Birds and Nature Vol. 11 No. 3 [March 1902] Illustrated by Color Photography

OUR LITTLE MARTYRS. NORTHERN PHALAROPE. (Phalaropus lobatus.) ¾ Life-size. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES. These birds, which possess such dainty elegance in all their motions, do not exhibit a corresponding degree of taste in home building. Their nests, at best, consist of only a few blades of grass and fragments of moss laid loosely together. Often the eggs are laid in some convenient hollow, with no bedding whatever except that which happened to lodge there. These are a few of the facts in the life history of this bird, which starts in its career as a little ball of buff and brown and later in life “glides hither and thither on the water, apparently drifted by its fancy, and skims about the pool like an autumn leaf wafted before the playful zephyrs on some embosomed lakelet in the forest.” OUR LITTLE MARTYRS. Do we care, you and I, For the songbirds winging by? Ruffled throat and bosom’s sheen, Thrill of wing, of gold or green, Sapphire, crimson—gorgeous dye Lost or found across the sky, ’Midst the glory of the air, Birds who tenderer colors wear? What to us the free bird’s song, Breath of passion, breath of wrong, Wood-heart’s orchestra, her life, Breath of love and breath of strife, Joy’s fantasias, anguish breath, Cries of doubt and cries of death? Shall we care when nesting-time Brings no birds from any clime, Not a voice or ruby wing, Not a single nest to swing ’Midst the reeds or higher up, Like a dainty fairy-cup; Not a single little friend, All the way as footsteps wend Here and there through every clime, Not a bird at any time? Does it matter, do we care What the feathers women wear Cost the world? For birds must die; Not a clime where they may fly Safely through their native air; Slaughter meets them everywhere. Scorned be hands that touch such spoil! Let women pity, and recoil From traffic, barbarous and grave, And quickly strive the birds to save. — George Klingle. A CARGO OF STOWAWAYS. “Birds of ocean and of air Hither in a troop repair.” — Aristophanes’ “The Birds.” Passing out of the golden sunrise into a world of blue sky and the blue waters of Lake Huron, we regretfully assured ourselves that save for the shadowy gray and white gulls that followed in the wake of our steamer in search of a breakfast, there would be for us no bird reviews so dear to the heart of the ornithologist in a strange country, or not at least until we should have reached the far distant islands in the picturesque River Sault Ste. Mary, so with the inertia of the blank waters about us we prepared to be content, but in this instance, as in many others, we were to learn that conclusions are by no means conclusive, and it was with joy that we could exclaim with Aristophanes: “But hark! the rushing sound of rushing wings Approaches us,” when before our delighted and surprised eyes alighted a bronze grackle, most majestic of blackbirds, who stepped off across the deck with all of the pride of a lately promoted major, doubtless glad enough to find himself on solid footing after the heavy gale of the past night, which has blown him into unknown seas. His rich metallic plumage gleamed in the sunlight as he eyed us inquisitively, the while walking calmly about us picking up the insects of which we seemed to have an abundant supply aboard. But where is the little wife to whom he was so devoted, and whose labors of incubation he so materially assisted, taking his “turn” on the nest with clock-like regularity? But also he shared with her their rich song notes which so delight us during the courting season. But our grackle is by no means the only stowaway we were to carry north with us, for all at once the air was resonant with excited “chips” and “zeeps” as the different winged passengers arrived. At least half a dozen pine warblers contentedly flitted onto the deck, filling the air with their sweet calls, and dancing about like little balls of yellow feathers. And to delight beyond anything the heart of a bird enthusiast, far more indeed than can any result of gun, camera or opera glass, was the fact that exhaustion and hunger had entirely obliterated from these birds every trace of their dread of the human kind, and they associated with us as fearlessly as tho’ to the manor born. Particularly was this true of the pine warblers who hopped about us on the hatchways like chickens, one venturesome little fellow even becoming so familiar as to alight on the toe of my slipper, and quietly inspect its steel embroidery with silent curiosity, occasionally glancing up at me out of his round, bright eyes as confidentially as though he was a connoisseur in footwear. Another warbler lit on the corner of a book that one of the passengers was holding in her hand. This rare friendliness made us feel that we had not only the bird in the hand, but also the two in the bush, with still a balance in our favor, for we could study their movements as intimately as we desired, but I could hardly keep from rubbing my eyes in amazement, fearing “’twas but a dream,” or that my brain has been turned, as topsy turvy this morning as was my stomach the night before. But the experience was certainly uniquely delightful to say the least. After all of these years of careful peeking and prying to secure a moment’s observation of some of these birds, to have them now flitting about me, at my very feet as it were, in this familiar and friendly fashion was indeed a rare treat. It is Darwin who has said that he had come to the conclusion that the wildness of birds with regard to man is a particular instinct directed against him, and not dependent on any general degree of caution arising from other sources of danger. Birds in general, however, have had reason to become timid from their experience of the human biped, and hold with Eben Holden that “Men are the most terrible of all critters, an’ the meanest. They’re the only critters that kill fer fun,” and it has become instinctive for them to act accordingly. However, we had not yet arrived at the end of our experience with the sociable bird world, for it seemed that we were to carry a full cargo of stowaways, for the next arrivals were six or seven juncos savoring of frost and wintry weather, notwithstanding the heat of the autumnal sun. Miss Merriam has quaintly styled these busy little birds: “Gray robed monks and nuns,” though their character does not cleverly carry out that conception, for they are a pugnacious lot of feathers and blood, and there were pitch battles going on at every hatch corner, the juncos playing the part of the aggressor every time, turning and conspicuously flaunting their stylish white tail markings in the face of their opponents. The next advent was that of a tiny house wren, who seemed to have had a good deal of his natural belligerency blown out of him, and was content to make a peaceful breakfast on the Canada soldiers that were swarming about. Wrens are noticeable for the interest that they take in human belongings, and love to make their home among them. At Marquette I was shown a nest built in an overshoe inadvertently left in the crotch of an apple tree, and which, I am glad to report, the owner left undisturbed when she learned by whom it was pre-empted. I thought of our little stowaway when I saw the nest and wondered how much he could have told me of its construction. Some one has mentioned a nest built in an old coat sleeve, and Audubon tells us of a pair that nested in his parlor, paying him rent in song music. The wren has also received much “honorable mention” in history, Aristotle being the first, I believe, to call him the King of Birds, possibly because of the legend that tells us that to gain his sovereignty in a trial of flight he concealed himself on the back of an eagle who was one of the contestants, and after that bird of mighty wing power had reached his limit the wren, arising from his seat among the eagle’s feathers, easily flew much higher, thus gaining the race and title. Perhaps not the first time that high places have been arrived at through duplicity. But, in justice to his species, mention should be made of the myth that asserts that in ye golden time the wren was the only bird brave enough to enter heaven and bring down fire to earth for the benefit of the mortals. In this philanthropical work he scorched off his feathers, so the other birds made a donation party and each contributed some spare feathers to the singed benefactor (but we notice that their generosity, like that of some others, was confined to donating their plainest apparel), all but the owl, who refused to part with a single quill, but who for his stinginess was at once ostracised from good society, and forced to make his appearance only after nightfall, when the “best people” were not in evidence. Of the two other members of the warbler family, who traveled north with us singly and alone, one was a Blackburnian warbler, silent and dull of plumage as befitted the season, and the other a dainty black-throated blue warbler, one of the most dressy and gentlemanly appearing birds of the warbler species. In his steely blue coat, black stock and evening vest and wide expanse of white shirt front, he looks as though fully attired for a swell reception. His two white wing patches closely resemble handkerchiefs peeping from side pockets, completing the illusion. He was rather more reserved in his movements than the gang of noisy associates, and picked daintily at the flies as befits well-bred superiority. But he, like the rest, showed no apparent distrust of us, neither did some newly arrived white-throated sparrows, who joined in the general scramble for insects. But not now do we hear their cheerful “I-have-got-plenty-to-eat-but-no-che-eze,” as Dr. Brewer interprets their song. I am sure that they could have had cheese or anything else they desired on board the Castalia, for on hospitable thoughts intent I secured some crumbs from the table, but my feathered fellow travelers would have none of me, passing my humble offerings by in disdain. There was but one death on the passage, and that