Birds and all Nature, Vol. VII, No. 4, April 1900

To return to the home in the shoes. After the completion of the nest five wee eggs were deposited therein, and incubation began. And in spite of the heat everything went on happily in this unique domicile.

We soon became the most sociable friends. Their quaint and charming ways made them very amusing pets. They became so tame that they would approach me fearlessly, even alighting on my head, and would let me examine their nest without being frightened.

The wren is a very lively and active bird, and sings incessantly throughout the breeding-season, and these were not an exception, but were forever darting in and out, their actions accompanied by a sweet warble. Mr. Wren would positively quiver all over with delight, while regaling Mrs. Wren and me with his exuberant melody. They were the cheeriest little companions imaginable. Every morning as I entered the kitchen I was greeted heartily by my small neighbors, who bustled about in the preparation of the morning meal as busily as I. Meanwhile Mr. Wren merrily sang his innocent matin song, and spontaneously I would find myself singing too, as I went about my work.

One day there was great excitement in the shoe and, when I looked in, five featherless mites with huge mouths were to be seen. Mrs. Wren was now a veritable "old woman who lived in a shoe." But she did not treat her children as did the old woman of nursery fame, though she was kept very busy in supplying their wants, even with the assistance of Mr. Wren.

These birds subsist on small insects and consume a considerable quantity. With much satisfaction I watched them slay a host of ants that were invading the kitchen; running up and down the wall with much agility, they picked the ants off.

Real warm weather had set in by the time the nestlings were ready to try their wings, and I thought, of course, my friends would desert me for a cooler resort out of doors, in which to pass the heated term. But O, no, they were too loyal for that, so to make their house more commodious, another room was added by building a nest in the other shoe. And the family raised in the second shoe was not a whit less interesting than the first.

THE CHICKADEE

SIDNEY DAYRE"Were it not for me,"Said a chickadee,"Not a single flower on earth would be;For under the ground they soundly sleepAnd never venture an upward peep,Till they hear from me,Chickadee-dee!"I tell Jack Frost when 'tis time to goAnd carry away the ice and snow;And then I hint to the jolly old sun,'A little spring work, sir, should be done.'And he smiles aroundOn the frozen ground,And I keep up my cheery, cheery sound,Till echo declares in glee, in glee,'Tis he! 'tis he!The chickadee-dee!""And then I waken the birds of spring —'Ho, ho! 'tis time to be on the wing.'They trill and twitter and soar aloft,And I send the winds to whisper soft,Down by the little flower-beds,Saying, 'Come show your pretty heads!The spring is coming, you see, you see!'For so sings he,The chickadee-dee!"The sun he smiled; and the early flowersBloomed to brighten the blithesome hours,And song-birds gathered in bush and tree;But the wind he laughed right merrily,As the saucy mite of a snowbird heChirped away, "Do you see, see, see?I did it all!Chickadee-dee!"

REFLECTIONS

CHARLES C. MARBLE

Vice often epitomizes ancestry.

The wisest are not so wise as silence.

Experience is the grave of enthusiasm.

Experience is the enemy of dogmatism.

Our faith is often nothing more than our hope.

Should we despise anything that God has made?

In bestowing benefits we imperil friendship.

Innocence and guilt are alike suffused with blushes.

If vice did not exist wisdom could not predicate itself.

Disappointment leaves a scar which hope cannot remove.

Success is an excellent proof of the wisdom which achieved it.

The vices of some men are more endurable than the virtues of others.

Beauty is a reproach without virtue, while virtue is itself the highest beauty.

The sun at noon gives no more light than at morn, but its glow has more warmth and power.

Without the accessories life were of little worth, and hope gives it its permanence and serenity.

Marriage should be in harmony with nature, in which what is seemingly discordant but illuminates and purifies it.

Our conduct toward one another should be based upon a conception of the infinite mischances of life and the exquisite poignancy of regret.

Misfortune seeks consolation in communicating itself. But when it no longer needs sympathy it is silent, and ashamed of its former volubility.

We can overcome even our prejudices where some interest is subserved by it. So much stronger is self-interest than color, social status, or education.

