BIRDS AND ALL NATURE.

ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.

Vol. VI.

No. 2.

SEPTEMBER, 1899.

CONTENTS

THE POINTER.
(Canis familiaris—Sagax avicularius.)

THERE is a wide difference of opinion among naturalists as to the stock from which our dogs of the present day came. Hallock says that some have it the wolf, others the jackal or fox, while not a few claim that the wild dog of India is the source from which sprang all the varieties. He maintains, however, that it cannot be declared with any degree of certainty what the parent stock was. Certain it is that to no one animal can the paternity of these useful races be credited, as they are so widely different in form, color, and characteristics, and man could never have developed and brought together such vast differences, opposite natures and shapes, as can be seen in domestic dogs, unless the original species were in possession of the rudiments. Neither could food, climate, nor any contrivance whatever so completely alter the nature, decrease the powers of scent, render the coat short, long, or curly, lengthen or shorten the limbs, unless separate types had furnished the material.

Ancient bas-relief and monumental delineations picture the dog as distinct in its characteristics thousands of years ago as at the present day, and fossil remains have been repeatedly discovered so little resembling either the wolf, jackal, or fox, and so different in type, as to be classified with the spaniel, terrier, hound, bulldog, pointer, and pug; and as we know these to be made dogs, or in other words hybrids, the species must have been fully as numerous as at the present time.

There are numerous species of wild dogs differing from one another almost as much as our own domestic animals of to-day. Granting that the spaniel, greyhound, and terrier sprang originally from the wolf, as some argue, why not point out first why the male dogs are so dissimilar? And again, why are the wolves of different countries unlike, and which species of wolf is the true and only one? Without wishing to conflict with the opinions of those so much more learned on the subject than ourselves, we would ask, would it not be much more reasonable to suppose, without positive proof, that the origin of the domestic dog can be referred to numerous aboriginal species, crossing with the wild varieties—as we know our dogs will frequently do, including the wolf, jackal, and the fox, if we like, climate assisting, and man aiding by judicious intermixing and breeding—until the present high standard of this useful animal has been reached?

It is noticeable that we have in America far more well-bred setters than pointers, and greater attention seems to have been paid in the last few years in procuring the former blood than the latter. This arises from the fact that the setter is the greater favorite of the two, and justly the choice of the sportsman when he desires a dog that will unflinchingly stand the rough-and-tumble nature of our shooting. Of the two, the point of the shorter-haired animal is far the more marked when on game, and the training once received by him is always retained, and on each returning season he enters the field to be depended upon, while the setter oftener has to be partially rebroken each year; and if not owned by a sportsman who shoots continually, becomes headstrong and unreliable.

"For the person whose business will not allow him to take his gun in hand but two or three times in the autumn," says an authority, "we advise by all means that his dog should be the pointer; but for the one who takes advantage of the open season for different game from its beginning to its close, we recommend the setter as best able to bear continued work in all descriptions of cover."

The short hair of the pointer enables him to do work on the prairies while "chicken" shooting where water is seldom found, and which he can do without for a long time; but in New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland, and in countries where the game invariably takes to the briery thickets on being started, the pointer is at a disadvantage, as it refuses to enter them.

The pointer originally is a cross of the Spanish dog with the greyhound, or foxhound, by which the delicacy of the nerves of the nose, to some extent, is diminished, and the body rendered more light and elegant. No dog has a higher step, sense of smell, or shows greater intelligence or docility. The principal reason that he becomes rigid, or points, by the scent of game, is from the extraordinary condition of his nervous system, acquired centuries ago and handed down by his ancestors. According to Hallock, a thoroughly broken pair of high-bred pointers are so obedient to the voice and gesture of their master and so well trained to act with each other, that a wave of the hand will separate them, one going to the right and the other to the left, so that they hunt the entire ground, crossing each other regularly in front of the sportsman as he walks forward. There is one matter that is generally overlooked in ranging with the pointer. If in early life you have taught him to retrieve, and a case occurs in the field where he has to cross a stream, as the dog returns with the bird, never tell him "down charge." His coat is so thin and his organization so delicate that he is sure to catch cold; therefore, by all means, allow him to run around a little.

Points for the show bench, as given by the Fancier's Gazette, are:

Head should be moderately long, narrowing from the skull; the skull not too prominent above the eyes, as this gives a heavy appearance; rather deep in the lip, but not any flaw, or very slight; nostrils open, with level jaw; eyes moderately bold; ears thin, set in to the head, just where the skull begins to recede at the sides of the head, hanging flat on the cheek; throwing the ears back so as to show the insides has a bad appearance, and too often indicates a cross; neck medium in proportion to head, and body rather inclined to be long, but not much so, thickening from the head to the set-in of the shoulders; no looseness of the throat skin; shoulders narrow at the meeting of the blade bones, with a great amount of muscle, long in the blades, set slanting, with arm of the leg strong and coming away straight, and elbow neither out nor in; the legs not great, heavy boned, but with a great amount of muscle; leg pressed straight to the foot, well-rounded, and symmetrical, with foot well rounded (this is the forelegs and feet); chest moderately deep, not over wide, but sufficiently wide and deep to give plenty of breathing-room; back level, wide in loins, deeply ribbed and with ribs carried well back; hips wide and full of muscle, not straight in the hock, but moderately bent; stifles full and well developed; the stern nearly straight, going off tapering to the point, set-in level with the back, carried straight, not above the level of back; symmetry and general appearance racy, and much beauty of form appears to the eye of a real pointer breeder and fancier. The weights considered best for different purposes are from fifty pounds to about sixty-five pounds. Coat short and glossy, but a deal here depends on condition.

POINTS IN JUDGING.

Color and Coat.—The coat ought to be very short and soft, and fine, and the skin thin and flexible. Most people in England prefer the lemon-and-white to liver-and-white, or black-and-white.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF BIRD STUDY.

IT is of advantage to know why a given occupation is profitable, why it is attractive or otherwise, to what sort of minds it is best adapted, and how it should be conducted to yield the best returns.

Other things being equal, the mind acts most healthfully on what is most pleasing. Children are attracted most by things having life, character, color, and rarity. Whatever has life appeals directly to the young mind, especially where the various stages of life are apparent. Birth, infancy, the family relation, society, paternity, sickness, death, joy, sadness, homes, building of nests, eggs, incubation, flying, singing, fighting, foraging, searching covert places, digging, boring, hammering, wading, swimming, catching, devouring, sentry duty, migration, gregariousness, dress, differences in appearance of sexes and ages, moulting, mimicking, special equipment for occupations, anatomy, physiology, hygiene, usefulness to man, assistance in agriculture and arboriculture, destructiveness to noxious life, swiftness, deliberation, expertness, stupidity, instincts for remarkable performances, lack of judgment in certain lines, loquacity, vivacity, sympathy and mutual helpfulness, resemblances to humanity and differences, and apparent moral sensibility, are among the leading features of birds in general which make them attractive to the youthful mind.