was a white-eyed vireo, who either succumbed to exhaustion or struck the rigging too violently in boarding the steamer. But birds were not the only winged creatures who took passage with us. For several hours a continuous stream of honey bees and yellow-jackets flew exhausted upon the deck, only to become food for the bee-eating passengers. The few who escaped and revived sufficiently to crawl up onto the cabin were so fatigued that one could stroke them gently without provoking any antagonism. Wafted across the blue waters by adverse winds came also myriads of common yellow butterflies, tossing in the gentle breeze like handfuls of shining buttercups, and great troops of beautiful milkweed butterflies (Anosia plexippus), their brilliant colors gleaming in the sunlight in all the richness of ebony and crimson. They hovered about the steamer like gorgeous blossoms cut from the parent stalk and left poised in mid air at the mercy of treacherous gales. Funny little atoms of vanity and brightness, whose homes are among the gardens of peace and sunshine, what business had they here in this region of seething waters and tempestuous winds? We looked to have our feathered friends leave us upon the first appearance of land, but, on the contrary, they remained with us all of the afternoon, as we sailed in and out among the picturesque islands of the “Soo” river, and it was not until toward their bed-time and the setting of the sun that they gradually began to disappear; the last to leave, and that was at dusk, was the black-throated blue warbler. Just before reaching the lock a couple of juncos perched on the rail and engaged in what seemed to us a very heated discussion, until finally one of them, with a chip of command, flew to the shore, the other following in a moment with a note of protest. The latter’s idea doubtless was to remain with a good thing in hand rather than venture into pastures new of unknown possibilities. On our return trip, the weather being calm, no birds were: “Buffeted and baffled, with the gusty gale,” hence our only stowaways were a couple of yellow warblers, who spent most of their time in one of the offices catching flies on the wall, and we were obliged to resort to other resources for our entertainment, and found at least artistic as well as botanical enjoyment in looking at the great bunches of golden rod, yellow cone flowers and pale primroses, a combination of yellows that formed an exquisite blend, and which covered the embankment of the great willow dike on St. Clair Flats, that seems fast running into a state of dilapidation and decay. But it is a delightful sail down the willow-bordered lane of blue water, a stray bit of Venice with Venice left out, as it were, and where no angry waters toss the brave mariner and consequently seasick traveler across mighty billows, a performance which is a by no means charming accessory to one’s erstwhile home on the bounding deep. Alberta A. Field. HAIRY WOODPECKER. (Dryobates villosus.) ⅔ Life-size. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES. THE HAIRY WOODPECKER. ( Dryobates villosus. ) The woodpeckers on trunk of gnarled trees Tap their quick drum-beats with their horny beaks. —Isaac McLellan, “Nature’s Invitation.” The geographical and the breeding ranges of the Hairy Woodpecker are practically the same. These include eastern North America from the southern provinces of Canada southward to the States bordering the Gulf of Mexico and those of the southeastern United States bordering the Atlantic Ocean. In these States it is occasionally found during the winter season. Westward its range extends to the Rocky Mountains. It is, however, most abundant in the forest areas of the Northern and Middle States, where, as it is a hardy bird and not greatly affected by extreme cold, it is generally a constant resident. Though occasionally found in old orchards, its choice feeding grounds are the timbered regions of river banks and other bodies of water. Here and in the trees at the outer borders of forests it seeks its food by itself, for it has an unsocial disposition, and it is seldom that more than a pair are seen together. “It does not live in harmony with smaller species of its own kind, and drives them away when they encroach on its feeding grounds, being exceedingly greedy in disposition and always hungry.” It also is not adverse to a home in the deeper forests and may even frequent clumps of trees in the open. The Hairy Woodpecker is one of the most useful and valuable friends of human interests. Not only does it feed upon the larvæ that burrow in the wood and bark of our forest and orchard trees, but also upon beetles and other insects. It is only in the winter season, when its natural food is not readily obtained, that it gathers seeds and fruits. It never attacks a sound tree for any purpose, and the loss caused by the amount of useful grain destroyed is greatly overbalanced by the good that it does in the destruction of noxious insects. The value of this shy and retiring bird is well illustrated by Mr. V. A. Alderson, who says