Inmates of my House and Garden

The Cheese-mite has an almost transparent oval body tapering to a snout-like head. It can move with some agility upon its eight brownish-coloured legs. In sunlight this creature’s globular polished body shines as though it were made of crystal. This mite lays eggs abundantly, and also produces young alive, so this double mode of production may account for the rapid increase of the colonies in an ancient cheese.

The generic term Acarus includes a large number of species. There are those which, to the dismay of the entomologist, are found destroying his finest butterflies and moths, and reducing his cherished specimens to a little heap of dust. Some special kinds of mites prey upon figs, prunes, honeycomb, sugar, and sweetmeats of various kinds. A special mite is found in the cavities of the bones of skeletons; indeed, there seems scarcely any limit to this widely-spread family of minute depredators.

Other branches of the family are represented by the Red Spider, which is one of the plagues of our greenhouses, for, although so small as to be scarcely discernible by the naked eye, it sucks the juices of plants and often effectually prevents the healthy growth of valuable specimens.

The Plum-mite may frequently be seen in clusters upon fruit-trees, puncturing the bark and doing considerable injury to the smaller twigs.

A closely allied species is known as the Harvest-bug. This almost invisible atom burrows into the human skin and there deposits its eggs, causing excessive irritation and annoyance to the workers in corn-fields.

I will now turn from the mites to another cheese-inhabitant, Piophila casei. Few people are likely to have noticed the perfect insect, a small black fly with whitish wings margined with black; it is very inconspicuous, and we should hardly suspect its object in visiting our cheese. When cheeses are made and placed in a room to dry, before the outside rind has had time to harden, the Piophila will seek out some crevice in which to deposit its eggs. The creature is furnished with an ovipositor, which it can thrust out to a great length so as to penetrate to a considerable depth into the cracks of the cheese, and there it will lay as many as two hundred and fifty eggs. These hatch into white grubs without feet, but having two horny claw-shaped mandibles which enable them to bore into the cheese upon which they feed.

The breathing apparatus of the cheese-maggot is very remarkable, consisting of two tubes at the head and two at the tail, so the grub can breathe at either end of its body. Lest any particles of cheese should obstruct the front pair of tubes the little creature has the power of drawing over them a fold of the skin, and whilst they are thus closed it breathes through the air-tubes in the tail. A cheese inhabited by these grubs soon grows moist and rotten, because they have the power of emitting a liquid which softens and corrupts the cheese and renders it suitable for the food of the maggot.

The leaping power of these larvæ is truly surprising. Swammerdam, who seems to have carefully studied this creature, says: “I have seen one whose length did not exceed a fourth of an inch leap out of a box six inches deep, that is twenty-four times the length of its own body.” The grub cannot crawl, as it has no legs; it must therefore progress by leaps; this it achieves by erecting itself on its tail, which is furnished with several knobs or warts to enable it to keep its balance; then, bending itself into a ring, it lays hold of the skin of its tail, and, suddenly letting go with a jerk, it can, by a succession of springs, cover a surprising distance on a level surface. In considering the life-history of this despised creature I cannot but endorse the devout remark of the great naturalist I have just quoted. He says: “I can take upon me to affirm that the parts of this maggot are contrived with so much art and design that is impossible not to acknowledge them to be the work of infinite power and wisdom from which nothing is hid and to which nothing is impossible. It could not be the production of chance or rottenness, but the work of the same Omnipotent Hand which created the heavens and the earth.”

LEPISMÆ

LONG ago, I remember reading with enjoyment a little essay I met with somewhere, in which were described the various living creatures one would be likely to meet with in one’s garden, if one took a stroll at night with a lantern. Beetles would be seen crossing the path, worms moving stealthily in search of food, moths hovering over the flowers; if one were quiet and still for a little time even mice and shrews might be watched foraging about bent on their own special errands.