Where any of these subjects may be utilized in the ordinary instruction of children the results are more permanent and direct than where the same sort of instruction has been attempted with material that appeals less strenuously to the soul of the learner. That which arouses the most intense activity makes the most lasting impression. Even where the impression is a painful one the result endures; as in old England the memory of landmarks was impressed upon young boys by showing and flogging the boys at once. The unreasoning pain and the sight of the landmark remained forever associated. Modern research has found that pleasant sensation opens the mind and that attention is easily concentrated where inclination also leads. Whatever is discovered by the pupil while thoroughly aroused is of most lasting value. The ideas which school men have for centuries been trying to beat into the minds of children by senseless and dull repetition have been found to be easy of acquisition and in many instances matters almost of intuition if they may first be brought into the consciousness in a natural manner.

The instructor who has not the time nor the tact and invention needed to open the minds of his pupils first and then arrange matters so that self-directed activity will follow, will have a great deal of hard work before him if he hopes to compete with those who have found the secret of the mind's growth and act upon it intelligently. Such teaching cannot produce the results which are now being acquired in our best schools.

A whole system of education could be arranged with bird life as material for arousing and fixing the interest of the learner. But this is not our purpose. A whole system should take in all of the universe that is capable of interesting the learner. Our purpose is to take the most intensely absorbing field and show how it may be tilled. Birds are used because so much more and better activity is to be secured by using them as the material for school work than from any other.

Why birds are so commanding to the growing mind will become clear to one who will patiently follow the thought in the remainder of this article. In avoiding technical terms the statement has been weakened, but it is believed that those who would enjoy the reading better if the terms were technical and closely accurate do not need to have the matter stated to them at all. Hence the statement is made in the terms of common speech with the object in mind of giving the reasons to those not much accustomed to the terms used by writers on psychological topics.

The mind is somewhat like the eye. It takes in whatever is before it. It is never concentrated upon one object alone, but has to occupy itself to some extent with the surroundings of the object. It is impossible to fix the mind, or the attention, exclusively upon one thing. We frequently ask our pupils to do this, but it is impossible. The mind at any one instant resembles the surface of a wave of water, part of what it carries is low, another part higher, and some other things are highest. But few things can be at or near the crest at once. Many things are around the base. As with the eye a few objects are at or near the focus, many things are where they are sensed but are not in the supreme position. And as the wave of water runs along its course so the mind moves forward. It will either run directly away from the subject or it will turn the subject over and carry it along in continually changing aspects. The mind cannot stand still. It cannot keep anything more than an instant except by turning the thing about and perceiving it in relation to other things. We still consider we have the thing in mind after we have ceased to think of it as a whole and pass on to thinking of its relations to other things.

The mind differs from the wave of water in that it is not extensive to the right and left of its course. It is like a hill with a small crest that can hold but few objects upon its surface. When we say we are thinking profoundly upon a subject we mean that that subject and its connections are continuously upon the crest of the wave, and that unrelated things are either not in the mind at all or they are at least not at the focus.

The things that are in the mind but not focal are continually striving, as if they were alive and very active to get at the focal point. Just as the eye is continually tempted to wander, making one object after another its focal one, so the mind is bound to travel unless it has been trained to turn from the thing to its relations and related things and from them back to the main thing again. That is the only way to pay attention. You cannot pay attention to one physical thing for more than an instant. But you can hold a chain of connected things running through the mind, but the things are continually modified by their relations and the absolutely same thing is never again in the mind. When it appears again it is clothed upon or enlarged or modified by what the mind has discovered about it and its relations or has invented and attached to it.

It is easy to repeat the multiplication table without having it focal in the mind. You may read half a page of print with your focal point upon some other matter. You may pray and find in your mind at the same moment a wicked thought. Worse than this, you may continue your prayer and the wicked thought may become focal. Not by your desire that it shall be so, but by the power of marginal things in the mind which makes them focal without your apparent anticipation or desire to have them at the focus. You cannot say that the multiplication table is not in the mind when you are repeating it and wondering who will be at the party this evening. It is there but not focal. When you are reading the words of the page the words may be in your mind, but the focal point may be occupied at the time by wondering how the baby learned to climb so young and guessing whether you ought to catch her or run the risk of her falling, and if she should fall how much she would be injured, what the people would think of you for sitting there and letting her fall, why babies have to fall so much, whether they really learn much about slipping or center of gravity by falls so early in life, and a thousand other items in child study. But the reading is in your mind much as it used to be when your teacher said to you, "Now I want to see you keep your eyes on your book for fifteen minutes without looking off."

The mind grows at first by use of the senses. The sight is the main instrument of youthful mental growth. Things which can be seen or visually remembered are most appropriate subjects for juvenile thinking. You cannot well converse with children upon the pleasures of hope, the uses of adversity, nor any of the forms of mind stuff that are called abstractions. True, they like to play upon words and commit them to memory so as to reproduce them. But this is not because of the real meaning of the words committed but because the ear is pleased. Children enjoy talking like adults as well as looking and acting like them in their unstudied masquerades.

The proper material for juvenile mind action is what may be acquired by the senses. All those subjects in the second paragraph of this article are mainly appeals to the senses. These readily become focal in any mind, but chiefly in the mind that has never been trained away from the senses by abstract thinking. No child can pay attention to anything else when a bird flies in at the window. The bird and its act, its motive, its fellows, its appearance, its nest, its young, and a thousand other notions rush to the focus of his mind, no matter how diligently he may strive to keep them down. Instead of repressing in the mind what is naturally inclined to become focal, education is now finding out the value of permitting these things to come naturally into the mind and so operating upon them that mental growth ensues with little or no friction, and without asking the learner to flagellate himself continually that he may have knowledge to use in that distant and half-believed-in time when he shall be a man.

Everyone knows that children are delighted with colored pictures. But there is an intensity of delight aroused by a certain class of colored pictures which has been a matter of surprise to most educators and parents since color photography has become practical for illustration. Infants in arms, who have never seen any birds except a few of the size of a canary, are so fascinated with the bird charts that psychologists have found a new problem presented.

If we look upon the child as he views an accurate colored picture we note that he is affected just the same as if the bird itself were before him. His imagination carries him beyond the picture to the thing itself, even in the instances where he has never seen the bird nor any like it. As to his mental state, we can say that the bird rises directly to the focal point in his mind, and it is not the bird picture that holds him but the bird itself. For teaching purposes this is peculiarly fortunate, for the child is ready to grasp any suggestion from the teacher in order to enjoy the bird more at length. All the subjects of school work will ordinarily appeal to the child, rising readily into the focus of attention where the bird, its relations, its acts, and things pertaining to it, become the material for school activity.