in the “Oologist” (July, 1890): “Last summer potato bugs covered every patch of potatoes in Marathon County, Wisconsin. One of my friends here found his patch an exception, and, therefore, took pains to find out the reason, and observed a Hairy Woodpecker making frequent visits to the potato field and going from there to a large pine stub a little distance away. After observing this for about six weeks, he made a visit to the pine stub, and found, on inspection, a large hole in its side, almost fifteen feet up. He took his ax and cut down the stub, split it open, and found inside over two bushels of bugs. All had their heads off and bodies intact. Now, why did the Woodpecker carry the bugs whole to the tree and only bite off and eat the heads, which could have been done in the open field?” The Hairy Woodpecker has no leisure moments. He is always active and The little tap of busy bill The signal of his work and skill. is ever present To rid the soil of every foe, To guard the leafy trees. The movements of this Woodpecker are interesting, for, like its sister species, it moves with equal facility either upwards or downwards, sidewise or backwards upon a tree trunk. From time to time it will stop and seem to listen, and, finally bracing itself with the stiff feathers of its spiney tail, it will deliver powerful blows with its chisel-like bill at some point that will be likely to furnish a dainty morsel of food. There is little doubt that its sense of hearing is very acute and that it can detect the slightest movement of an insect in the bark or wood of a tree that to other animals would be imperceptible. The flight of the Hairy Woodpecker is like that of the other species of its group. It is wavering and undulating, seldom protracted and usually consisting of a number of short vibrations of the wings. When alighting, they grasp the object with both feet simultaneously. This Woodpecker is the earliest of all the family to build its nest. Mating begins in the latter part of March, and at this time the birds are exceedingly noisy. The male when not feeding will resort to some dead limb and vigorously drum and “the louder the noise produced, the more satisfactory it appears to be to the performer.” Regarding the building of the nest, Major Bendire says: “Both sexes take part in the labor, and it is really wonderful how neat and smooth an excavation these birds can make with their chisel-shaped bills in a comparatively short time. The entrance hole is round, as if made with an auger, about two inches in diameter, and just large enough to admit the body of the bird; the edges are nicely beveled, the inside is equally smooth, and the cavity is gradually enlarged toward the bottom. The entrance hole, which is not unfrequently placed under a limb for protection from the weather, generally runs in straight through the solid wood for about three inches, and then downward from ten to eighteen inches, and some of the finer chips are allowed to remain on the bottom of the cavity, in which the eggs are deposited. Both dead and living trees are selected for nesting sites, generally the former. When living trees are chosen, the inner core, or heart of the tree, is usually more or less decayed. These nesting sites are nearly always selected with such good judgment that such obstacles as hard knots are rarely encountered; should this occur, the site is abandoned and a fresh one selected.” The male, after the work is completed, will often excavate one or more holes in the same tree in order that he may have a resting place at night near to his mate. A VARICOLORED FROG. An amateur naturalist, amid the ordinary organic forms that he may encounter in his own country, is often grievously puzzled at curious specimens of animal life that may be brought under his attention. But amid the illimitable animal life of the wild region of the upper Orinoco even the most expert and learned naturalist will often find himself “stumped” by the many unusual and hitherto undiscovered things that occasionally beset his pathway. Among the many curious and quaint animal specimens encountered by the writer in this region was an arboreal frog of startlingly beautiful colorings. This little creature rested upon a stomach of orange flame hue, while the head and back were marked with velvet purple tints, and a narrow snow-white stripe extended from the point of his nose to the tip of a tiny tail. With such brilliant colorings it is easily and distinctly observed, but the snakes, weasels and other arch enemies of the amphibians have no relish for this handsome specimen. Its weapon of defense against its would-be enemies is a sweat venom of a most nauseous odor, which it emits when any one approaches it. This venom is common among the toads, and the fact is referred to by Juvenal (Dryden’s translation) of the lady “who squeezed a toad into her husband’s wine.” It is probable that the beautiful frog of so many glaring colors would have long since been exterminated by its many enemies and persecutors but for the poisonous and nauseous fluid ejected from