Birds and Nature Vol. 09 No. 4 [April 1901]

DO PLANTS HAVE INSTINCT. DO PLANTS HAVE INSTINCT. Instinct has been defined as a spontaneous impulse, especially in the lower animals—that moves them, without reasoning, toward actions that are essential to their existence, preservation and development. Instinct, imbedded in their organic structure, is the guide of animal life as reason is the guide of rational life. Instinct is said to be incapable of development and progress. It is instinct that guides the wild goose in his long flight to meet the changing requirements of food and nesting. It is instinct that enables the carrier pigeon, though taken hoodwinked and by night to distant points, to wing his way unerringly homeward. Instinct leads the thrifty squirrel to stock his larder with nuts in anticipation of the period that must pass ere nuts are ripe again, and teaches him to destroy the embryo plant by biting out the germ so that his chestnuts will not sprout and thus be spoiled for food. The same wonderful power enables the bee to build her comb upon the strictest mathematical principles so as to obtain the greatest storage capacity and strength of structure with smallest consumption of wax, and then to store it with one of the most perfect and concentrated of foods. These and many other well-known cases of animal instinct will occur to the reader, but the object of this article is to mention a few phenomena of plant life, whereby they make, what we should designate in human beings, an intelligent adjustment to environment or provision for their future life and development. As autumn approaches, even before Jack Frost strikes the first rude signal for winter quarters for insect and plant, or the wintry blasts compel the trees to furl sail and scud under bare poles, the forest trees begin to prepare for unfavorable conditions by forming and securely tucking away the bud that is next year to develop into leaf and flower. Before the leaf drops off, a substantial layer of cork is made to close up the pores through which the sap had so freely flowed during the growing season. My older readers know, of course, that the green color of the leaf is due to the numerous corpuscles of chlorophyll which fill the cells. This same chlorophyll has an important mission to fulfill. These little green bodies are the only real food-making machines in nature. Upon the product of these tiny mills all animate nature depends for food. Their motive power is light, and their raw material the inorganic fluids absorbed by the roots from the soil, and their product is sugars and starches. It will be seen that chlorophyll is one of the most precious, as well as one of the rarest of substances, for while there may appear a great quantity it is superficial, never entering deeply into the substance of the plant. The trees, by a sort of instinct, shall we say, withdraw their cohorts of green-liveried workers from the front as autumn approaches and deck themselves in the more gaudy but less wholesome colors of declining life. It is after the chlorophyll is withdrawn that the layer of cork is formed. The sturdy oak usually holds his brown leaves until they are whipped off by the wind. The plants have been using light as a motive power for ages, while man, with his much-vaunted reason, is just beginning to utilize the kindred force, electricity, in arts and sciences. Man makes light draw a few pictures in sombre black and white, while nature flings broadcast landscape and life scenes in varied tints and shades. In the process of photosynthesis much more energy is received than is necessary to run the machinery, so the plant, with commendable frugality, uses it in laying on what botanists call warming-up colors. If you will notice the peach twigs the next time you take a walk, you will see that the more tender shoots and the buds are decked in rich reds and browns. That this is not for mere ornament may be practically demonstrated by wrapping the bulbs of two similar thermometers, the one with a green leaf, the other with a brown or red leaf, say of begonia or beet. Then put the two in the sunlight and you will soon find a difference of from six to ten degrees in favor of the warming-up color. Speaking of buds, have you examined the horse chestnut bud? It is prepared for the winter in the most substantial manner. The future leaf is first wrapped in a quantity of finest silky wool, then a number of tough light green cases are put on, and this is followed by compact brown scales neatly overlapping, with a complete coating of wax, so that the interior is effectively protected from the cold and moisture. The use of the warming-up colors is quite common with plants. In the far north the same plant that requires the whole long growing season to mature its seed, will crowd the whole process into a few weeks. It will suspend growth and all other processes, or run them on short time and devote itself almost entirely to producing seed, and the seed itself will have much thicker shell. I was interested last autumn in the pathetic struggle of a humble little Chenopodium album that had started life late and under unfavorable circumstances. It came up in September under the north piazza near the beaten foot path; close up to the building. I was first attracted by the fact that, though it was not over a foot high, it had bloomed and was making seed at a desperate rate, while its sisters earlier in the season reached several feet in height before blooming. But, alas! for the vanity of the poor little creature, the cold weather during the Christmas holidays came on, and the steam being shut off, the side of the building grew cold and my struggling little friend was frozen, and soon its lifeless remains were the sport and derision of the rude January winds. I pitied the poor little vagabond despite the bad record of her family. Indeed plants, like people, must suffer sometimes because of an evil ancestry. In this case I was touched by the pathos of the situation, and really hoped the pertinacious little wretch might