This liveliness and readiness are not so manifest where mounted specimens are used, because the element of death becomes focal at the first instant, is displaced with difficulty, and continually recurs with sickening frequency during the exercise. The acts associated with the capture and death of the bird are too dangerously strong to be avoided. They should by no means be suggested.

Mr. Aima B. Morton puts it in this way: Why do children like colored pictures to abstraction? Because the child is father to the man. And what do we love more than tone and color, music and pictures? It is an inherent quality, the soul of life leading us back to nature, the All-mother. We have hung up pictures and maps of a poor quality before the class for years, and then lectured away at them ad infinitum and ad nauseam, thinking, because we understood, that the child also understood. But this is not so. We nearly always suppose too much, especially in lower grades.

Diesterweg said: "If you speak about a calf in the school room, bring it in and show it." This principle is still true to-day. All things in nature, as far as possible, should be present in propria persona. Where not possible, we must try to approach that ideal by bringing the very best, and natural pictures of the objects, that is colored ones, and the vivid imagination of the child does the rest. It does not see the picture, the object itself is there, nature has entered the school room.

So we learn that bird study, aided by color photographs, is psychologically the most valuable means to the attainment of school ends. It is attractive to the young mind because it furnishes material which rises most readily to the focal point in the mind. It relieves teacher and pupil of the strain attendant upon work where it is difficult to get the class to "pay attention." It is chiefly adapted to growing minds. No matter how strongly the matured mind with its powers of abstract thinking may be drawn toward it, it is yet more attractive to the mind that has not been trained to any sort of restraint. To get the best results, bird study should not be conducted with a view to storing the child's mind with scientific knowledge, nor for the sole purpose of employing it effectively to teach language and other branches of school effort. But it should be pursued as a mode of activity which develops mind, acknowledging the fortunate circumstance that school learning and bird knowledge will both be acquired at the same time, although they are not the direct objects of the pursuit.

SHELLS AND SHELL-FISH

WHO does not love the beauty of shells? Who, when visiting the sea-shore, has not sought them with eagerness? Their beautiful colors are pleasing to the sight.

The Indians have always loved shells on account of their bright colors. No doubt they many times tried to paint their faces the same color. They used to make money from the pink or purple portions of them.

There are thousands of different kinds of shells. To get the full beauty of them we must see them in their native homes amidst the sands and stones and the roaring sea.

Mr. Emerson tells of finding the "delicate shells on the shore," and how the fresh waves seemed to add new beauty to them. He wiped away the foam and the weeds and carried them home. He could not take the foam and waves and sky and ocean's roar. He says the shells

"Had left their beauty on the shore,

With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar."

Did you ever place a large shell to your ear and listen to its roar? It sounds like the distant roar of the sea. Mr. Wordsworth says:

"I have seen

A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract

Of inland ground, applying to his ear

The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;

To which, in silence hushed, his very soul

Listened intensely; and his countenance soon

Brightened with joy, for from within were heard

Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed

Mysterious union with its native sea."

We can not all go to the sea to study its wonders. So we will have to do the best we can studying pictures of shells, making collections of as many kinds as possible and studying about the animals that have lived in them.

Each shell, it matters not how small, has been the home of a living creature. Each has an interesting story for us if we will but read it.

Shell-fish have no bones as other fish have. They, therefore, need a solid house in which to live. The shells not only serve them for houses, but for bones to keep their pliable bodies in shape, for ships in which to sail, and for beautiful dresses, starched and shining.

If these soft animals had no solid shells they would immediately be eaten by other animals of the sea or dashed to death by the waves.

But it is not alone the beauty of shells that renders them interesting. Conchology, which treats of shells, is as a science at least as old as the days of Aristotle, the study of which was resumed, along with that of the other sciences, when the dark ages had passed away. Since the beginning of the nineteenth century it has given place to a more extended and comprehensive study of molluscous animals, the presence or absence of a shell having been found not to constitute one of the most important characteristics which distinguish different classes of mollusks. Conchology was only the form of the science suited to a time when the shell was more considered than its inhabitant. Yet it is claimed that the relations between shells and the mollusks which possess them are such that the labors of the merest conchologists have contributed to the real advancement of science, both zoölogical and geological.

Shells consist of carbonate of lime secreted by the animal and intermixed with some animal matter. In the species in which it is least developed it appears as a hollow plate, which serves as a protection to the breathing organ and heart. The protuberances and ridges seen on many univalve and bivalve shells appear in the course of their growth by the margin of the mantle, turning out at a considerable angle and thus building up a plate in this position for a certain distance. This growth then ceases, the mantle retracts, or may be regarded as changing itself into the shelly layers, and thus it extends in the original direction, carrying out the shell with it, till it turns again to form a second plate or ridge; and so the process goes on. Many mollusks possess the power of altering and enlarging their shells to adapt them to their growth, which they appear to do as if by an intelligent will.

The distinguishing marks of shells are the number of parts of which they are composed, and their peculiar forms and prominences. Some consist of a single piece, some of two pieces, and some of three. The textures of shells are described as pearl, fibrous, horny, and some are glassy and translucent. The pearly shells are in alternate layers of very thin albuminous membrane and carbonate of lime, which by their minute undulations give the pearly lustre. This structure is the least permanent and in some geological formations the shells that were provided with it have disappeared, leaving only their casts, while those of fibrous texture are preserved unchanged. Colors, however beautifully exhibited upon the surface of shells, are to them no more distinctive features than to the minerals and flowers upon which they are also prominently displayed. They are most richly developed upon those surfaces most exposed to the light and in the class of shells found in shallow waters.

The whole number of species of molluscous animals known is estimated at about twelve thousand recent and fifteen thousand fossil. Many of the living species furnish wholesome food, and some are esteemed as delicacies. The marine shells, by the immense numbers in which they are produced, perform an important office in abstracting from the sea-water its excess of calcareous matter and thus aid in maintaining its purity.

As objects of beauty, shells have always been admired and frequently been used as ornaments. Some varieties were used by the Athenians as ballots, with the name upon them of the person to be banished, whence the term ostracism. Some shells have served the purpose of coin among rude nations. Others are noted for the pearls which are secreted between their valves around some foreign substances. Mother-of-pearl is the polished shell of nacreous. Rare species of shells are highly prized by collectors, and single specimens have been sold for large sums. The South Sea Islanders use the conch as an instrument of music, blowing into the shell through the broken top, thereby producing a loud and mellow sound. It is a species of sea conch which is represented by the god Triton. In many rural parts of the United States conches are used in place of dinner bells or tin horns to call persons from a distance.

THE FLOWN BIRD.

R. H. STODDARD.

The maple leaves are whirled away,

The depths of the great pines are stirred;

Night settles on the sullen day

As in its nest the mountain bird.

My wandering feet go up and down,

And back and forth, from town to town,

Through the lone woods and by the sea,

To find the bird that fled from me.