its glands. Andrew James Miller. WAS IT REASON OR INSTINCT? Old Boney is a large shaggy dog of a deep tan color, and a general favorite among the people in the quarter of the city in which he lives, while he is honored and respected by every member of the canine race for miles around. Especially are the little children fond of him; and it seems to be as much a pastime for him as for his young playmates to carry the boys and girls on his broad back, their little, chubby hands buried in his long, matted hair in their half-frightened efforts to keep from slipping off and tumbling upon the ground. His owner’s daughter, a young girl just entering her teens, attends the high school, about three blocks from her home, which is reached by rather a circuitous route. Boney had often accompanied his young mistress to the school and was familiar with the way thither as well as with the main entrance and winding stairway of the building. It was in the showery month of April, and Etta had repeatedly neglected to wear her rubbers when she started for school in the morning, a fault for which she had often been reprimanded. Now it happened one warm afternoon that a copious shower came down in due April style. The door leading from the dining room out upon the veranda was wide ajar, and Etta’s mother, looking out, saw her daughter’s rubbers upon the veranda floor near the rug where they were usually deposited when not in use. “There,” exclaimed the mother, “that child has gone again without her rubbers and will come home with wet feet.” This sharp remark aroused the attention of old Boney, for he got up from his prone condition on the rug, looked at the speaker, sniffed at the rubbers and lay down again. At this juncture Etta’s father quietly picked up the rubbers, carried them over to the school building and handed them to his daughter, whom he met at the upper landing of the stairway. This had been done more than once, Boney generally lying upon the veranda floor where he could easily hear and see what was being done on such occasions, and he had often followed his master and stood by when father and daughter met at the school building. Now comes the interesting part of our story. A drenching shower came down about three o’clock one afternoon and Etta had, as usual, neglected to take her needed footwear. It happened this time that none of the family was at home. Boney, however, was keeping house in his accustomed place on the rug. Now, what do our readers think the noble animal did. Why, he just picked up both of the rubbers, carried them in his mouth through the driving rain to the school building, up the winding stairway and laid them upon the landing. As if this were not enough, he lay down and faithfully watched his charge till Etta made her appearance, when he politely dropped her property at her feet. Thereafter Etta’s father was relieved of this service, Boney regularly attending to the business himself, and, what is more wonderful still, he never attempted to discharge his duty on a pleasant day. Query. Was this reason or instinct? If the latter, what is instinct? L. P. Venen. OPAL. “The Opal, when pure and uncut in its native rock,” says Ruskin in his lecture on Color, “presents the most lovely colors that can be seen in the world except those of clouds.” While not all of us may share the great art critic’s preference for uncut stones, there are few probably who will not join him heartily in his admiration of the brilliant gem from whose depths come welling up tints of so varied hue that we appropriately speak of them as colors at play. Our interest in these colors may be heightened by reading what Ruskin has further to say of them: “We have thus in nature, chiefly obtained by crystalline conditions, a series of groups of entirely delicious hues; and it is one of the best signs that the bodily system is in a healthy state when we can see these clearly in their most delicate tints and enjoy them fully and simply with the kind of enjoyment that children have in eating sweet things. I shall place a piece of rock opal on the table in your working room; and if on fine days you will sometimes dip it in water, take it into sunshine and examine it with a lens of moderate power, you may always test your progress in sensibility to color by the degree of pleasure it gives you.” The Opal is indeed one of the most fascinating of gems; yet often elusive and at times disappointing. Of its freaks and foibles strange stories are told. Gems of brilliant quality are known suddenly to have lost their hues never to regain them, while others previously dull and lusterless have become radiant as the rainbow. Prof. Egleston, of New York city, relates that a bottle of cut Opals once given him by a prominent jewelry firm because they had lost their color, after remaining in his cabinet for a time regained their brilliancy and retained it. But to have opals regain their color is, unfortunately, far less usual than for them to lose it. The gem often exhibits brilliant colors when wet either with water or oil that disappear when it is