I have indulged in such a nocturnal garden ramble occasionally, but I think it needs younger eyes than mine now are, and perhaps exceptional weather to ensure a glimpse of nature on the prowl; at any rate, I have not been very fortunate in that way. My attention during the past year has been specially directed to house-dwelling creatures, and my rambles have been carried on indoors instead of in the garden. When I think of the life-histories of the Cork Moth, of the various Cloth Moths, of the Death-Watch, of the beetles I have found at work upon the specimens in my museum, of the Solitary bees and wasps in the crevices and angles of the outer brickwork of the house, and, finally, of the creature which I am now about to describe, I think it must be admitted that there is a field for entomological study inside as well as outside our dwellings.

Remembering that I once caught sight of some silvery fish-like insects upon the kitchen hearth, and afterwards watched a little pair of the same kind moving below a window-ledge in a bedroom, I determined to devote a little time to their investigation. I learned that they were called Lepisma saccherina, and that Linnæus formed the genus, and named it from the Greek word lepisma, a scale. The creatures are known as “The Bristle-tails proper”; the genus belongs to the order Thyasanura, which contains some extremely minute but very curious insects.

Sir John Lubbock’s researches have thrown much light upon the structure and habits of the Lepismidæ, and some of their near relations. I cannot help transcribing his description of the love-making of a couple of these atoms, known as Smerinthus luteus. Sir John says: “It is very amusing to see these little creatures coquetting together. The male, which is smaller than the female, runs round her, and they butt one another standing face to face, and moving backwards and forwards like two playful lambs. Then the female pretends to run away, and the male runs after her with a queer appearance of anger, gets in front and stands facing her again; then she turns coyly round, but he, quicker and more active, scuttles round too, and seems to whip her with his antennæ. Then for a bit they stand face to face, play with their antennæ, and seem to be all in all to one another.”

Sir John Lubbock considers the Lepismæ to be more nearly related to cockroaches than to any other form, but they do not in the least resemble those most unattractive creatures, being much smaller and of elegant shape, like slender little fishes made of silver. The body of a Lepisma consists of fourteen segments, the head being one, the thorax three, and the abdomen ten. The silvery scales which cover the body are so lightly attached, that a touch will bring them off. These scales have long been used as a test of power of microscopic lenses, the delicate markings on the scale being more or less visible according to the power of the glasses. The name Bristle-tail is given because of the seven caudal hairs which the Lepisma possesses, three of which are much longer than the rest. The Germans call these insects Borstenschwärze and Silberfischen (Bristle-tails and Silver-fishes).

Many insects seem to find wall paper an attractive diet, and the pair of Lepismæ I used to watch every night in the same place on the wall of my bedroom were evidently enjoying their evening meal, but as they lived in a dark corner and no very perceptible damage was done I did not interfere; when, however, the room was repapered I never saw these small visitants again.

I had a great wish to keep and study these singular creatures, and the only way to obtain them seemed to be by a nocturnal visit to my kitchen hearth, where I learned they were sometimes to be seen darting about in the warmth, seeking for such stray crumbs of sugar as they might find.

Happily this old house is not tenanted by cockroaches, else I should not have cared to intrude upon their domain in the witching hour of night; lepismas alone were to be seen gliding about, but how to catch them was a problem I found hard to solve. I tried various methods without success, and was about to retire quite discomfited by the exceeding swiftness of my quarry, when a bright idea occurred to me. With a sudden sweep of a small soft brush I wafted the insects on to a plate, and quickly transferred them into a glass globe. In this way I obtained nine perfect specimens, and was able to watch the beautiful little creatures, and admire their glistening bodies and agile movements.

I tried to cater for their rather bizarre diet by giving them a little sugar and cake, some wall paper and rotten wood. After a few days they lost all fear, and would come on my hand and daintily nibble a little sugar or cake offered them; they shunned the light and kept quiet through the day, coming out for active frolics in the evening.