The poet should know, better than another, his limitations. Parnassus is always higher than our dreams, and his summit more radiant than the vision of any mortal.

The lily of the valley, which hides its chaste head in dewy leaflets, is a thousand times less modest than the maiden whose conscious blush reveals the innocence of reason.

If we were to judge all men by what they seem to have achieved, we would be harsh and unjust. We cannot always see the scar left by a heroic deed, and modesty conceals it.

Complete benevolence implies simplicity of living. The Christian cannot have if he knows that others have not. Thoreau was perhaps the wisest man of his time; he practiced what he preached; and there are few examples of simplicity to compare with his.

Nothing, perhaps, is more humiliating than to observe the precocious development of the negative virtues, especially prudence. There is a subtle suspiciousness in early prudence which is at war with all generous impulses. Think of the pinched heart of a little miser.

There is a selfishness which deals generously with its own: my wife, my child shall be arrayed in the richest, shall feed upon the daintiest; my servant, my handmaid they are naught to me. Nature hath made nothing better than my desert; she hath made nothing poor enough for thee and thine.

In an old man conceit may be so comprehensive as to include the race. Has he been reasonably successful with the fair sex, all are the subjects of his whim or desire; and he will sententiously and confidently repel any claim of virtue or purity. So blind is he to the centuries made splendid by her virtue and self-sacrifice, and so little is his judgment affected by objects unconnected with self.

FOXGLOVE

(Digitalis purpurea L.)DR. ALBERT SCHNEIDER,Northwestern University School of PharmacyPan through the pastures often times hath runneTo plucke the speckled fox-gloves from their stems.– W. Browne, Britannias Pastorals, II. 4.

THE fox-glove is a biennial herb from two to seven feet in height with a solitary, sparingly branched stem. The basal leaves are very large and broad, gradually becoming narrower and smaller toward the apex of the stem and its branches, dark green in color, pubescent, margin dentate, venation very prominent. The inflorescence is very characteristic. The large, numerous flowers are closely crowded and pendulous from one side of the arched stalk. The corolla is purple and spotted on the inside. It is a very handsome plant, widely distributed, preferring a sandy or gravelly soil in open woods. When abundant and in full bloom it makes a beautiful exhibit. It is a garden favorite in many lands.

This plant is apparently not mentioned in the works of older authors. It was not known to the ancient Greeks and Romans. It was, however, used medicinally in the northern countries of Europe since very remote times. The Anglo-Saxon word fox-glove is derived from the Welsh (11th century), foxes-glew, meaning fox music in allusion to an ancient musical instrument consisting of bells hung on an arched support. In the Scandinavian idioms the plant bears the name of foxes' bells. The German name Fingerhut, meaning finger hat, hence thimble, is derived from the resemblance of the flower to a thimble. Still more poetical is the name Wald-glöcklein, meaning little forest bells, in reference to the inflorescence. In England the flowers are known as foxes' fingers, ladies' fingers and dead men's bells.

According to an old English work on medicine the early physicians of Wales and England applied this drug externally only. It was not until 1775 when the English physician Withering began to use it internally, especially in the treatment of hydrophobia. Modern physicians consider digitalis one of the most important medicinal plants. It is a very powerful, hence very poisonous drug, its action being due to an active principle known as digitalin. Its principal use is in the treatment of deficient heart action due to various causes but especially when due to valvular lesions. The physician must, however, observe great care in its administration, not only because of its powerful action but also because of its "cumulative action;" that is, the effect of the drug increases although only normal medicinal doses are given at regular intervals, so that fatal poisoning may result, especially if the patient should attempt to rise suddenly. The physician guards against this by gradually decreasing the dose or by discontinuing it for a time and by requiring the patient to remain in a recumbent position while under the influence of the drug.

For medicinal use the leaves from the wild-growing plants are preferred because they contain more of the active principle. The leaves are collected when about half of the flowers are expanded and, since it is a biennial, that would be during the second year. The first year leaves are, however, often used or added. Like all valuable drugs it is often adulterated, the leaves of Inula Conyza (ploughman's spikenard), Symphytum officinale (comfrey), and Verbascum Thapsus (mullein) being used for that purpose. The odor of the bruised green leaves is heavy or nauseous, while that of the dried leaves is fragrant, resembling the odor of tea. The taste is quite bitter. Formerly the roots, flowers and seeds were also used medicinally.