dry. Taking advantage of this peculiarity dishonest dealers often keep opals immersed until just before offering them for sale. The experience of having stones so treated as well as others which might with more reason be expected to retain their brilliancy, lose it, has very likely led to the superstition commonly attached to the Opal that it is an unlucky gem. Some authorities, however, trace the origin of the superstition to Sir Walter Scott’s novel, “Anne of Geierstein,” in which the baleful influence of the Opal plays a prominent part, and it is stated that within a year of the publication of the book the price of Opals declined fifty per cent in the European market. Even if the superstition did not originate in either of these ways it was probably from a source quite as trivial and it should prevent no one from enjoying the pleasure to be derived from the beauties of this gem. Chemically, Opal is oxide of silicon with varying amounts of water, the water varying from 3 to 9 per cent. It is, therefore, closely allied to quartz, but differs physically in being softer and not as heavy. Further, it never crystallizes, and it is soluble in caustic potash, which quartz is not. It is infusible, but cracks and becomes opaque before the blowpipe. In sulphuric acid it turns black, on account probably of the organic matter it contains. Its hardness is sometimes as low as 5.5 in the scale in which quartz is 7 and its specific gravity is from 1.9 to 2.3, while that of quartz is 2.6. On account of its relative softness a cut Opal often does not retain its polish well and requires frequent smoothing. Opals when first taken from the ground are often softer even than the above and for this reason it is usual and desirable to allow them to harden or “season,” as it is called, for some time after quarrying, before they are polished. OPAL. LOANED BY FOOTE MINERAL CO. Top row: Precious Opal in Matrix (Queensland.) Wood Opal (Idaho.) Precious Opal (New South Wales.) Center: Precious Opal (New South Wales.) Precious Opal (New South Wales.) Fire Opal in Matrix (Mexico.) Bottom: Prase Opal (Germany.) Opal as a mineral is quite common, so that no one need suppose because he has specimens labeled “opal” in his collection that he has as many precious stones. It occurs in many varieties, and, especially if it contains foreign matter, in many colors. Nearly all silica deposited by hot waters is in the form of Opal, so that the geysers of Yellowstone Park build up cones of Opal and fall into Opal basins. This particular form of Opal is known as geyserite, and it is often differently colored by different ingredients. Wood is often preserved by silica in the form of Opal, the siliceous waters taking away the wood and replacing it by Opal, grain by grain, with such delicacy and accuracy that the structure of the wood is perfectly maintained. The minute shells which diatoms make consist of Opal, and when these dead shells accumulate to form deposits of some extent we call the powdery substance tripoli and use it for polishing silverware and other metals. Then there are hyalite, a variety of Opal looking like transfixed water, so clear and colorless is it; hydrophane, a translucent variety which sticks to the tongue and becomes more nearly transparent when soaked in water; cacholong, a porcelain-like variety, and menilite, a concretionary variety. Common Opal varies from transparent to opaque, being most often translucent and sometimes exhibiting the peculiar milkiness of color which we call opalescence. It has sometimes a glassy, but often a waxy luster, the latter when pronounced giving rise to the varieties known as wax Opal and resin Opal. When Opal has the banded structure of agate it is known as Opal-agate; when it has the color of jasper as jasper Opal, and when that of chrysoprase as prase Opal. But none of these varieties are used in any quantity as gems. This distinction is reserved almost wholly for the variety known as noble or precious Opal. This is Opal which exhibits a play of colors. No essential chemical or physical distinction between noble Opal and other varieties is known. In a large vein of Opal portions will exhibit the play of colors and the remainder will not, but why the difference has not yet been determined. Neither can the origin of the varied coloring; i. e., the iridescence, be determined. Some regard it as due to interspersed layers containing different percentages of water, which break up the rays of light somewhat as a prism does, while others think that minute cracks and fissures through the stone furnish surfaces from which the rays are reflected in different colors back to the eye. Some Opals which are dull and lusterless when dry exhibit considerable play of color when immersed in water, and this fact seems to favor the first theory of the cause of the iridescence, but the subject is not understood. The character of the play of colors differs in different Opals, and this gives rise to different varieties. The true noble Opal has the color quite uniformly distributed. When the color appears in flashes