautiful member of the Plover family, which is thus made conspicuous and easily recognizable. It is found everywhere in the United States, from the Atlantic to the Rocky Mountains, but is rare on the Pacific coast south of Alaska. They are seldom found far inland, their natural home being on the seacoast, occasionally frequenting marshy or wet grounds, though as a rule they prefer the sandy beach and adjacent flats and uplands. During migration their flight, especially in the spring, is hurried, direct and in the night, only stopping to rest and feed during the day, returning, it is said, in a more leisurely manner and largely along the seashore. When on the ground these birds run about on unbended legs, the bodies in a horizontal position and heads drawn down. While sleeping or resting they usually sit or stand on one leg. Captain Houdlette of the Oceanic Steamship Company caught a Plover that came aboard his ship while on its way from Alaska to Hawaii. These birds are not web-footed, and the captain seems to have solved the problem as to whether they ever rest on the water during their long flights. He says they do. "It was during the run from San Francisco to Honolulu that I saw several Plovers in the water resting. When the steamer came too near they would rise with a few flaps of their wings, but, being very tired, they would soon settle back into the water again. In its efforts to get away one of them came on board and it lived for some time. I always thought the birds made a continuous flight of over 2,000 miles, but I am now satisfied that they rest on the waves when tired."

The flight of a flock of Golden Plovers is described by Goss as swift and strong, sweeping over the prairies in a compact, wavy form, at times skimming close to the ground, then high in the air; an everchanging, circling course, whistling as they go; and on alighting raising their wings until the tips nearly touch, then slowly folding them back, a habit which is quite common with them as they move about the ground.

Plovers eat Grasshoppers, Beetles, and many forms of insect life; small berries are also a part of their diet.

Mr. Nelson, in his "Report Upon Natural History Collections in Alaska," gives a full and interesting account of their nesting-habits. He says the courtship of this handsome bird is carried on very quietly, and there is no demonstration of anger or quarreling among the rivals. When two are satisfactorily mated they quietly go about their nesting, after which each pair limits its range to the immediate vicinity of its treasures. The eggs are deposited the latter part of May in a small depression among the moss and dried grass of a small knoll, and at times a slight structure is made of dried grass. Four eggs are laid, of a pale yellowish ground color, with very dark, well-defined umber brown spots scattered profusely over the shell.

Golden Plovers on the ground,See them rise, and fly, and sing;Where before was not a soundNow the very echoes ring.

CAN ANIMALS COUNT?

MY LITTLE readers have heard their elders when speaking of the Horse, Dog, Cat, and other dumb creatures call them the "lower" animals. Well, so they are, but when you have grown to be men and women you may possibly prefer the faithful affection and good comradeship of one of these lower animals to the disagreeable society of a cold, mean, and selfish "higher" one. Indeed, to learn how near akin are man and beast, mentally, not physically, men and women of large and tender natures have given up the greater part of their lives. Many stories have been written concerning the faithful love of animals for their masters, big and little, of their marvelous instinct and almost human cunning, but when I tell you that animals can be taught to count – and birds are animals, too, you know – why, then, if you are bright children you will wonder, as your elders do, where instinct ends and reason begins. However, these animals, of which I am going to write, may have been more than usually intelligent and capable of learning where others would not.

A few years ago a confectioner bought a Parrot, and, though the bird talked very plainly and volubly, the man was not satisfied. He desired his bird to display more cleverness than the ordinary Parrot, so he conceived the idea of teaching her to count. Polly didn't take to figures at all; but, though she listened with a great deal of patience to what her teacher had to say she uttered never a word. When at length he turned away discouraged, Polly croaked, "Shut up," and turned a double somersault on her perch, evidently very glad indeed that school was over.

Day after day Polly had her lesson, but count aloud she would not. Still the confectioner didn't give up the idea, and one day, to the bird's amazement her teacher, at lesson time, stood before the cage with a pan of water and a whisk broom in his hand. Dipping the broom in the water and flirting the drops over her head the teacher said, "One." Giving her time to think the matter over, a few more drops were sprinkled upon her head, the teacher exclaiming, "Two," and so on in this way till he had reached ten. This method of instruction went on for some time; but, though Polly came near being drowned in several of the lessons, she stubbornly refused to repeat the figures after her teacher. Arithmetic was not her forte, and the confectioner at length gave up in despair, very much I fancy to Miss Polly's relief.