I followed, and I follow yet,

I have forgotten to forget.

My heart goes back, but I go on,

Through summer heat and winter snow;

Poor heart, we are no longer one,

We are divided by our woe.

Go to the nest I built, and call,

She may be hiding after all,

The empty nest, if that remains,

And leave me in the long, long rains.

My sleeves with tears are always wet,

I have forgotten to forget.

Men know my story, but not me

For such fidelity, they say,

Exists not—such a man as he

Exists not in the world to-day.

If his light bird has flown the nest,

She is no worse than all the rest;

Constant they are not, only good

To bill and coo, and hatch the brood.

He has but one thing to regret,

He has forgotten to forget.

All day I see the ravens fly,

I hear the sea-birds scream all night;

The moon goes up and down the sky,

And the sun comes in ghostly light.

Leaves whirl, white flakes about me blow—

Are they spring blossoms or the snow?

Only my hair! Good-bye, my heart,

The time has come for us to part.

Be still, you will be happy yet,

For death remembers to forget!

FOREST PARK, SPRINGFIELD, MASS.

THIS is one of the most beautiful public parks in the United States. In his annual report, which is a handsomely printed and illustrated volume, President Marsh says that while there are few changes during the year in the make-up of the big family of birds and animals that compose the zoölogical and ornithological department, it continues to be an ever-increasing source of pleasure to the thousands of persons who visit the park for recreation, and no part of the park is more thoroughly appreciated. The departure from the usual plan of park menageries in arranging an exhibit of domestic animals has been a marked success, giving to the park visitors a chance to become acquainted with the more common breeds of the higher types of our domestic animals, an education in which the average city resident is sadly lacking. The exhibit of thoroughbred cows has been especially a source of pleasure and instruction. The collection comprises seven thoroughbred cattle, no two of the same breed, and children and grown people alike take delight in visiting the barns to see these splendid animals, finding it as instructive as it is entertaining.

This is a departure that might be favorably considered by other boards of park commissioners. All of the domestic animals of superior breed might be annually exhibited with great advantage to the general public.

The ornithological and zoölogical exhibits of Forest Park are hardly surpassed anywhere, containing as they do one hundred and eighty-nine specimens of animals and three hundred and ninety-seven of birds.

MARBLES

MR. GEO. D. MERRILL,
Head Curator, Department of Geology, U. S. National Museum.

THE origin of the name marble, like that of many another name now in common use, is somewhat obscure. By many authorities the word is supposed to have been somehow connected with the Greek word meaning "sparkle." However this may be, a sparkling appearance is by no means universal among marbles, but is limited to those which, like the white statuary or other crystalline varieties, have a granular structure, the sparkling itself being due to the reflection of light from the smooth surfaces of the constituent minerals. As used to-day, the word marble is made to include any lime rock of such color and hardness as to make it desirable for ornamental, or even the higher grades of building work. Stones of precisely the same composition and origin, which are not of the desired color, are classed simply as limestones.

Accepting the definition given above, it follows, then, that with a few exceptions, to be noted later, marbles are but hardened and otherwise changed beds of marine sands and muds, containing, it may be, still recognizable fragments of the corals and mollusks of which they were originally composed. But inasmuch as these muds were rarely of pure carbonate of lime, but were contaminated with matter from seaweeds and animal remains, or by iron compounds, so the resultant marble is not always white, but, if containing matter from plants or animals, gray, blue gray, or even black; and if containing iron, buff, pink, or red. If the change in form of the original muds was just sufficient to produce crystallization, we may have a marble full of fossil remains which may be of a white or pink color, standing out in fine contrast with the darker ground. If, on the other hand, the change was complete, we may have a marble of small granules, pure white in color, and of a texture like loaf sugar, such as to render it suitable for statuary purposes.

At one early period of the geological history of the North American continent, all that portion now occupied by the Appalachian mountain system was sea bottom, and on it was being deposited not merely sediments washed down from the land, but, in favorable localities, deposits of lime, sand, and mud. This deposit went on, on a gradually sinking floor, for long ages, until the lowermost beds were buried under thousands of feet of the later formed materials. Then began the slow uplifting of the sea-bottom in the form of long, parallel folds to form the mountain ranges. During this uplifting the lime sediments, which are the only ones we need consider here, were changed to marbles, and have since been exposed and made available to the quarriers through the wearing-down action of rain and running streams. So, then, a quarry is but an excavation in the hardened mud formed on the bottom of a very ancient sea.

In the Vermont marble region the beds are highly inclined and of varying colors. From the same quarry there may be produced pure white, gray, blue-gray, and greenish varieties, often variously veined and blotched owing to the collection of their different impurities along certain lines. Some of these quarries have been worked a depth of two hundred feet and more.

Not all marble beds are upturned at this steep angle, however, nor have they been worked so deeply. In Georgia, the quarries are often in hillsides, extending scarcely at all, if any, below the surface of the ground. Where opened in the valley bottoms they have the form of huge rectangular pits, with perpendicular walls. In Tennessee, many of the sediments were so slightly changed that the fossil remains are still easily recognized, and the stone is of a pink or chocolate red color, owing to the abundance of iron.

The marbles are quarried mainly by channeling machines, which cut out the stone in blocks of any desired size, or at least in sizes such as the nature of the beds will allow. Blasting is never resorted to in a properly managed quarry, since the shock of the explosion is likely to develop flaws in so tender a material. When freed from the quarry bed and brought to the surface the stone is sawn into the desired shapes by means of "reciprocating" blades of soft iron, the cutting material being sand, washed under the blades by small jets of water.

The use to which any particular marble is put is governed largely by its price and color, though texture or grain often are taken into consideration. The coarsely crystalline white and white clouded marbles of southern New York, Maryland, and Georgia, are used almost wholly for building purposes; the pink and variegated marbles of Tennessee for interiors and for furniture; while the white and blue-grays of Vermont find a large market for interiors, cemetery work, tiling, and, to a much smaller extent, for building.

It was stated before that not all our marbles were changed (metamorphosed) marine sediments. The exceptions are (1) the onyx marbles, which, though composed of carbonate of lime, like the last, are deposited from solution, and (2) the so-called verdantique marbles, which are mainly altered eruptive rocks. These last differ widely from those we have been describing, being of a prevailing green color, though often variegated with white or red. They are, in fact, not to be classed with the lime rocks at all. The names verdantique, verte antique, and verde antique are but varying forms of the same words, indicating a green antique marble. The term antique has been applied simply because stones of this type were used by the ancients, and particularly by the Romans.