proudly scatter her well-matured seed upon the hard-beaten path as an inspiration to the many boys that passed daily, grumbling because of the hardness of their lot. But the only moral I can now draw is the foolishness of delaying in the right start. Sometimes the supply of light-energy is so great that the little chlorophyll machines cannot use it in their legitimate work, nor does the plant use it in preparing the warming-up color. Then the disc-shaped corpuscles turn their edges instead of their flat surfaces to the light, or sometimes move deeper down into the leaf. In some cases the leaf itself turns edgewise instead of broadside to the sun. There are many plants so constituted that they cannot live from year to year in our northern climate, and they must make some provision for preserving their species, and right cunningly do they do this. At a certain period of its growth the potato, for example, puts its starch-making machinery to work on full time, and hurries the starch down below the surface of the ground, and stores it up in what we call a tuber. These tubers have stored in them a number of embryo potato plants, whose lack-luster eyes we see peeping out on all sides. When the time for growth comes, the young plant starts with a reserve-food supply sufficient to keep it growing for some time. We have all noticed, no doubt, how large a plant will grow from a potato, even in a comparatively dark cellar. We must not think that tuber-bearing vines and nut-producing trees are actuated entirely by philanthropic motives. Each nut is the young tree sent forth with his patrimony strapped to his back, ready to make a good start in the world as soon as the favorable time comes. There are many devices for spending the winter that limits of time and space will prevent me writing about. Many of them more curious than the simple examples I have cited. Plants are themselves generally unable to move from their fixed positions, so if they are to become prominent in the world they must send out their children—and many and ingenious are their devices for accomplishing this end. Most of my readers are familiar with the parachutes of the silk weed, dandelion and various members of the Compositae family. How they sail through the air. A walk through the autumn forests will make one the unconscious, perhaps unwilling, carrier of numerous Spanish needles, stick tights, burrs and seeds of various plants who have taught their children to steal rides in all sorts of provoking ways. I imagine the wicked old mother laughs as her ugly baby clings to your clothing, sure of a safe ride to a more favorable place for growing. Many plants achieve the same end in a more pleasant way. They produce fruits and berries so luscious that some bird or animal will carry it some distance for the sake of the pulp. Man himself, philanthropist as he is, when he finds that a plant has produced a luscious fruit or palatable seed, will help the distribution and growth, and bring his superior intelligence to the assistance of the plant’s slow instinct to improve its product. A book might be written upon the methods of seed dissemination. In fact, there is a very interesting book upon the subject. We will just notice briefly the marvelous adaptation of plants to their environment. In the dry plains of Arizona grows a peculiar thick-leaved, stunted, cactus-like plant, suited to withstand the drouth. In the forests of Central South America a great vine climbs to the tops of the tallest trees and there flaunts its gay colors to the breeze. In Damara Land, southwest tropical Africa, upon a small upland section, and nowhere else in the world, grows the marvelous Welwitschia mirabilis, with no real leaves, but with its two cotyledons, persistent and growing to enormous length, living a century and acquiring a great trunk, the flower-stalk growing up from the bare trunk while the two great leaves, if I may so designate them, whip about in the breezes for a century without change, except as they fray out at the ends. These three so dissimilar plants all had a common, not so remote, ancestor, but have grown so unlike in their effort to adapt themselves to their environment, that no casual observer would suspect they were akin. There is so much to say about the wonderful intelligence displayed by plants in their various activities, that a volume could not do the subject justice. We started with the question, Do plants have instinct? We end with the question, Have they? Rowland Watts. Still winter holds the frozen ground and fast the streams with ice are bound, There’s many a dreary week to come before the flowers bloom; Though everything were lost in snow yet Nature’s heart beats warm below And Spring will build her palace gay on hoary Winter’s tomb. —George Gee. DOVEKIE. (Alle alle.) ⅔ Life-size. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES. THE DOVEKIE. ( Alle alle. ) This little bird, often called the Sea Dove, belongs to the family of auks (Alcidæ). The range of the Dovekie is quite limited. While the marble murrelet, a related bird, is confined to the northern Pacific coast of North America, this little bird frequents only the “coast and islands of the north Atlantic and eastern Arctic Oceans; in North America south in winter to New Jersey.” It breeds only in the northern part of its range. It has been observed as far west as the state of Michigan, but its appearance there was, without doubt, accidental, for it prefers the wild sea coast, where the storm and waves bring to it an abundant supply of food. It is said to be a rare visitor on the coasts of the British Islands and it has been reported as common as far to the northward as Spitzbergen. In Greenland, where it is commonly found a close companion of the black-billed auk, the native Greenlanders call the Dovekie the Ice Bird, as they consider it a harbinger of ice. Though the wings of the Dovekie are small in proportion to the size of its body it flies well and rapidly. One writer states that it will move its wings almost as rapidly as will a