A German naturalist says Lepismæ will gnaw holes in letter paper; in fact they seem to be omnivorous, for, like the cockroach, they will eat clothing, tapestry, and the silken trimmings of furniture. This insect seems to be found abundantly in India, for a lady has told me that her garments could not be laid aside for even a few days without swarms of these “silver fishes” gathering in the folds and creases. It shares with the Death-Watch a liking for paste, and this makes it attack the bindings of books, so that it is not an infrequent tenant of the shelves of damp, unused libraries, but from its small size I should imagine it cannot do any very serious amount of damage.

Whether my specimens will develop any interesting “habits” remains to be seen; they appear to be peaceable little folk, remaining quietly in the cracks and crevices of some rotten wood during the day, and towards evening they come forth to feed, and explore the bounds of their domain. Their legs are so short they cannot climb up the sides of the glass globe in which they live; it is therefore left open at the top, so that I am able to watch all that goes on, and may learn in time something of the life-history of Lepismæ.

POT-POURRI

“I plunge my hand among the leaves;(An alien touch but dust perceives,Nought else supposes;)For me those fragrant ruins raiseClear memory of the vanished daysWhen they were roses.”Austin Dobson.

THOSE who have large gardens, and think, as I do, that the pleasure of our possessions is doubled when we can share them with others less happily endowed, may like to have a few suggestions as to the various ways in which our floral treasures may be passed on to the poor, to invalids, to hospital patients, and to lonely workers everywhere, who may welcome a little bit of brightness coming unexpectedly to vary the monotony of their lives. I need not touch upon the sending little bunches of flowers to the sick out of our abundant stores, since the good work done by the Bible Flower Mission is widely known, and from all parts of England the welcome hampers are sent to the various depôts, and find their way to nearly all our hospitals and infirmaries.

As flowers are not to be had for distribution all the year round, I should like to draw attention to other little gifts which often take their place in cheering suffering lives during the winter months. If we were obliged to live for a few weeks in a miserable garret in one of the slums of London, I suppose we might then have some idea of the pleasure that a little bag of sweetly scented pot-pourri can give to a poor sufferer who has to pass days and nights of pain in the midst of evil smells.

It is always a great delight to me to pack up a box containing eighty or a hundred of these little bags, with their pretty lace edgings and comforting texts of Scripture, and send it to some of the kind workers in London for distribution to the sick poor.

Let us follow our small gifts in imagination, and think of the gleams of brightness they will convey. There is something in their sweetness as they bring a whiff of country roses with them that must make them welcome in many a dreary room, and, more than that, they tell of other hearts caring for these sick ones, working for them, and taking thought and pains to send them little gifts.

All these things have their cheering effect, and incline the sufferer to listen to the gospel message read by the visitor from the text attached to the scent-bag, and from that will often arise an opening for helpful conversation.

The suffering one is thus led to fell of the heavy burdens that are weighing down heart and mind, and before the visit closes it may be that those burdens will have been laid on the true Burden-bearer, a humble, broken prayer telling of the link being formed between the sinner and the all-powerful Saviour.

Viewed in this light, we see of what value these gifts may be, and surely that time is not wasted which is given to preparing in the quiet of our happy country homes such things as may help the active workers in town missions who have no time to make such things themselves.

It is a very pleasant duty on a bright day in summer to go round the garden with a capacious basket and gather the harvest of rose-leaves just ready to fall and litter the ground with their pink petals. All kinds of roses will do for the purpose, and if our days were but sunny enough the leaves might be spread out in the sunshine, and would soon become dry and crisp. Unless, however, the season is exceptionally bright, I find by experience it is best to place the rose-leaves in wide, shallow pasteboard trays before the kitchen fire, and turn them frequently until perfectly dried, when they can be stored in jars ready for use.

I must give a caution against putting the leaves either in the oven or on the rack over the kitchen range, as in either case a very useless rose stew will be the result.

Where lavender bushes are available their sweet flowers may be dried and added to the rose-leaves, and dried sprays of the lemon-scented verbena will also add an agreeable perfume.