The so-called onyx marbles are, as noted above, spring deposits, differing from ordinary lime deposits only in color and degree of compactness. The name has also been made to include the stalagmites and stalactites in caves, such as were used by the ancient Egyptians in the construction of alabastrons, amphoræ, funeral urns, and various household utensils. The material is translucent and often beautifully clouded and veined in amber, green, yellow, and red colors. Owing to its mode of origin it shows a beautiful wavy banding, or grain, like the lines of growth in the trunk of a tree when cut across the bedding. This fact, together with its translucency, has been the cause of the wrong use for it of the name onyx, which properly belongs to a banded variety of agate. Equally wrong and misleading is the name "oriental alabaster," which is commonly applied to the Egyptian variety, the true alabaster being a variety of gypsum.

The larger part of our onyx marbles comes to-day from Mexico, though there are equally good materials of this type in Arizona and California.

The foreign supplies come in part from Egypt. Their use is almost wholly for interior decoration, as wainscotings, and the like, and for tops to small stands, bases for lamps, and so forth. These are by far the most expensive of all the stones to which the name marble is properly applied.

Some of the most noted of our foreign marbles are those of Carrara, Italy, which are ancient sediments thought to have been changed at the time of the uplifting which formed the Apennines. They are of white and blue-gray colors, sometimes beautifully veined. A beautiful, mellow yellow to drab variegated variety, very close in texture and almost waxy in appearance, is found near Siena, and is known as Siena marble. It is a great favorite for interior decorative work, as may be seen to advantage in the vestibule of the new public library building in Boston, and the rotunda of the National Library building at Washington.

Other marbles, which at the present time are great favorites with the architects, are the so-called Numidian marbles, from Algeria. These are of yellow, pink, and red color, and often beautifully mottled. Their textures are so close that they take a surface and polish almost like enamel. Since their first hardening these beds have been shattered like so much glass into countless angular fragments, and then the whole mass, with scarcely any disturbance, once more cemented into firm rock. The result is such that when large blocks are sawn into slabs, and the slabs then polished and spread out, the same series of veins, of angular blocks and streaks of color, may be traced from slab to slab, even repeating themselves with only slight changes throughout the entire series.—Nature and Art.

THE WHIPPOORWILL.

MRS. MARY STRATNER.

A VALUED pet of ours is the whippoorwill or Antrostomus vociferus. When most of the other songsters have tucked their heads under their wings our whippoorwill wakes up to the business of the night.

First, he darts about catching insects and moths for his babies' breakfast—for this is their breakfast time—or if his babies are not hatched he takes the insects to the faithful mother-bird on the nest. After this is done he thinks his business cares are over, and he feels free to enjoy himself.

Our especial whippoorwill always selects the same spot, year after year, just about ten yards from our front door, in a clear white space on the shell-walk, and there, squatted on the ground and facing us as we sit on the piazza in the moonlight, he vociferously demands that we "whip poor Will." This demand he keeps up for a minute or two. Finding that we do not intend to heed his request, as our sturdy six-year-old Will objects, he commences a low muttering kind of grumbling.

Suddenly he has a new idea and he now orders us to "Chuck Will's widow! Chuck Will's widow!" but this order, too, goes unheeded, as our Will has no widow, and if he had why should we chuck her?

Now he does some more grumbling and finally flies away. We had almost forgotten him, when back he comes and squats in the same place. First he gives a low "Chuck, chuck;" then cries out shrilly, "You free Wheeler! You free Wheeler!" We know of no Wheeler who needs freeing, so again we cannot comply with his wishes.

Then, as if disgusted with our unresponsiveness, he flies up in a near-by orange tree where he laments somewhat like an Irishman: "O whirr-r, whirro! O whirr-r, whirro!"

He keeps this up so long that it causes some sleepy boy to say: "I wish that old bull-bat would be still." And sometimes the boy feels tempted to get up and drive him away, but he remembers in time that this feathered friend rids us of many obnoxious insects. For this reason the southern whippoorwill, or bull-bat, is protected by law in many of the states.

We know where our whippoorwill nests every year in May, and we often pay the mother-bird a visit in order to get a peep at her brown speckled eggs, and later at her two brown babies; but we never bother them, contenting ourselves with taking their picture with a kodak.

This last is very difficult to do, for mamma whippoorwill always selects a dense, shady part of the woods for her motherly duties. The nest is flat on the ground, generally under a palmetto leaf, which keeps off the rain. It is composed of dry leaves which seem to have been just scratched together, and is not noticeable unless the bird is there. Even then, the brown color of the bird blends with that of the ground and leaves, so that it takes sharp eyes to detect her.

When the young birds first leave the nest they sprawl about in a comical manner. When in repose they squat flat on the ground, with wings spread out to the fullest extent, and they keep up a rolling motion with their bodies from side to side, for all the world as if they wanted to roll over, but were prevented from doing so by the position of their large wings.

TWILIGHT BIRDS.

COLE YOUNG RICE.

Swallow, I follow

Thy skimming

Over the sunset skies—

Follow till joy is dimming

To sadness in my eyes.

And hollow seems now thy twittering

High up where the bittering

Night-blown winds arise.

Throstle, the wassail

Thou drinkest

Daily of chalice buds—

Wassail in which thou linkest

Thy notes of springtime moods—

Should docile thy elfish fluttering

Where twilight is uttering

Sorcery through the woods.

Plover, thou lover

Of moorlands

Drained by the surfing sea—

Lover of marshy tourlands,

What is the world to thee?

Nay rover, wing on unquerying

O'er mallows ne'er wearying

Over the pebbly sands!

But sparrow, the care o'

Thy nesting

Pierces thy vesper song—

Care o' the young thy breasting

Shall warm through the blue night long—

Till, an arrow, seems thy dittying,

Of pain to the pitying

Heart that knows earth's wrong.

AWESOME TREES.

WE made a side trip to the big trees of the Mariposa group, which are about one hour's ride from the hotel, says a correspondent of the Pittsburg Dispatch. If the smallest of these trees could be planted anywhere in Pennsylvania the railroads would run excursion trains to it and make money. The trees in this grove are so large that it takes a good while to fully appreciate the facts about the size of the biggest of them. The "Grizzly Giant" is thirty-four feet through at the base and over 400 feet high. This tree would overtop the spires on the Pittsburg cathedral by over 100 feet. The trunk of this tree is 100 feet clear to the first limb, which is twenty feet in circumference. Many other trees here are very nearly as large as this one, and there are 400 in the grove. Through several tunnels have been cut and a four-horse stage can go through these tunnels on the run and never graze a hub. You get an approach to an adequate idea of their size by walking off 100 yards or so while the stage is standing at the foot of a tree and glancing from top to bottom, keeping the stage in mind as a means of comparison. The stage and the horses look like the little tin outfit that Santa Claus brought you when you were a good little boy.

These trees are no longer to be called the largest in the world, however. A species of eucalyptus has been found in Australia as large or larger. Emerson warns us against the use of the superlative, but when you are in this region of the globe you can't get along without a liberal use of it. He himself says of Yosemite: "It is the only spot I have ever found that came up to the brag." And as I stood in the big tree grove I remembered that some one called Emerson himself "the Sequoia of the human race."