of red, yellow, etc., the stone is known as fire Opal; if blue as girasol, and if chiefly yellow as golden Opal. When the patches of color are small, angular and uniformly distributed it is called harlequin Opal, and if these are long and somewhat parallel, flame Opal. These colors are not, of course, inherent in the stone, its color varying from colorless to opaque white. The black Opals sometimes seen and highly prized by some are usually artificial, and are made by soaking ordinary Opals in oil and then burning oil on them. The brilliancy of the stone is thus increased, but it is usually fragile and liable to lose color. Any Opal will lose its play of colors on being heated too highly, hence possessors should avoid subjecting them to more than ordinary heat. It is the variety and brilliancy of their changing colors which give to Opal nearly all its desirability as a precious stone, for, as has often been remarked, the qualities of hardness, transparency and rich body color which give to most other gems their value are lacking in the Opal. But together with the beauty of its changing colors Opal possesses an advantage over all other gems in that it cannot be successfully imitated. It is said that the Romans were able to make artificial Opals closely resembling the real, but, if so, the art has been lost never to be recovered, and we may hope it never will be. Hence, however much danger there may be in buying an Opal that it has not been properly “seasoned,” or may not retain its color, the purchaser may at least be sure he has an Opal and not an imitation. The stones are usually cut in the oval form known as en cabouchon, this cutting being found to bring out their brilliancy better than any facetted form. The brilliancy of the stone may be increased in setting by giving it a backing of mother of pearl or black silk. When a number of Opals are placed together they seem to borrow brilliancy from one another, a fact which is taken advantage of in settings by placing a number together and also by Opal dealers to dispose of inferior stones by grouping them with good ones. For this reason when Opals are purchased they should be examined separately. The value of Opals depends almost wholly on the brilliancy of their coloring and their size. Stones without the play of colors are practically worthless, while stones of ten to twenty carats’ weight, with brilliant coloring, may bring several hundred dollars. The most highly valued Opals have long come from the mines of Czernowitza in northern Hungary. These Opals are often known as Oriental Opals from the fact that in early days they were first purchased by Greek and Turkish merchants, and by them sent to Holland. There are, however, no localities in the Orient where precious Opals are found. The rock in which the Hungarian Opals occur is eruptive, and of the kind known as andesite. It is considerably decomposed, and the Opal occurs in clefts and veins. There is little doubt that it was from these mines that the Romans obtained the Opals known to them, and the output has been quite constant since. It is said that the Hungarian Opals are less likely to deteriorate than any others. Still the danger of deterioration is not great in any Opal. The other important countries from which precious Opals are obtained are Mexico, Honduras and Australia. The Mexican Opals are mostly of the fire Opal variety. They are mined in a number of the States of the Republic—Queretaro, Hidalgo, Guerrero, Michoacan, Jalisco and San Luis Potosi. The oldest mines are in the State of Hidalgo, near Zimapan, where the Opal occurs in a red trachyte. Most of the Mexican Opals on the market at the present time, however, come from the State of Queretaro, where mining for them is conducted on a more extensive scale. The Opal here occurs in long veins in a porphyritic trachyte, and is mined at various points. The stones are cut and polished by workmen in the city of Queretaro who use ordinary grind-stones and chamois skins for the work and are said to receive an average wage of 23 cents a day. The Honduras Opals reach foreign markets but rarely and usually uncut. The mines are in the western part of Honduras, in the Department of Gracias. They are little worked, but there is no doubt that extensive deposits exist which might afford a good supply of gems if they were properly exploited. The Australian Opals come from several localities, the most prominent at the present time being White Cliffs, New South Wales. The matrix is a Cretaceous sandstone which has been permeated by hot volcanic waters. Shells, bones and other fossils are found here entirely altered to precious Opal, making objects of great beauty. In 1899 Opals to the value of $650,000 were sold from this single region. There is no doubt that the present popularity of the Opal is due to some extent to the supply of beautiful stones which has come from these mines at prices at from one-third to one-tenth those of the Hungarian stones. Other localities in Australia whence precious Opals are obtained are places on the Barcoo River and Bulla