humming-bird. It is an expert diver and while swimming or resting on the water it will frequently dip its bill into the water. On the land it is much more graceful and walks better than nearly all the other members of the family of auks. It feeds chiefly on small fish, crustacea and mollusks and will become very fat during a prolonged stormy season when the waves wash up an abundant supply of crabs and fish. The Dovekie builds a simple nest usually in the crevices of rocky cliffs bordering the sea coast. It lays one or two bluish white eggs which are about the size of the pigeon’s. Mr. Saunders in speaking of the habits of the Dovekie says: “On the approach of a vessel this bird has a peculiar way of splashing along the surface of the water, as if unable to fly, and then diving through the crest of an advancing wave; it swims rather deep and very much by the stern.” The Dovekie is sometimes called a little auk to distinguish it from the larger species of the family. The flightless great auk, which at one time was common along the north Atlantic coast, belongs to this family. No living representative of the great auk has been reported since the year 1842. Unable to protect itself by flight it was ruthlessly exterminated by the zeal of hunters and fishermen who sought it for food, for its feathers and for the oil that could be extracted from its flesh. As flying ever westward Night’s shadows swiftly glide, The sunrise at the dawning illumes the countryside. The stars in quick succession in ether melt away, Until the brightest planet is lost in glowing day. —George Gee. THE SONG SPARROW’S APPEAL. Naturalists tell us that of all creatures below man, the largest animal brain in proportion to the size of the body is found in horses and song-birds. Whatever sense beyond instinct the little creature of whom we write may have had, something, at least, told it that it could obtain help at human hands. A little sparrow the past season entered the kitchen of one of our country homes, and perched upon the window-sill in evident distress. Its feathers were ruffled, and its head ever and anon turned curiously around and up, as if looking at something out of the house and above the window. In and out it continued to hop, without intermission, regardless of all offers of food, until the shutters were closed at twilight, and various were the surmises as to the cause of its strange conduct. Through the course of the following day the same scene was enacted, without any clue appearing as to the cause of its distress. At length, on the third morning, the mute petition for aid still continuing, one of the family, bethinking herself of the bird’s curious upturning of the head, caught a new idea from it. Perhaps she might have a nest in the ivy that encircled the window, and something might be amiss with its little household. Going to the second story and looking down, the cause of the trouble was at once manifest. A thick limb of the ivy had become loosened by the wind, and fallen directly across the petitioner’s nest. It was too heavy for the bird to remove, and offered an insuperable difficulty in the way of her getting in to feed her young—now almost lifeless. The branch was quickly removed, when the mother-bird, pausing only for a brief inspection of her brood, was on the wing in search of food. Her mate soon joined her, and both were busy as quick wings, worked by hearty good will, could make them. Once only did the mother pause in her work—as if desirous to give expression to her gratitude, she reappeared upon the window-seat, and poured forth a sweet and touching song, as of thankfulness to her benefactors. She returned three successive seasons, to be noticed and fed at the same spot where her acquaintance and familiarity with man first commenced. We will add another similar incident, which is also absolutely true. The correctness is vouched for by Mr. George Babbitt, late captain on Gen. Gresham’s staff, of which he himself was a witness. During the fierce cannonading in one of the battles of the Civil War, a small bird came and perched upon the shoulder of an artilleryman—the man designated, we believe, as “No. 1,” whose duty it is to force down the charge after the ammunition is put in the gun. The piece was a “Napoleon,” which makes a very loud report, and the exact scene of this occurrence was at a place called “Nickajack.” The bird perched itself upon this man’s shoulder and could not be driven from its position by the violent motions of the gunner. When the piece was discharged, the poor little thing would run its beak and head up under the man’s hair at the back of the neck, and when the report died away would resume its place upon his shoulder. Captain Babbitt took the bird in his hand, but when released it immediately resumed its place on the shoulder of the smoke-begrimed gunner. The singular and touching scene was witnessed by a large number of officers and men. It may be a subject of curious inquiry, what instinct led this bird to thus place itself. Possibly, frightened at the violent commotion caused by the battle, and not knowing how to escape or where to go, some instinct led it to throw itself upon the gunner as a protector. But, whatever the cause, the incident was a most beautiful and pleasing one to all who witnessed it. George Bancroft Griffith. THE WITCH IN THE CREAM. A TRUE STORY. The old stone farm-house in which my grandmother lived had beneath it what I thought a very interesting cellar. The floor was plastered and whitewashed like the walls, to ensure the place from rats and other intruders, as well as to keep it cool. From the walls, flat stones projected, serving as shelves on which the butter and milk were kept. For years the milk had had a shelf to itself near the window. One summer morning, while Grandma and I were sitting on the porch waiting for breakfast, the little colored servant came to us with wide-open eyes, saying: “La, Missy, jes look at dis milk-pan!” We looked, and saw, to our disgust, that the inside of the pan was covered with sand