THE EDGE OF THE WOOD.

ELLA F. MOSBY.

THE ideal place for birds, says Mr. Frank Chapman, is the edge of the wood where field and forest meet, and a stream is not far off. If an orchard be in sight, so much the better. It was my delight to spend a summer, or part of it, in just such a spot not long ago, and I made many charming discoveries here. In the first place I learned that it is by no means necessary for birds to "be of a feather" in order "to flock together." I came one bright morning on a flock of indigo buntings near the water's edge, the proud father, in exquisite blue, like finest silk, with shimmering lights of green playing over it, the mother in siena brown, and the babies, neither blue nor brown, but a sooty black, with only a solitary wee feather now and then to show the blue that was coming. What an odd, but what a pretty, happy little family!

The banks of the stream were thickly overgrown with milk-white elder, orange butterfly-weed, and a thousand feathery grasses and nodding leaf-sprays, already touched on edge with crimson or gold "thumb-marks." On the tall stalks swung the goldfinches, "a little yellow streak of laughter in the sun," and every stake or post in the fence near by made a "coigne of vantage" for the merry wrens to call and whistle. The calls of birds express, bird-fashion, every feeling that the heart of man knows—surprise, fear, joy, hope, love, hate, and sorrow. If we could only contrive to think bird-thoughts, as perhaps an Audubon may have done, or a Wilson, we might understand these strange signals and cries, often uttered by invisible speakers from a world above ours.

I learned at this time that the quails, or Bob-Whites, have many calls instead of the one from which they are named. There is the low, sweet mother-talk to the brood, the notes of warning, the "scatter calls" of autumn from the survivors of an attack, "Where are you? Where are you?" and a sort of duet between male and female at nesting time. When she leaves the nest, she calls "Lou-is-e!" and he strikes in on the last syllable with "Bob;" she repeats, and he bursts forth "Bob White!" with emphasis. Then the clear, ringing whistles through midsummer sound up and down the meadow from one quail to another. The old farmer interprets their colloquy thus:—

"Bob White, Bob White,

Pease ripe, pease ripe?"

"Not quite, not quite."

These birds are very tame during the spring and fall, and will come into town, on the edges of the streets, and call from roof and door-step without fear, sometimes even mounting into a tree close beside a window and whistling for an hour or two.

On the contrary, it is by the edge of the wood and after the brood is reared, that tree-top birds, like tanagers and cardinals, grow most friendly and fearless. Frequently, when I raised my glasses to look at some plain brown or gray bird, the scarlet of a tanager would flash across the field, and the rose glow of the cardinals appear in the grass. The female cardinal, with her lovely fawn tints and rose linings, and her beautiful voice, equals the male in interest. She is a bird of lively emotions, and being rebuffed by a catbird one day, made the lawn ring with her aggrieved cries, while her mate sought to comfort her most tenderly. They are not graceful on the ground, but they have a stout air of proprietorship that is not unpleasing. Both of our tanagers, the summer and scarlet, the cardinals, and the brilliant orioles, live together very peaceably, nor have I seen any sign of envy, malice, or spite among them. I suppose each one of us has his own Arcadia; mine—and that of these winged neighbors—assuredly lies at the boundary-line between shadowy forest and sunny meadow—at the edge of the wood!

ORES.

NICKEL is a silver-white, ductile metal, discovered by Cronstedt in 1751. It is closely allied to iron and cobalt, and is associated with many ores. Nickel, according to Deville, is more tenacious than iron. It is magnetic at ordinary temperatures. Many of the copper coins of the European continent and the United States are alloys containing various proportions of nickel. Nickel-plating has become an industry of great importance in the United States. It is used for magnetic needles, for philosophical and surgical instruments, and in watch movements.

Spathic Iron Ore.—Carbonate of iron, when found in a comparatively pure and crystallized state, is known as spathic or sparry. In its purest form it contains 48 per cent. of iron. The ore is found near Hudson, N. Y., and in Tuscarawas county, Ohio.

Copper.—Copper is one of the most anciently known metals, and its name is derived from the island of Cyprus, where it was first obtained by the Greeks. In the earlier times it does not appear to have been employed by itself, but always in admixture with other metals, principally tin, forming bronze. Great masses of native copper have been found both in North and South America.

Tin.—Tin is a beautiful silver-white metal, with a tinge of yellow. There was no tin produced in the United States in 1896. The tin-producing countries are Malacca, Banca, Bolivia, Australia, and Cornwall.

Zinc.—A metal of a brilliant white color, with a shade of blue, and appearing as if composed of plates adhering together. It is not brittle, but less malleable than copper, lead, or tin; when heated, however, it is malleable, and may be rolled into plates.

Lead.—A metal of a dull white color, with a cast of blue. It is soft and easily fusible. It is found native in small masses, but generally mineralized by sulphur and sometimes by other substances. It is the least elastic and sonorous of all the metals.

YOUNG WILD BIRDS.

THE thickness of the foliage on the trees, the high vegetation of the cultivated land, and the natural tendency of young birds to keep quiet and still, make the study of them a matter of some difficulty. In the hedgerows and by the wood-sides unfamiliar notes and calls of birds are constantly heard—the notes of young birds, which cannot be identified owing to the thickness of the foliage, and though in the large woods the cry of the young sparrow hawks and the flight of the pigeons and woodpeckers betray their presence, it is almost impossible to watch them, or to ascertain their way of procuring food. Probably most of the larger species are fed by the old birds long after they leave the nest.

Of game birds, young partridges are the most self-reliant, and young pheasants the least able to take care of themselves. The present writer has never seen young quails, but as those coveys which are hatched in England often number as many birds as the quail usually lay eggs, it may be presumed that these, the smallest of all the game birds, are not less active and precocious than the young of the partridge. The latter are almost as active upon land as young wild ducks are upon the water. They run swiftly and without hesitation, even among thick vegetation, when they are no bigger than a wren, and follow or precede their mother through mowing grass, hedgerows, or the sides of furze breaks and copses, seeking and catching insects all the while, and neither losing themselves nor betraying their whereabouts by unnecessary noise or excursions.

MANDIOCA.

ANNA R. HENDERSON.

MANDIOCA (Jatropha Manihot L.) is the principal farinaceous production of Brazil, and is largely raised in nearly all parts of South America; in fact, is the main bread food of that continent, and is therefore worthy of consideration.

It is difficult for dwellers in northern climes to conceive of a land which does not look largely to fields of wheat or corn for sustentation; yet millions inhabit such a region, and strange to say, derive their bread from a root which combines nutritious and poisonous qualities.

Mandioca is indigenous to Brazil, and the Indians, strange to say, discovered methods of separating its nutritive and detrimental qualities. The Portuguese, learning its use from them, invented mills for its preparation, and it became the bread food of a great tropical region where wheat and Indian corn do not thrive.