FRUIT BATS OF THE PHILIPPINES

THE Agricultural Department at Washington is taking precautions to prevent the importation into the United States of any of the animal pests which are found in Porto Rico, the Philippines, and the other new colonies. Among these none is more feared than the great fruit bats which abound in the Philippines. A full grown specimen of the fruit bat measures five feet from tip to tip of its wings. The fruit bats live together in immense communities and feed almost altogether on tropical and subtropical fruits. They crowd together so thickly on the trees that sometimes large branches are broken down by their weight. In Australia they have increased so rapidly that great sums of money have been spent in their destruction, one organized movement of the fruit growers of New South Wales recently resulting in the killing of 100,000 bats at a cost of 30 cents each. Another possible immigrant which is much dreaded is the mongoose, which abounds in Cuba, Porto Rico, and the other West Indian Islands. The mongoose was first brought to the islands for the purpose of destroying the rats and mice, which it did so thoroughly that it was soon forced to adapt itself to another diet. It was found that the mongoose thrived on young poultry, birds, and even young pigs and lambs, while it also consumed great quantities of pineapples, bananas, corn and other vegetable products.

MONKEYS AS GOLD FINDERS

CAPTAIN E. MOSS of the Transvaal tells the following story of the monkeys who work for him in the mines: "I have twenty-four monkeys," said he, "employed about my mines. They do the work of seven able-bodied men. In many instances they lend valuable aid where a man is useless. They gather up the small pieces of quartz that would be passed unnoticed by the workingmen, and pile them up in little heaps that can easily be gathered up in a shovel and thrown into a mill. They work just as they please, sometimes going down into the mines when they have cleared up all the débris on the outside. They live and work together without quarreling any more than men do. They are quite methodical in their habits, and go to work and finish up in the same manner as human beings would do under similar circumstances. It is very interesting to watch them at their labor, and see how carefully they look after every detail of the work they attempt. They clean up about the mines, follow the wheelbarrows and carts used in mining and pick up everything that falls off on the way." —Tit Bits.

A PLEA FOR THE TREES

ANNE WAKELY JACKSON

MUCH has been written, and more has been said, in regard to the "prevention of cruelty to children," and the "prevention of cruelty to animals;" but has anyone ever urged upon the public the prevention of cruelty to trees?

It is time someone did, for people nowadays seem to have no regard whatever for a tree's feelings, but saw and hack a limb off here or there at any season of the year the notion happens to seize them, and leave the poor thing maimed and disfigured, and perhaps pouring out its life-blood from the ugly wound.

If you are insensible to the beauty, the blessing and benignity of trees, there is no use in appealing to you. But surely you are not! Surely you can call to mind some old tree that brings up memories of the past, and appeals to you with almost human tenderness!

Then, for the sake of these old, tried, and well-beloved friends, look with compassion upon all trees, and discourage those who would spoil and disfigure them.

Have you ever thought how sad a tree must feel when it is transplanted from the forest to the city or town? How it must miss its tall and stalwart companions the shy woodland birds, and the flowers that spring up around it each year! The parting from them all is bad enough, but there is worse to come. It little dreams of the hideous and deforming "trimming" that will begin as soon as it commences to spread its tiny branches! Poor little tree! I wonder it does not die of grief and pain!

Doubtless, it sighs and sobs out its longing for the old free home, in the ears of the passing wind, though we are too dull to understand its murmuring voice.

If the wind is in a good humor, he caresses it gently, and tries to comfort it; but sometimes he is angry, and then he shakes the poor tree fiercely. But it loves him always, whether he is gentle or rough.

I suppose it is sometimes necessary to trim trees. I hear people say so. But I think a tree of beautiful and perfect shape is more desirable than the little patch of lawn that might be gained by "trimming it up."