Verbena, by the way, is a plant easily grown from slips, and these, when rooted, may be planted in a southern border, or against a wall, and if matted in winter will become small, tree-like shrubs, with woody stems, and will yield a useful supply of sweetly scented leaves for the mission pot-pourri. They are best gathered when fully matured at the end of summer. These are the chief materials required, and when the bags are to be filled I prepare the scent thus —

Taking a large hand-basin, I fill it three-parts full of rose-leaves, adding three handfuls of lavender flowers, a large cupful of coarsely-bruised cloves and allspice, half an ounce of mace (no salt of any kind), pouring over the whole about a teaspoonful of oil of lavender and another of essence of bergamot.

The dried gland of the musk deer, which can be had at most perfumers, imparts a delicious odour to the rest of the materials. This musk pod can be retained to scent relays of the leaves, as it will continue to give out a musky perfume for many months.

Sweet oranges entirely covered with cloves stuck into the rind form, when dried, a pleasant addition to one’s jar of pot-pourri. A stiletto is needed to make a small hole, and then the stalk of the clove is pressed in as far as it will go. If the orange is thus pretty thickly covered and then placed inside the fender where it will dry and harden slowly, it will so shrink that only the clove heads are seen; it may then be taken for some rare tropical fruit, and when quite dried it will last for many years. The pot-pourri can be made and perfumed in a variety of ways according to taste. I have only given some general directions which I have found to answer well.

As winter comes on it is pleasant work to prepare the little bags to hold the scent. These can be quickly made by a sewing-machine, or, as in my case, enable one to keep a poor woman constantly employed to make the thousands that I need for the purpose.

Fine spotted muslin is perhaps the prettiest material to use; any shape or size may of course be adopted, but the Bible Flower Mission requires that the bags should be about four and a half inches long by three and a half inches wide, trimmed at the open end with a narrow piece of lace about an inch wide. Special printed text cards are sold at the Bible Flower Mission Depôt, 110, Cannon Street, E.C., with a small opening in them through which the end of the bag is drawn and then tied by a little piece of bright-coloured ribbon.

I would plead with those who have the varied pleasures of gardens, woods, and fields, that they would kindly think of the utter dreariness in which thousands of our fellow-creatures live from year to year, never seeing a green leaf or bright flower, never enjoying the scent of opening buds or fragrant hayfields. Shall we not try to send some rays of sunlight into these cheerless homes, some of our bright flowers to tell of kind hearts taking thought for others less favoured than themselves? Even our dead rose-leaves will be gladly welcomed, and will last even longer than the flowers. It brings gladness to our own hearts to feel that we have been trying to cheer and uplift the weary-hearted, sorrowing, and sinful, and with our gifts let us mingle our earnest prayers that the portions chosen from God’s own Word and printed on the cards may by Him be so blessed that, like seed falling into good ground, it may sink deep into human hearts and bring forth fruit an hundredfold to His praise and glory.

A WATER BOUQUET

Young people living in the country may welcome the following hints, which will guide them to several interesting occupations for leisure hours.

WHEN flowers have been placed under water for a few hours they show a remarkable kind of beauty which can be seen in no other way. Plants, we know, are always exhaling oxygen gas from their leaves and flowers, but in our rooms and out of doors it is an invisible process. We know that this is the case from the testimony of scientists who have proved it by experiments.

We can, however, render the process visible by placing flowers under water, for we can then see the oxygen gas in the form of tiny pearls edging each leaf and petal, and streaming up in columns to the surface of the water.

I will try to describe how this effect can best be seen. Two or three well-contrasted flowers, such as a small white lily, some scarlet geranium, a few heaths, with maidenhair fern, and a little piece of arbor-vitæ, or box, to form a dark background, may be tied together, and firmly affixed by string or wire to a piece of stone.

The other articles required are a soup plate, a glass shade, and a tub full of freshly drawn spring water. The shade should be about fourteen inches high, and wide enough to take in the bouquet we have made. The tub must be sufficiently large to allow the shade to be held upright under the water.