The plant has a fibrous stalk, three or four feet high, with a few branches and but little foliage; light-green five-fingered leaves. The roots are brown tubers, often several inches thick, and more than a foot in length.

It is planted from slices of the tubers and is of slow growth, taking eighteen months to mature. The poisonous quality is confined to the juice of the roots, and even this may be rendered innocent by boiling. It then becomes vinegar by fermentation. The leaves may be eaten by cattle. The roots must be ground soon after digging, as they become putrid in a few days.

The Indians scraped the roots to a pulp with oyster shells, and after pressing it, dried it before the fire, or cut it under water into thin slices which they dried.

I will now describe the Portuguese method of making farina from mandioca, as I witnessed it in my Brazilian home, a fazenda, plantation, near Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The mandioca, which loves a dry soil, was grown on the hillsides among the orange and the coffee trees. It was cultivated by the hoe. When its great masses of tubers were mature they were dug and hauled to the farina house, a cool room, tile-roofed, dirt-floored, and which contained mill, presses, and drying-pans. Then the merry work began. The negroes, who love to work in company, would sing, as, seated on benches or stools, they scraped the brown skin from the tubers. These were washed and fed to the mill, while the children took turns riding the mule which pulled the creaking beam that turned the mill.

The tubers are very juicy and, on being ground, make a milky white mass, which is put into soft baskets made of braided palm leaves. These baskets are placed under a heavy screw press, and the milky juice which flows from them is caught in tubs and set aside to settle. In twenty-four hours in the bottom of the tub is a deposit of starch several inches thick. This is the well-known tapioca of commerce, extensively used for puddings and other delicate foods; good also for starching clothes. The clear juice above it, a deadly poison, is drawn off through underground tiles—that no chicken or other living creature may taste it. The damp pulp in the baskets is transferred to large concave trays of brass or copper placed over a slow fire, where it is constantly stirred until entirely dry. It is now ready for use, is as coarse as corn meal, but very white, and has a pleasant flavor, resembling popcorn. It cannot be made into loaves, as much moisture would make it too glutinous to bake. It is eaten dry or mixed with beans or other vegetables at the table, or it is dampened and salted and baked on a griddle in a hoe-cake half an inch thick. In this way it is very nice and sweet. It is a favorite breakfast dish made into a clear glutinous mush called pirao (pronounced pe-rong). Brazilians are very fond of the dry farina and throw it into the mouth by a movement so dexterous that it does not powder the face.

This is the bread of Brazil. Though wheat bread is sold in the bakeshops of the cities, it is not used to any great extent in the rural regions.

There is another species of mandioca called aipin (pronounced i-peen), which cannot be converted into farinha. It matures in eight months and has no poisonous qualities. It is a staple article for the table, being baked like a potato, and its taste resembles that of a roasted chestnut.

TRAVELING BIRDS.

Cleaving the clouds with their moon-edged pinions,

High over city and vineyard and mart;

April to pilot them; May speeding after;

And each bird's compass his small red heart.

—Edwin Arnold.

RIVER valleys, coast lines, and mountain chains are the ways followed by the migrating birds; and frequent observations have determined the fact that birds travel at great heights, many as much as a mile from the earth. This may be one of the reasons why the tiny creatures have such keen sight; for from this distance they can obtain a far-reaching view of the surrounding country and distinguish landmarks readily.

If the weather is stormy or foggy, then the birds are obliged to fly much lower; and, too, it is then that the lights along the coast attract them and such countless numbers perish by being beaten against the lighthouses, many more birds being killed in the fall season of migration than in the spring, when the weather is less stormy.

They fly in vast numbers, and often on still nights they can be heard calling to each other. A good idea of their number can be obtained by the use of a telescope, which, if focused on the moon, will often show the birds on a brilliant background so that they can readily be discerned. The motion of their wings can easily be seen in this way, and the immense numbers of them better realized.

A good way to form an idea of the distance covered each year by the birds as they migrate is to take a single bird and note its journey. The bobolink makes his winter start in August, rests awhile in the marshlands and then visits the rice belt of the Southern states, doing damage directly and indirectly each year to an amount covering several millions of dollars. Then he flies over Cuba, and there his name is chambergo. Next he lingers along the coast of Yucatan, then goes on south through Central America and the island of Jamaica, in which place they call him "butter-bird," on account of his great plumpness, the result of the rice-feeding, no doubt; and from this place he makes one continuous long journey for over four hundred miles to Brazil, where he spends the winter. Here he stays until early spring, and then, if no accident has come to him, he will again brighten our months of blossoms by his chipper presence and his delightful song.

One of the most curious things observed in the fall migration of birds is in this same bobolink. By some manner of means many of these birds have gone west, some as far as Utah, to spend their summers, and when the winter is coming they, too, take their flight south, but not by the direct way through Mexico, and then to Central America, as would seem most natural, but following their hereditary instincts they come back to the Atlantic coast and journey down it, along the whole way to Florida, then across to Cuba, and on with those from New Jersey and New England until the winter resting-place is reached. This bird gives a most conclusive and interesting illustration of the permanency of bird routes and the "hereditary habit" of the winged flocks.—Bangor Commercial.

MINERALS.

HORNBLENDE.—A mineral species, placed by Dana in the augite section of the anhydrous silicates. In common use the name is limited, as it was formerly applied only to the dark crystalline minerals which are met with in long, slender prisms, either scattered in quartz, granite, etc., or generally disseminated throughout their mass. The color of the mineral is usually black or dark green, owing to the presence of much iron. It appears to have been produced under conditions of fusion and cooling which cannot be imitated in the laboratory, the crystals obtained artificially being of augite type.

Malachite.—One of the native carbonates of copper. It is sometimes crystallized, but more often occurs in concretionary masses of various shades of green, which are generally banded or arranged in such a manner that the mineral, which takes a fine polish, is much prized as an ornamental stone. Great quantities of it are found in the Siberian mines, and many beautiful objects are manufactured from it.

Quartz.—The most abundant of all minerals, existing as a constituent of many rocks, composing of itself the rock known as quartzite or quartz rock and some of the sandstones and pure sand, forming the chief portion of most mineral veins. In composition it is silica, and when uncontaminated with any foreign intermixture it appears in clear, transparent crystals like glass or ice. Pure quartz is largely employed in the manufacture of glass and is commonly obtained for this purpose in the form of sand. Quartz veins with few exceptions form the gangues in which gold is found.