Ought not one to consider, and carefully study the tree, as a whole, before venturing to remove any of its branches? To examine it from every point of view? Above all, if your trees must be trimmed, see about it yourself, and don't trust them to the ruthless hands of people insensible to beauty – those to whom a tree is only so much wood! And be very sure your "cause" is "justifiable" before you allow them to be touched.

Remember that the finest trees are of slow growth; and if ever you are tempted to cut down a really fine one, just stop a moment and reflect that it may take half a lifetime to replace it.

If these people who have a mania for cutting down trees could but be persuaded to plant a new one for every old one they sacrifice, what a blessing it would be to future generations!

Then as a little helpless, innocent bird,That has but one plain passage of few notes,Will sing the simple passage o'er and o'erFor all an April morning, till earWearies to hear it.– Tennyson.

The sycophant succeeds where the self-respecting man fails, yet the former is despised and the latter revered. The first is happy if he secure the favor of the great; the latter is content if he can secure that of himself. —Charles Churchill Marble.

"THAT I MAY HELP."

The depth and dream of my desire,The bitter paths wherein I stray,Thou knowest, Who hast made the fire,Thou knowest, Who hast made the clay.One stone the more swings to her placeIn that dread temple of Thy Worth,It is enough that through Thy graceI saw naught common on Thy earth.Take not that vision from my ken;O, whatsoe'er may spoil or speed,Help me to need no aid from menThat I may help such men as need.– Rudyard Kipling.

A TRAGEDY IN THREE PARTS

Part I. —The BonnetA bit of foundation as big as your hand;Bows of ribbon and lace;Wire sufficient to make them stand;A handful of roses, a velvet band —It lacks but one crowning grace.Part II. —The BirdA chirp, a twitter, a flash of wings,Four wide-open mouths in a nest;From morning till night she brings and bringsFor growing birds, they are hungry things —Aye! hungry things at the best.The crack of a rifle, a shot well sped;A crimson stain on the grass;Four hungry birds in a nest unfed —Ah! well, we will leave the rest unsaid;Some things it were better to pass.Part III. —The WearerThe lady has surely a beautiful face,She has surely a queenly air;The bonnet had flowers and ribbon and lace;But the bird had added the crowning grace —It is really a charming affair.Is the love of a bonnet supreme over all,In a lady so faultlessly fair?The Father takes heed when the sparrows fall,He hears when the starving nestlings call —Can a tender woman not care?– Anon.

STRANGE PLANTS

ONE of the most remarkable growths in the government botanical gardens is the so-called barber plant, the leaves of which are used in some parts of the East by rubbing on the face to keep the beard from growing. It is not supposed to have any effect on a beard that is already rooted, but merely to act as a preventive, boys employing it to keep the hair from getting a start on their faces. It is also employed by some Oriental people who desire to keep a part of their heads free from hair, as a matter of fashion. A curious looking tree from the Isthmus of Panama bears a round red fruit as big as an apple, which has this remarkable faculty, that its juice rubbed on tough beef or chicken makes the meat tender by the chemical power it possesses to separate the flesh fiber. One is interested to observe in the botanical green houses three kinds of plants that have real consumption of the lungs – the leaves, of course, being the lungs of a plant. The disease is manifested by the turning of the leaves from green to white, the affection gradually spreading from one spot until, when a leaf is all white, it is just about to die. Cruelly enough, as it would seem, the gardeners only try to perpetuate the disease for the sake of beauty and curiosity, all plants of those varieties that are too healthy being thrown away.

A BRIGAND BIRD

THE kea is an outlaw bird of New Zealand for each of whose bills the government offers a reward of a shilling. The kea is a gourmand. It prefers the kidney of a sheep to any other part of the beast.

Coming down out of the mountains in winter, it attacks the sheep, alighting on their backs, and tearing away the hide and flesh until it reaches the titbits which it seeks.

How the birds learned to tear away the skin to get at the flesh forms a curious story of the development of bird knowledge. The birds had been feeding on the refuse of cattle and sheep killed for human consumption. They learned to associate the idea of meat with the living animal, and now they kill the sheep for the meat without waiting for human aid or consent.