and grime, while the milk, which usually was coated with rich, thick cream, was thin and poor. “Why, Janey,” said Grandma, “you didn’t put milk away in a pan like that, did you?” “La, no, Missy,” said Janey, “nobody wouldn’t nebber put milk away in a dirty pan.” “This is very strange,” said Grandma. “You will have to throw the milk away, Janey, and be especially careful to have the pan clean this evening.” “Yes’m,” said Janey, “I will.” The following morning, however, the milk had to be thrown away again, as the pan was in a worse condition than on the preceding morning. “I don’t understand it,” said Grandma. “It can’t be rats, nor mice, for there is no way for them to come in.” “They couldn’t climb into a tin pan eight inches high, at any rate,” I said, “and if they jumped in they would drown.” Janey shook her head knowingly and said, “It’s witches, Missy, dat’s jes what it is.” A light board was placed over the milk that evening, but we found that the marauder pushed it off in the night. We felt that we must come to Janey’s conclusion about the witches, if the mystery were not solved soon. In the afternoon of the third day of these experiences we were sitting on the back porch with our sewing, both of us half asleep, when chancing to look up I saw a rat go scudding across the yard. Straight to the cellar window he went, and, approaching one corner, thrust his nose under the sash. He gave a mighty tug, pushed one paw under, and soon, by pushing and pulling with nose and with paws, he crept through the window. From my position on the porch I could see all that was happening in the cellar. He jumped to the milk shelf, turned around, raised himself on his forepaws, and clasped the edge of the milk pan with his hind ones. He then threw his tail into the pan, whisked it rapidly over the milk, coating it with cream, and licked it. This he repeated until he had a full meal, or at least until he had skimmed all the cream. He started homeward then, and I was so much amazed that I didn’t attempt to stop him. On the following morning he was caught in the steel trap set just inside the window for him. Elizabeth Roberts Burton. THE BEAVER. The genus of Beavers (Castor) is apparently represented by a single living species. By some authorities the American form is considered a distinct species and is given the technical name Castor canadensis, while the European form is called Castor fiber. In external characteristics the two resemble each other very closely, and it is in the study of the structure of the skeleton that the differences appear. However, though there is this diversity of opinion, it is sufficient for the reader to look upon the two forms as merely geographical races of the same species, and that the Beaver is a native of the greater part of the northern hemisphere. Though its home covered this extensive area, it has disappeared from the larger number of localities that it once frequented. Speaking of its range as a whole, it may now be considered rare except in certain isolated localities. This extermination is due to the advance of civilization upon its natural haunts, and the commercial zeal that has stimulated the hunter to greater efforts to effect its capture. Within recent years the Beaver was common in some of the Gulf States. In 1876 it was reported as abundant in Virginia. It is evident from an examination of the numerous writings regarding its distribution that the Beaver formerly existed in great numbers not only in the Atlantic States, but also to the westward as far as the Pacific coast. The Beaver is a member of that large order of gnawing mammals called the Rodentia, from the Latin word meaning to gnaw. In this order are classed all those animals that have those peculiar long incisor teeth which are constantly renewed by growth from the roots and as constantly worn to a chisel edge, at the outer end, by gnawing. Such animals are squirrels, the gophers, the mice, the rats, the muskrats, the porcupines, the hares and the rabbits. The habits of the Beaver are very interesting. Several years are required before its growth is fully attained, and it will increase in size after the teeth are fully mature. “Two-year-old Beavers generally weigh about thirty-five to forty pounds, while very old ones occasionally attain a weight of upwards of sixty. Morgan records the capture of one which weighed sixty-three pounds. The increase in the size of the skull seems to continue nearly through life; in old age the skull not only acquires larger dimensions, but the weight is relatively greater in consequence of the increased thickness and density of the bones. The ridges for the attachment of muscles also become more strongly developed in old age.” The general color of the back of the Beaver is a reddish brown. The shade varies both with the seasons and with the geographical location. Those found farther to the northward are usually darker. Albinos, either pure white, nearly white or with white blotches, have been observed. “The fur consists of an exceedingly thick, flaky, woolly coat of silky softness and a thin, long outer coat composed of strong, stiff, shining hair, short on the head and rear part of the back and over two inches long on the rest of the body.” The tail, which is rounded at the base, much flattened and very broad, bears horny, dark-colored scales. The fore legs are short and the feet are unwebbed. The hind legs are much stronger, the feet are fully webbed and they, alone, are used, with the aid of the tail, to propel the Beaver through the water. In the water it is graceful in its motions, but on the land, like nearly all animals that are fitted for a partially aquatic life, it is clumsy and awkward and its motions are neither rapid nor uniform. BEAVER. (Castor fiber.) ⅕ Life-size. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES. Usually it is only in those districts that are remote from the habitations of man that the Beaver lives in colonies, consisting of several families, and builds its “lodges.” Nearer civilization it lives in burrows or tunnels. In the building of their homes, as well as in the storing of a supply of food, the female is the most active and is the practical builder, while the male assists. Brehm writes interestingly regarding the Beaver. He says: “After mature deliberation the animals select a stream or pool, the banks of which afford them ample provender and seem specially adapted for the construction of their ‘lodges.’ Those which live singly dwell in simple subterranean burrows, after the manner of otters; societies, which generally consist of families, as a rule construct houses and, if there should be a necessity for it, dams, in order to hold back the water and preserve it at a uniform height. Some of these dams are from four hundred and fifty to six hundred feet long, from six to nine feet high, from twelve to eighteen feet thick at the base and from three to six feet at the top. They consist of logs varying in size from the thickness of an arm to that of a thigh and from three to six feet long. One end of the log or stake is thrust in the ground, the other stands upright in the water; the logs are fastened together by means of thin twigs and made tight with reeds, mud and earth, in such a way that one side presents a nearly vertical, firm wall to the stream, while the other side is sloped. From the ponds rising above the dams, canals are constructed to facilitate the carrying or floating of the necessary construction materials and food. Beavers do not forsake a settlement they have founded unless the direst necessity compels them to do so. Beavers’ lodges, the origin of which dates very far back, are often found in lonely woods.” The Beaver usually feeds upon the bark of the younger branches of trees and shrubs and upon their leaves. It will also strip the older branches, in a very skillful manner, and eat the inner tender portion of the bark. During the fall and early winter months they work constantly in preparing and storing, in the neighborhood of their lodges, the winter’s supply of food. “Each cabin has its own magazine, proportioned to the number of its inhabitants, who have all a common right to the store and never pillage their neighbors.” The American Indians look upon the Beaver with great respect. They believe that it is possessed of a degree of intelligence second only to that of man. Some Indians even assert that it possesses an immortal soul. Its sagacity is certainly very strong and it will easily adapt itself to changed environments. Unlike the other rodents, it seems to reason before acting and will build its habitations in the form that the surrounding conditions demand for the construction of the most durable home. The Beaver, especially when young, is quite easily domesticated. Various writers speak of finding tame Beavers in Indian villages, where they seemed to be perfectly at home and contented. They were allowed full liberty. “They seemed to feel quite comfortable in the society of the Indian women and children; they grew restless in their absence and showed much pleasure on their return.” The young, which number from two to three, are born blind, but are covered with fur. They usually obtain their sight in from eight to ten days, and are then led to the water by the mother. Early in the nineteenth century Dr. George Shaw wrote as follows regarding the habits of the Beaver: “They collect in September their provisions of bark and wood; after which they enjoy the fruits of their labors, and taste the sweets of domestic happiness. Knowing and loving one another from habit, from the pleasures and fatigues of a common labor, each couple join not by chance, nor by the pressing necessities of nature, but unite from choice and from taste. They pass together the autumn and the winter. Perfectly satisfied with each other, they never separate. At ease in their cabins, they go not out but upon agreeable or useful excursions, to bring in supplies of fresh bark, which they prefer to what is too dry or too much moistened with water.” PAU-PUK-KEEWIS AND THE BEAVERS. Over rock and over river, Through bush, and brake, and forest, Ran the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis; Like an antelope he bounded, Till he came unto a streamlet In the middle of the forest, To a streamlet still and tranquil, That had overflowed its margin, To a dam made by the beavers, To a pond of quiet water, Where knee-deep the trees were standing, Where the water-lilies floated, Where the rushes waved and whispered. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, On the dam of trunks and branches, Through whose chinks the water spouted, O’er whose summit flowed the streamlet. From the bottom rose the beaver, Looked with two great eyes of wonder, Eyes that seemed to ask a question, At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, O’er his ankles flowed the streamlet, Flowed the bright and silvery water, And he spake unto the beaver, With a smile he spake in this wise: “O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver, Cool and pleasant is the water; Let me dive into the water, Let me rest there in your lodges; Change me, too, into a beaver!” Cautiously replied the beaver, With reserve he thus made answer: “Let me first consult the others, Let me ask the other beavers.” Down he sank into the water, Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks, Down among the leaves and branches, Brown and matted at the bottom. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, O’er his ankles flowed the streamlet, Spouted through the chinks below him Dashed upon the stones beneath him Spread serene and calm before him, And the sunshine and the shadows Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, Fell in little shining patches, Through the waving, rustling branches. From the bottom rose the beavers, Silently above the surface Rose one head and then another, Till the pond seemed full of beavers, Full of black and shining faces. To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis Spake entreating, said in this wise: ”Very pleasant is your dwelling, O my friends! and safe from danger; Can you not with all your cunning, All your wisdom and contrivance, Change me, too, into a beaver?” “Yes!” replied Ahmeek, the beaver, He the king of all the beavers, “Let yourself slide down among us, Down into the tranquil water.” Down into the pond among them Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis; Black became his shirt of deer-skin, Black his moccasins and leggins, In a broad black tail behind him Spread his fox-tails and his fringes; He was changed into a beaver. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Song of Hiawatha.” What rosy pearls, bright zoned or striped! What freckled surface, iris-dyed! Fluted and grooved, with iv’ry lips, Spotted like panthers, peacock-eyed! Look closer, as the angels can, And you will see the fairy work— The ruby specks, the azure veins, That in the tiniest hollow lurk. —Walter Thornbury, “Shells.” SNAILS OF THE OCEAN. Many of my readers have doubtless spent some of the vacation months at the sea shore and have wandered over the beach at low tide picking up shells and other objects left by the receding ocean. They have also, I am sure, peered into the little pools of water left on the beach and have watched with interest the captives imprisoned therein, hermit crabs, fiddler crabs, sea anemones, sea worms and snail shells. It is with the latter that the present article will deal. The stretch of beach which is uncovered twice a day by the receding of the water is called “between tides,” and is inhabited by a host of animate creatures, chief among which are the mollusks. The marine snails outnumber all of those which we discussed in the last article, and their shells are far more beautiful, those found in the tropics having the most gaudy colors imaginable. The animals are formed on the same plan as those of the fresh-water snails, although each family has some peculiarity not shared by its relatives. All live in the water and breathe air through that medium by means of gills, similar to the second class of fresh water snails mentioned in the last number. They are found in all parts of the world, those of the tropics, however, being the most brilliantly colored. While the majority of species live either between tides or near low water, there are not a few which live in the abysses of the ocean, and have been dredged from the bottom of the sea at a depth of two thousand, seven hundred and forty fathoms, or, to put it more plainly, over three miles. The average depth at which mollusks are found in any number is about one thousand fathoms. The variability of marine snails is so great that we shall be able to call attention to but a limited number of typical forms. Among the best known of the marine snails are the Tritons, a family of mollusks living in tropical seas. Their shells are generally large and highly-colored and variously ornamented with short spines and knobs. One species, the Triton tritonis, is among the largest of mollusks, measuring eighteen inches in length. One of the smaller Tritons is pictured on the plate. Another shell familiar to those who have visited Florida is the Fasciolaria or banded snail, which attains a length of three inches and is very prettily banded and dashed with color. A near relative of this species is the giant banded shell (Fasciolaria gigantea), which is the largest of all marine snails, growing to a length of nearly two feet. This species is found plentifully on the southern Atlantic coast of the United States, being particularly abundant about the coral reefs of the Florida Keys. A genus of mollusks with light horn colored shells, and inhabiting the cold waters of the Arctic seas, is the Buccinum, or whelk. In various parts of Great Britain it is known as “buckie” and “mutlog.” The Buccinum delights to burrow in the sand, like the moon shells (Natica), and frequently nothing but the end of the siphon can be seen, the latter protruding from the sand to enable the water to enter the animal to furnish the necessary oxygen. The whelk is used economically, both for food and bait. One ingenious method of catching them is to fasten a dead fish of good size in a wire basket and to allow it to rest on the bottom for a short time; when taken up it is covered with large, fat whelks. This fishery in Great Britain is fully as valuable as our oyster fishery, the annual income from this industry reaching to thousands of pounds sterling. The animal is also one of the principal baits used in cod fishing. A related genus, the neptune shells (Neptunea), is also eaten by the poorer people and makes a good codfish bait. The two kinds of whelk (Buccinum and Neptunea), are termed, the first the white whelk and the second the red or almond whelk, probably on account of the colors of the two shells. In the Shetland Islands the red whelk is used as a lamp, being suspended by strings from a nail, the mouth placed uppermost and filled with oil. MARINE SHELLS. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES. First row: Cypraea pantherina (Red Sea) Cassis flammea (Bahamas) Conus marmoreus (Polynesia) Second row: Buccinum undatum (U. S.) Fasciolaria distans (U. S.) Third row: Tritonium olearium (Naples) Oliva irisaus (Amboina) Voluta musica (West Indies) Fourth row: Ianthina communis (Atlantic Ocean) Chiton squamosus (Jamaica) Lottia gigantea (California) Nassa glans (Amboina) The basket shells or dog-whelks are among the most numerous in individuals of all the marine snail shells, the common black whelk (Nassa obsoleta) being the most common of all the mollusks. The writer has seen a mud flat at low water literally paved with the shells of this snail, there being millions of the little creatures crawling about. The shells of this family are frequently very handsome, being latticed by the crossing of lateral and longitudinal lines. They are mostly of small size, scarcely exceeding an inch in length, many of them being much under these dimensions. The animal is very rapid in movement and leaves a distinct track in the mud, which will frequently