Tourmaline.—A name applied to a group of double silicates, composed of many other minerals. The color of tourmalines varies with their composition. The red, called rubellite, are manganese tourmaline containing lithium and manganese, with little or no iron; the violet, blue and green contain iron, and the black are either iron or magnesium-iron tourmalines. Sometimes the crystals are red at one extremity and green at the other, or green internally and red externally, or vice versa. Pink crystals are found in the island of Elba. Tourmalines are not often used in jewelry, although they form beautiful gems and bear a high price. A magnificent group of pink tourmalines, nearly a foot square, was given by the king of Burmah to Col. Sykes, while commissioner to his court. The tourmaline appears to have been brought to Europe from Ceylon by the Dutch about the end of the seventeenth century, and was exhibited as a curiosity on account of its pyro-electric properties.

Agate.—Of the quartz family, and is one of the modifications in which silica presents itself nearly in a state of purity. Agates are distinguished from the other varieties by the veins of different shades of color which traverse the stone in parallel concentric layers, often so thin as to number fifty or more to an inch. Externally the agates are rough and exhibit no appearance of their beautiful, veined structure, which is exposed on breaking them, and still more perfectly after polishing. Though the varieties of agate are mostly very common minerals in this country as well as in the old world, those localities only are of interest which have long been famous for their production and which still furnish all the agates required by commerce.

Amethyst.—So named because it was supposed by the ancient Persians that cups made of it would prevent the liquor they contained from intoxicating. The stone consists of crystallized quartz of a purple or blue violet color, probably derived from a compound of iron and soda. The color is not always diffused through it, and is less brilliant by candlelight.

Serpentine.—Serpentine differs in composition from the other marbles. It is a soft mineral of different shades of green, of waxy luster, and susceptible of a high polish. It is better adapted to ornamental work within doors than to be exposed to the action of the weather.

Sulphur.—An elementary substance belonging to the class of metalloids. It has been known from the earliest times as the product of volcanoes, and as a natural mineral deposit in clay and marl formations. It also exists in primitive rocks, as granite and mica.

ACCIDENTS TO BIRDS.

GUY STEALEY.

STRANGE accidents happen to birds as well as to people, and some of them are as unexplainable as those that fall to our lot. I remember finding a meadow lark suspended from a barbed-wire fence several years ago, dead, its throat pierced by one of the sharp barbs. The bird had apparently attempted to fly between the wires and, miscalculating the distance, had dashed against the barb.

Another curious case which came under my notice was that of a small water bird. While walking along the bank of the river flowing through our place, I discovered the little fellow dangling from a willow, his head firmly wedged in one of the forks. He had been there some time, and how he ever got caught in that fashion is a mystery.

But the strangest mishap of all I ever witnessed occurred last summer. I was picking peas in the garden when my attention was attracted by the fluttering and half choked cries of a bird a little distance from me. Hastening to the place I found a brown field bird hanging from a pea vine. Around its neck was a pea clinger, which formed a perfect noose. As nearly everyone knows, pea clingers form into all imaginable shapes. The bird was feeding under the vines and, being frightened by my approach and in trying to escape, had thrust its head through the clinger with the above result. I soon freed it and saw it fly away but little the worse for the adventure.

To the Editor of Birds and All Nature:

I find your periodical most interesting and instructive, as it brings one into closer relation with all forms of life.

Better than a knowledge of Hebrew, Greek and Latin is it to know what the birds, the trees, and flowers all say, what the winds and waves, the clouds and constellations all tell us of coming events.

There is a world of observation, thought and enjoyment for those who study nature in all her varying moods that is denied those who, having eyes see not and having ears hear not.

In looking over Birds and All Nature I have noticed with pleasure some articles from the pen of Caroline Crowninshield Bascom that have particularly pleased me. Her interpretations of what her pet cats and birds have to say, their manifestations of intelligence, and the sentiments of affection, or envy, jealousy, and malice; their obedience and their moralities under her judicious training. A woman who can train a cat to live in harmony with a bird, to see each other caressed in turn by a beloved mistress, should be on the county school board as a successful educator. For boys and girls can be more easily trained than those in the lower forms of life. I trust Miss Bascom will not try to harmonize the cat with rats and mice, lest those natural-born thieves increase to such an extent that every municipality will be compelled to have traps and police in every nook and corner, in every cellar and garret of all our private and public buildings. There is a limit, dear Miss Bascom, to peace and good will on earth.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton.
New York, July 1, 1899.

THE INFLUENCE OF PICTURES.

J. P. M'CASKEY.

IF IT is a very good thing to hang attractive pictures on the walls of the home, then it is doubly so thus to ornament the walls of the schoolroom. "In the emptiest room," says Ruskin, "the mind wanders most, for it gets restless like a bird for want of a perch, and casts about for any possible means of getting out and away. Bare walls are not a proper part of the means of education; blank plaster about and above them is not suggestive to pupils." The landscape makes a bright opening through the dead wall like a window; flowers and ferns are suggestive of the garden, the lane, the field, the woods, the purling stream; of song-birds in the air or among the branches, and blue sky overhead. Animals suggest a life with which we should be more or less familiar. The portrait speaks the man, what we know of him, suggesting trains of thought that may be most interesting and profitable.

A mother wondered why her three brave lads had all gone to sea from an inland home. She was speaking, in her loneliness, with a friend who had called upon her, and she could not suggest any reason why they should all have adopted the sea-faring life when none of their friends or relatives had been sailors. The man observed a picture of a full-rigged ship hanging above the mantel. It was perhaps the only picture in the room, at least the only one at all conspicuous. A thought struck him. "How long has that picture been hanging there?" he asked. "Oh, it has been there ever since the boys were little children." "It was that," he said, "that sent your boys away. The sea grew upon their imagination until they longed for it, and sought it, and so they are gone."

So a striking or attractive picture, in the schoolroom as in the home, may sink deep into the heart of the child, and mean far more to him than much of the work which the school program usually imposes. He may forget the name and lose all recollection of the personality of the teacher and of most of his schoolmates, but the striking picture is a picture still. That he will always remember. In our experience, as we grow older, if we are at all observant, we know more and more the value of these things—how great a factor in education they may become!

Men wonder sometimes how they can expend a modest sum of money to good purpose in giving pleasure and profit to others. Get some pictures of good faces, and flowers, and landscapes, and other proper subjects, and put them upon the walls of your nearest school-house, or of some other in which you may be interested. When you have done this for one school you may want to do it for a second, or you will suggest to some other generous heart the like gift of enduring value. What chance have boys and girls with a dead-alive teacher in a school-house whose blank walls are eloquent of poverty? Oh, the weariness of it!

Real, genuine, helpful, beautiful art is now brought within reach of the million. The arts of chromo-lithography and half-tone engraving are putting exquisite pictures, at low cost, wherever there is taste to appreciate and enjoy them. In our homes they are everywhere. Why not everywhere also upon schoolroom walls bare of these choice educational influences? To many a child good pictures come like the ministrations of the angels. We feel this, we know it; and for the years remaining to us shall do what we can to make school-life better for the pictures on the wall.

THE SEA-CHILDREN.

COLE YOUNG RICE.

"Oh, mother, I lay