A month or more went by, when one day, as the bird in her cage was hanging out of doors, it suddenly began to rain. "One," the delighted confectioner heard Polly say, as the big drops fell upon her head, then "two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," in rapid succession. But to the Parrot's vexation the rain did not cease as it was wont to do when taking her lesson, and every additional drop increased her anger. Finally she could stand it no longer, and in her shrillest tones shouted: "Stop it, stop it! That's all I know, hang it, that's all I know!"

The confectioner says no amount of money can buy that bird.

The Crow, an eminent doctor in Russia says, can be taught, if you have the patience, to count up to ten, while a certain tribe of men in Polynesia, "higher" animals, you know, cannot be taught to count beyond five or six.

This same doctor had an intelligent Dog which was accustomed, like other Dogs, to bury his surplus bones in the garden. In order to test the mental powers of this animal the doctor one day gave him no less than twenty-six bones, every one of which he saw the Dog duly bury in separate places. The next day no food was given him at meal time, but he was commanded by his master to dig up the bones. This the intelligent fellow proceeded to do, but after uncovering ten came to a full stop. After whining and running about in great perplexity he finally succeeded in unearthing nine more. Still he seemed conscious that he had not found the full number and kept up the search till he had fetched to his master the other seven.

I think that was too much to ask of any Dog, don't you? Many a little boy or girl who goes to school couldn't count that number of bones, though you can, of course.

Well, the doctor then turned his attention to the Cat. When pussy was good and hungry a tempting morsel of meat was held under her nose, then withdrawn five times in succession; the sixth time she was permitted to secure it. This was repeated every day, till she got accustomed to waiting for the presentation of the meat five times; but upon the sixth Pussy never failed to spring forward and seize the meat. The doctor attempted the experiment with a higher number, but the Cat stuck to her first lesson and after counting one, two, three, four, five, six, would invariably make the spring. Had he begun with ten Pussy might have shown herself capable of counting that number as well as the Crow and the Parrot.

A farmer tells of a Horse which in plowing had acquired the habit of counting the furrows, stopping for a rest regularly at the twentieth row. The farmer at the end of the day used to estimate the amount of work done, not by counting the furrows but by remembering how many times the Horse had stopped to rest. The poor animal had never been taught his figures, and his mind did not say "one, two, three," and so on, but all the same he had his way of counting, and never failed to know when he had reached twenty.

Still another Horse was able to count the mile-posts and had been trained by its master to stop for feed when they had covered eighteen miles of a certain road. He always stopped after passing the eighteenth post. To test him they put up three false mile-posts between the real ones, and, sure enough, deceived by the trick, he stopped at the eighteenth post for his oats, unaware that he had not covered eighteen miles.

The doctor also observed another Horse which was accustomed to receiving his oats precisely at noon. Whenever the clock struck an hour the Horse pricked up his ears as if counting the strokes. If he heard twelve, off he would trot to be fed, but if a less number he would plod on resignedly at his work. The experiment was made of striking twelve strokes at the wrong time, whereupon the Horse started for his oats though he had been fed only an hour before.

All of which goes to prove that the capacity of an animal's mind is limited, and, so you may say, is that of the average man.

Mrs. E. K. Marble.

BUTTERFLIES LOVE TO DRINK

BUTTERFLIES have never had a character for wisdom or foresight. Indeed, they have been made a type of frivolity and now something worse is laid to their charge. In a paper published by the South London Entomological Society Mr. J. W. Tutt declares that some species are painfully addicted to drinking. This beverage, it may be pleaded, is only water, but it is possible to be over-absorptive of non-alcoholics. Excess in tea is not unknown – perhaps the great Dr. Johnson occasionally offended in that respect – and even the pump may be too often visited. But the accuser states that some Butterflies drink more than can be required by their tissues under any possible conditions. It would not have been surprising if, like some other insects, Butterflies had been almost total abstainers, at any rate, from water, and had contented themselves with an occasional sip of nectar from a flower.