end at a little pellet of mud, which, upon examination, will disclose the little animal nicely concealed beneath. The Nassas of France are very destructive to the oyster beds of that nation, an adult “borer” being able to perforate the shell of a large oyster in a single night. So numerous are these pests that a single acre has yielded over a thousand individuals. As a result of these depredations the French oystermen carry on a relentless war against the Nassa, destroying thousands of animals annually. With all this persecution the mollusk still exists and even increases in numbers. The dead shells of this genus are a favorite home for the hermit crabs of small size, and it is to be suspected sometimes that other than dead shells are appropriated. We fear that a sort of piracy is resorted to by the hermit crab, resulting in a kind of “walk-the-plank” end for the mollusk, before the new tenant takes possession of the “home.” Of the many varieties of tropical shells, few exceed the Volutes, or bat shells, in beauty or variety of coloration. They are found in most parts of the world, although strangely enough none are now living in the seas of Europe, but they are most abundant and more highly colored in the tropics and subtropics. The animal is carnivorous, and the long, fang-shaped teeth are certainly suggestive of predaceous habits. The shells are variously colored, some being mottled, some with zigzag or lightning-like markings, while others have spirally arranged dots and lines. One species (Voluta musica, figured on the plate), has received its name from a more or less fanciful resemblance of the surface of the shell to a musical staff, the spiral lines being grouped in sets of four or five and the dots being arranged as notes. In some specimens this resemblance is quite close. The smooth and polished shell of some volutes is due to the fact that the greater portion is covered by a reflected part of the large foot. On the sandy shores of subtropical beaches certain graceful and polished animals bury themselves from sight in the sand. These are the olive shells (Oliva) whose bright colors and highly polished surfaces rival even the gaudy Volute in beauty. The foot may be described as plough-shaped and is admirably adapted for digging rapidly in the sand, so that the shell may be hidden from sight on the approach of enemies. The long siphon is thrust up through the canal in the anterior part of the shell and its end protrudes above the sand. The high polish of the surface is due to the shell being enveloped in the voluminous foot; hence it has no epidermis. The aperture is so narrow that it is difficult to understand how the animal gets in and out. The olives are very numerous in individuals; when one is found hundreds are sure to reward a patient search. Probably no more distinct family of mollusks exists than the Conidae, the family of cones, their beautifully decorated shells and the large number of species making them a favorite with collectors. The shell is in the form of an inverted cone, gracefully rounded, the aperture being but a narrow slit extending nearly the whole length of the shell. The colors of the cones are always very brilliant, although when they are alive the shell is not brilliantly polished as the olives, on account of the presence of an epidermis. About three hundred species are known, living principally in tropical seas. They love to conceal themselves in holes in the rocks and among the branches of corals. The animal is predaceous, boring into the shells of other mollusks and extracting the juices from the bodies. The teeth of Conus are hollow and very sharp and have a barb on the end. A poison gland is said to be present in this genus and bites from the animal are very painful, although not dangerous, the large Conus marmoreus being able to inflict a severe wound. The cone is quite pugnacious and will immediately bite the hand when picked up, a veritable reptile of the ocean. The ne plus ultra of mollusks to the collector is without doubt the genus Cypraea, comprising the cowry shells. So eagerly have they been sought by wealthy collectors that the price of rarities has gone up to an astonishing degree, some specimens being sold at several hundred dollars each. The shell is highly polished, owing to the fact that two lobes of the voluminous mantle are turned back over the shell and meet in the middle of the back. The foot is very large and spreading, the mantle beset with curious little tentacular-like organs and the eyes are placed on small swellings near the base of the long, cylindrical tentacles. The color-patterns of the shell vary to a wonderful degree. The young shell has a thin epidermis, a sharp lip to the aperture and a more or less prominent spire, the rolled over and toothed lip and polished surface not being acquired until fully adult. No more beautiful sight can be imagined than one of these gorgeous animals, as seen through the clear water, crawling over the sandy bottom or on the branch of some coral. Several of the cowries have a curious economic value. Thus, Cypraea aurantia, the orange cowry, was used as an insignia of royalty by the chiefs of the Friendly Islands, and for a long time the only specimens obtainable were those which had been bored and used. The money cowry (Cypraea moneta) has been used as money by the natives of Western Africa, and many tons of this small shell were annually imported to England to be used in barter by the African traders. The shell is of a yellowish or whitish color, does not exceed an inch in length, and is very common in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. It is still used as a medium of barter in parts of Africa, although other things have pretty generally taken its place. Cameos were at one time quite in the fashion, both as ornaments for the person in the way of brooches, and as bric-a-brac about the room. These shell-cameos are made from the genus Cassis, the helmet shells. These are well adapted for this purpose, as the shell is made up of several differently