The Maoris have a legend about this bird to the effect that it used to be a strict vegetarian, building its nest on the ground. The sheep came and trampled on the nests, and the birds attacked them furiously, drawing blood.

They liked the flavor of flesh, and have ever since been eating it. The bird builds its nest in trees now, out of the reach of the sheep's hoofs.

THE BROOK

Little brook, little brook,You have such a happy look,Such a very merry manner as you swerve and curve and crook;And your ripples, one by one,Reach each other's hands and runLike laughing little children in the sun!Little brook, sing to me,Sing about a bumble-beeThat tumbled from a lily-bell and mumbled grumblinglyBecause he wet the filmOf his wings and had to swim,While the water bugs raced round and laughed at him.Little brook, sing a songOf a leaf that sailed alongDown the golden braided center of your current swift and strong,And the dragon-fly that litOn the tilting rim of it,And sailed away, and wasn't scared a bit!And sing how oft in gleeCame a truant boy like meWho loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody,Till the gurgle and refrainOf your music in his brainCaused a happiness as deep to him as pain!Little brook, laugh and leap!Do not let the dreamer weep;Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in softest sleep;And then sing soft and lowThrough his dreams of long ago,Sing back to him the rest he used to know.– Anon.

THE BLOOD-ROOT

WILLIAM KERR HIGLEY,Secretary of the Chicago Academy of SciencesThou first-born of the year's delight,Pride of the dewy glade,In vernal green and virgin white,Thy vestal robes arrayed. —Keble.

THE true lover of flowers, though he may be enraptured by those under cultivation, finds a greater satisfaction in the study and observation of those that are developed only under the influence of Nature's laws. In the field, the forest, and even in the sea there are plants not only pleasing to the eye, but that are doubly interesting because of the wonderful provision made for them to assure their survival. Plants, like animals, have their enemies, and sometimes it seems that, with thoughtful care for its own protection, a species will gradually change its habits, thus conveying a sense of danger to its descendants.

Many of the peculiarities of plants, that fit them for existence, may be readily studied by the novice in botany as he tramps the fields in search of recreation. There is nothing more delightful and charming to the botanist than to seek the reasons for the beauties in Nature and to find why plants live and exist as they do.

Many delicate plants seek the shelter and protection of the borders of the forest. They do not penetrate far within, but remain near the open, where the sunlight can reach them. The blood-root (Sanguinaria Canadensis) is of this character. Beautiful and delicate, it seems to shun the storm and wind and to retire from the gaze of man.

The blood-root belongs to the poppy family (Papaveraceæ), which includes about twenty-five genera and over two hundred species. These, though widely distributed, are chiefly found in the temperate regions of the North. To this family also belong the valuable opium-producing plant (Papaver somniferum), the Mexican or prickly poppy (Argemone Mexicana), the Dutchman's breeches (Bicuculla Cucullaria), the bleeding-heart (Bicuculla eximia) and the beautiful mountain fringe (Adlumia fungosa). A large number of the species are cultivated for ornamental purposes. The poppy is also cultivated for the commercial value of the opium it produces. All the species produce a milky or colored juice. Here, indeed, we may say that behind beauty there lurks a deadly foe, for the juice of nearly all the species has active narcotic properties. This property is a means of protection to the plant under consideration, for its acrid taste is distasteful to animals.

The red juice that exudes from all parts of the plant of the blood-root gives it both its common and its generic names, the latter, Sanguinaria, is derived from the Latin word sanguis, or blood.

This interesting plant is a native of Eastern North America, deriving its specific name from the fact that it is found in Canada. It blossoms in April or May. Usually but a single flower is borne by the naked stalk that rises from the underground stem to the height of about eight inches. The flowers are white, very rarely pinkish, about one and one-half of an inch in diameter. The number of petals varies from eight to twelve, and they fall very soon after expansion. The sepals disappear before the bud opens.

A single leaf is produced from each bud of the underground stem. It is wrapped around the flower-bud as the latter rises from the soil and does not develop to full size till after the period of blossoming is over. The necessary food material for the production of the flower was stored in the underground stem during the preceding season. Thus the green leaf is not needed early in the growth of the plant.