MALES ARE THE SINNERS

The excess in drinking seems to be almost a masculine characteristic, for the topers, he states, are the males. They imbibe while the females are busy laying eggs. This unequal division of pleasure and labor is not wholly unknown even among the highest of the vertebrates; we have heard of cases where the male was toping at the "public" while the female was nursing the children and doing the drudgery of the household. Mr. Tutt has called attention to a painful exhibition of depravity which can often be observed in an English country lane, where shallow puddles are common, but never so well as on one of the rough paths that wind over the upper pastures in the Alps. Butterflies are more abundant there than in England, and they may be seen in dozens absorbing the moisture from damp patches. Most species are not above taking a sip now and again, but the majority may be classed as "moderate drinkers." The greater sinners are the smaller ones, especially the blues, and the little Butterfly which, from its appearance, is called the "small copper." There they sit, glued as it were to the mud – so besotted, such victims to intemperance, that they will not rise till the last moment to get out of the way of horse or man. Some thirty years ago Prof. Bonney in his "Alpine Regions," described this peculiarity, saying that "they were apparently so stupefied that they could scarcely be induced to take wing – in fact, they were drunk."

OTHER LIQUIDS ARE LIKED

If we remember rightly, the female occasionally is overcome by the temptation to which her mate so readily falls a victim. But we are by no means sure that Butterflies are drinkers of water only. Certainly they are not particular about its purity; they will swallow it in a condition which would make a sanitarian shudder; nay, we fear that a not inconsiderable admixture of ammoniacal salts increases the attraction of the beverage. It is admitted that both Moths and Butterflies visit sugar, overripe fruit, and the like, but it is pleaded that they do this for food. Perhaps; but we fear this is not the whole truth. The apologist has forgotten that practice of entomologists called "sugaring," which is daubing trunks of trees and other suitable places with a mixture of which, no doubt, sugar is the main ingredient, but of which the attraction is enhanced by a little rum. Every collector knows what a deadly lure this is, and what treasures the dark-lantern reveals as he goes his rounds. True, this snare is fatal only to the Moth, because at night the Butterfly is asleep. If he once adopted nocturnal habits we know where he would be found, for he is not insensible by day to the charms of this mixture.

THE ENVIOUS WREN

On the ground lived a Hen,In a tree lived a Wren,Who picked up her food here and there;While Biddy had wheatAnd all nice things to eatSaid the Wren, "I declare, 'tisn't fair!"It is really too bad!"She exclaimed – she was mad —"To go out when it's raining this way!And to earn what you eat,Doesn't make your food sweet,In spite of what some folks may say."Now, there is that Hen,"Said this cross little Wren,"She's fed till she's fat as a drum;While I strive and sweatFor each bug that I get,And nobody gives me a crumb."I can't see for my lifeWhy the old farmer's wife.Treats her so much better than me.Suppose on the groundI hop carelessly roundFor awhile, and just see what I'll see."Said this cute little Wren,"I'll make friends with the Hen,And perhaps she will ask me to stay;And then upon breadEvery day I'll be fed,And life will be nothing but play."So down flew the Wren,"Stop to tea," said the Hen;And soon Biddy's supper was sent;But scarce stopping to taste,The poor bird left in haste,And this was the reason she went:When the farmer's kind dameTo the poultry yard came,She said – and the Wren shook with fright —"Biddy's so fat she'll doFor a pie or a stew,And I guess I shall kill her to-night."– Phœbe Cary.

THE CANADIAN PORCUPINE

It climbs the trees and strips them cleanOf leaf, and fruit, and bark;Then, creeping where no life is seen,O'er branches grim and stark,Begins anew, the bark beneath,The endless grind of claws and teeth,Till trees, denuded, naked riseLike spectres painted on the skies.Fretful it may be, as its quills are sharp,But with its teeth it stills the sylvan harp.C. C. M.