When all is ready, place the flowers and stone in the glass shade, held horizontally, and gradually sink it under water till the shade is quite full, place the soup plate at the open end, where the stone is, and slowly raise the glass until it is upright, and then it can be lifted out and placed on a table in a window where the sun or bright light will reach it. The bubbles of oxygen will begin to form in a few hours, and the jewelled effect of the bouquet will be very curious and lovely.

It will only last two days; after that time the water becomes cloudy, and decay begins. The flowers and greenery should be perfectly dry, and the water fresh and clear, and then, with a little dexterity, the experiment cannot fail. The remarkable beauty of a water bouquet, with its empearled leaves and flowers, surprises all who see it for the first time.

The fleeting flower of the night-blowing Cereus, which opens in the evening and usually closes in ten or twelve hours, can be preserved for double that time by placing it in water under a glass shade as I have described. Any flowers may be used for the purpose, but the best effect is obtained when only a few blossoms are grouped together, and plenty of space is left around them.

ARTISTIC PITHWORK

THERE was an extremely artistic and beautiful model of the west front of Exeter Cathedral placed in one of the courts of the Great Exhibition of 1851 which attracted much notice and was universally admired. It had the effect of a fine ivory carving, every detail of the architecture being executed with such minute fidelity that it was difficult to believe that, instead of ivory, it had been formed entirely in pith, but of what description I could never find out.

Models of Indian temples are made by the natives from the pith of a plant called Taccada, and our own elder-tree yields a material with which architectural details may be exactly imitated. Since, however, these two kinds of pith are not easy of attainment, I would direct attention to a source of supply which is easily accessible to those who live in the country. I refer to the common round-stemmed rush (Juncus conglomeratus) which grows in most places on waste lands and commons.

This plant, when the outer green skin is peeled off, furnishes a delicate white pith with which really beautiful models of Irish crosses, Gothic fonts, and other small designs may be formed. It will only peel easily when freshly gathered, so it is best to prepare a supply of the material when the rush is in perfection, about July and August, and, as the pith keeps in good condition for any length of time, it can be laid aside when quite dry, and reserved till required.

The green rind comes off most readily by beginning at the thick end of the rush and stripping it off piece by piece over the thumb-nail until all is removed. This is pleasant work to do when sitting out upon some heathy common enjoying the fresh air, and a party of young people, who generally like the occupation, will soon prepare a basketful ready for artistic work on long winter evenings.

For the help of those who would like to essay some very simple modelling I will endeavour to describe how an Irish cross, for instance, can be made which will be, when finished, a really beautiful drawing-room ornament.

The materials required are very simple and easy of attainment, viz., a quarter of a hundredweight of white modelling clay8 and two or three wooden tools such as sculptors use.

One must have a good drawing of an Irish cross to copy from, and, if not easily attainable, a visit to the Crystal Palace will enable those within reach of London to make sketches of the crosses which are to be seen there near the entrance to the aquarium. It is well to place the lump of clay upon a dinner-plate for the convenience of moving the work when required.

The clay will shrink a good deal when dry, therefore it is well to make the model about a third larger than it is intended to be when finished.

We will suppose the cross is to be twelve inches in height. A sufficient amount of clay should be placed on the plate and gradually moulded with the fingers until it grows like the pattern drawing, the base, stem, and upper part, each to be of proportionate size.

It is best to form the whole thing somewhat roughly at first, taking pieces of clay off here and adding there, until we are satisfied that the proportion of each part is correct, and then the shaping can be more carefully done until a plain cross, smooth on all sides and perfectly upright, is the result. The model must be set aside to become quite dry, which will take a week or two, or perhaps less if it is kept in a warm room.

Some strong white flour paste or the Phaste-bynde paste and a small stiff brush will be needed, also a small pointed piece of wood to assist one’s fingers in placing the pith upon the model will be required for the next stage of the work.