colored layers, making a bas relief figure not only possible but very effective. The black helmet (Cassis madagascariensis) is one of the best for this purpose, the figure being carved from the white, outer layer of shell, which stands out very clearly against the black background of the second layer. When a cameo is desired simply as a brooch or for any other form of personal adornment, a piece of the shell is cut out and shaped into the required form and size—oval, square or other shape—and cemented to a block of wood. The figure is then traced on the shell with a pencil and finally carefully worked out with sharp, pointed steel instruments, of delicate size and form. The same process is resorted to in working out a bas relief on the entire shell, only the latter is placed in a vice or other object to hold it firmly. The home of this industry is Genoa and Rome, Italy, although some are produced in France; these latter, however, are of a poorer quality. Several thousand people are employed in this trade. Many beautiful examples of this work were exhibited at the World’s Columbian Exposition, in Chicago, in 1893. The cameo shells are among the largest of sea snails, several of them measuring eight or ten inches in length and weighing several pounds. They are found only in tropical and subtropical seas, living in comparatively shallow waters on a sandy bottom. They are voracious eaters, living principally on bivalve mollusks. One of the most abundant of mollusks is the violet sea snail (Ianthina communis), which spends its life floating in the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The shell is very delicate, resembling in form some of the land snails, and has but two colors, both shades of violet, a deep color on the under side (which, by the way, is always turned upward when the animal is floating in the water), and a lighter shade on the upper side. So fragile is the shell that it seems as if a breath would break it. The most interesting fact in connection with this mollusk is the wonderful float or “raft” which is secreted by the foot, and to the under side of which the eggs are attached. The latter are not all in the same condition. Nearest to the animal they are more or less fresh; those in the middle of the float contain embryos and fully formed young, while those on the outer end are empty, the young having escaped into the water. The genus is gregarious and may be found in almost countless numbers. After a severe storm they are sometimes cast upon the beaches in vast numbers, where they soon die under the fierce rays of the sun. We have thus far been dealing with snails whose shells were formed in a spiral coil. Quite a number of mollusks are not protected by such a shell, its place being taken by a flat, shield-like disk, or several distinct plates placed side by side. The most familiar of the first is the limpet or Patella, which is a depressed, conical, oval disk, looking not unlike a miniature shield. They live on rocks, to which they cling with great tenacity. The animal seems to have a pretty clear idea of local geography, for it invariably returns to the same place after its excursions for food and the rock in some localities has been hollowed out to a considerable depth by the continuous dwelling thereon of the limpet. The large foot is very strong and it is almost impossible to dislodge the shell from the rock when the animal becomes alarmed and is aware that danger is near. While grazing along the sides of a rock covered with fine sea-weed, it will leave a track like a worm and will clean off quite an area in a very short space of time. Another species is the key-hole limpet (Fissurella), distinguished by having a slit or foramen in the apex of the shell. The shells of Fissurella are generally rougher than those of Patella, and as a rule they live in warmer seas. In the limpet we find a departure from the general form of both animal and shell, both being bilaterally symmetrical, that is, having both sides alike. In the mollusks which have been presented thus far, the body has been twisted in the form of a spiral, making one side different from the other and causing the organs of one side to become atrophied. In the limpets the organs are paired, as they are supposed to have been in the ancestors of the living mollusks. The most peculiar of all the mollusks, so peculiar, indeed, that they constitute a separate order (Polyplacophora) are the Chitons, or coat-of-mail shells. The shell is made up of eight separate pieces or plates, each locking with the other, the whole supported by and buried in a coriaceous mantle which forms a margin all the way around. This must not be confounded with the true mantle of the animal, for it is only a part of the shell. It is beset with bristles, spines or hairs, which add much to the peculiar appearance of this mollusk. The Chitons live for the most part on rocks at low water and are said to be nocturnal in habit, feeding only at night. Their movements are slow and they appear to be very sluggish in all their actions. When detached and taken from their rocky homes they have the provoking (to the collector) habit of rolling up and are sometimes very difficult to straighten out again. There are about two hundred and fifty living species, found in all parts of the world. In the foregoing pages we have called attention to a few types of marine snails, and what has been written has hardly more than touched upon this vast field. There are thousands of different species even more interesting than those which have been mentioned. There are the beautiful ear shells, or Abalones, the little periwinkle, so largely used as an article of food in Europe, besides a host of others too numerous to mention. The brief notes and the figures on the plate will convince the reader, it is hoped, that these inhabitants of the deep are not only beautiful and worthy of our attention and study, but are also of much practical and economical use to man. Frank Collins Baker.

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