FORMERLY plentiful in the northern United States, but now quite rare in this country, although not so scarce in Canada, is the Urson, otherwise called the Canadian Porcupine. It is the tree or climbing species and is distinguished from other members of the family by its slender body and tail of greater or less length. The Urson attains a length of thirty-two inches, seven and one-half of which are included in the tail. A thick set fur, which attains a length of four and one-half inches on the nape of the neck and changes into sharp spines on the under parts of the body and the tip of the tail, clothes the animal.

The Canadian Porcupine is a native of the forests of North America, ranging as far south as Virginia and Kentucky and as far west as the Rocky Mountains. "The Urson," says Cartwright, "is an accomplished climber and probably never descends a tree in winter, before it has entirely denuded the upper branches of bark. It is most partial to the tenderest roots or seedling trees. A single Urson may ruin hundreds of them during one winter." Audubon states that he passed through woods, in which all the trees had been stripped by this animal, producing an appearance similar to that induced when a forest has been devastated by fire. Elms, Poplars, and Firs furnish its favorite food, and therefore usually suffer more than other trees from its destructiveness.

The nest of this Porcupine is generally found in holes in trees or rocky hollows, and in it the young, usually two, more rarely three or four in number, are born in April or May. The young are easily tamed. Audubon says that one which he possessed never exhibited anger, except when some one tried to remove it from a tree which it was in the habit of mounting. It had gradually become very tame and seldom made any use of its nails, so that he would open its cage and afford it a free walk in the garden. When he called it, tempting it with a sweet potato or an apple, it turned its head toward him, gave him a gentle, friendly look and then slowly hobbled up to him, took the fruit out of his hand, sat down on its hind legs and raised the food to its mouth with its fore-paws. Frequently when it would find the door of the family room open it would enter, approach and rub itself against a member of the family looking up pleadingly as if asking for some dainty. Audubon tried in vain to arouse it to an exhibition of anger. When a Dog came in view matters were different. Then it instantly assumed the defensive. With its nose lowered, all its quills erect, and its tail moving back and forth, it was ready for the fray. The Dog sprang upon the Porcupine with open mouth. That animal seemed to swell up in an instant to nearly double its size, sharply watched the Dog and at the right moment dealt it such a well-aimed blow with its tail that the Mastiff lost courage and set up a loud howl of pain. His mouth, tongue, and nose were full of Porcupine quills. He could not close his jaws, but hurried open-mouthed off the premises. Although the spines were immediately extracted, the Dog's head was terribly swollen for several weeks afterward, and it was months before he entirely recovered.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the Rabbit's tread.The Robin and the Wren are flown, and from the shrubs the Jay,And from the wood-top calls the Crow through all the gloomy day.Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stoodIn brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowersAre lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rainCalls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.The Wind-flower and the Violet, they perished long ago,And the Brier-rose and the Orchis died among the summer glow;But on the hill the Golden-rod, and the Aster in the wood,And the yellow Sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come,To call the Squirrel and the Bee from out their wintry home;When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he boreAnd sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.– Bryant.

THE CASPIAN TERN

The Terns are on the wing,See them play!They dart into the sky,They poise, and scream, and flyO'er the bay;Round the ship that sails the sea,Round the lighthouse o'er the lea —The Terns are on the wing!C. C. M.

THE great Caspian Tern is the largest of the family, its wings, when extended, measuring from fifty to fifty-five inches in length. It is a bird of very irregular distribution, breeding in Labrador, along the Arctic coast, on islands in Lake Michigan, on the coasts of Virginia, Texas, and California, and is numerous in Australia. Forbes found it to be more or less common about Washoe Lake and the Humboldt Marshes, Nevada, and the Great Salt Lake, Utah, where it was no doubt breeding. He says that unlike most other Terns, particularly unlike the almost equally large Royal Tern, the Caspian appears to breed in isolated pairs instead of large colonies, its nest being found far removed from that of any other bird, and consisting merely of a shallow depression scooped in the sand, in which its two eggs are laid, with little if any lining, though a few grass or sedge blades or other vegetable substance are sometimes added. It is very bold in defense of its eggs or young, darting impetuously at the intruder, uttering meanwhile hoarse barking or snarling cries.