Creek, Queensland, and occasional finds in West Australia. No localities in the United States yielding precious Opals in any quantity have yet been discovered. Some good stones have been cut from an occurrence in Idaho, and some other minor finds have been made, but they possess little commercial importance at present. Opal does not seem to have been extensively known or used by the ancients, although we know the Romans prized it highly and ascribed to it the power of warning against disaster. The Roman Senator Nonius owned one set in a ring which was said to be valued at nearly a million dollars. History records that for refusing to sell the stone to Mark Antony he was sent into exile. The next most famous Opal in history is one owned by the Empress Josephine which was called “The Burning of Troy,” on account of the brilliancy of the flames which shot forth from its depths. The present whereabouts of neither of these gems is known. A large Mexican Opal, now in the Field Columbian Museum, is carved in the image of the Mexican sun-god, and has a setting of gold representing the diverging rays of the sun. This gem is very ancient and is believed to have been kept by the Aztecs in a temple, so it is probable that the Aztecs knew and prized Opals. The Arabians believe that Opals fall from heaven with the lightning’s flash, a beautiful fancy, indeed. Modern usage makes the Opal the birthstone of the month of October, some of the properties assigned to it being that it has the power of making its wearer a general favorite, enhancing the keenness of his sight and shielding him from suicide. October’s child is born for woe And life’s vicissitudes must know; But lay an Opal on her breast And Hope will lull those woes to rest. Oliver Cummings Farrington. THE CROCUS. “Rest, little sister,” her sisters said— Violet purple and wild-rose red— “Rest, dear, yet, till the sun comes out, Till the hedges bud, and the grass blades sprout. We are safe in the kindly earth, and warm— In the upper world there is sleet and storm. Oh, wait for the robin’s true, clear note, For the sound of a drifting wing afloat; For the laughter bright of an April shower To call and wake you, sweet Crocus flower.” But brave-heart Crocus said never a word, Nor paused to listen for note of bird, Or laugh of raindrop * * * In rough green vest And golden bonnet, herself she dressed By the light of a glow worm’s friendly spark, And softly crept up the stairway dark, Out through the portal of frozen mold Into the wide world, bleak and cold. But somehow a sunbeam found the place Where the snow made room for her lifted face. — Madeline S. Bridges , in Ladies’ Home Journal. MARCH. The stormy March is come at last, With wind and cloud and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies. Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art welcome month to me. For thou, to Northern lands again, The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear’st the gentle name of Spring. And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May. Then sing aloud the gushing rills And the full springs, from frosts set free, That, brightly leaping down the hills, Are just sent out to meet the sea. The year’s departing beauty hides Of wintry storms the sullen threat; But in thy sternest frown abides A look of kindly promise yet. Thou bring’st the hope of those calm skies, And that soft time of many showers, When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, Seems of a brighter world than ours. —Royal Arcanum. DOMESTIC SHEEP. (Ovis aries.) ADAPTED FROM A PAINTING BY FRED. WILLIAMSON. THE DOMESTIC SHEEP. ( Ovis aries. ) It was a little strip of fur which adorned a lady’s cloak. It was soft and warm and black and curly. The lady called it astrakhan, but the sheep, whose lamb met an early death that its pleasing fine coat might become the covering of someone in far away America, still lives on the steppes of the Far East. Her master and herder belong to one of the wandering tribes which roam about Central Asia. Had the lamb lived to maturity its beautiful fine coat would have changed to coarse hair, very unlike the wool of the sheep we find in America. It would have grown to a large size; it would have had short horns, a very short, flat tail, with great bunches of fat on the haunches at either side. There would have been among its companions some sheep entirely white; others white with black heads; but in its immediate family all would have been black throughout. Imagine the little lamb taking the journey across the Eastern continent! Should we follow it in its journey we would find many interesting varieties of its kind. In crossing Syria and Asia Minor we would find the curious, flat-tailed sheep; their tails are most remarkable to one unaccustomed to the sight, for they are long masses of fat, sometimes weighing forty or fifty pounds, and often trailing upon the ground. In this case they are frequently supported by little sledges to relieve the animal of its burden. It seems impossible to understand why these tails should grow to this inconvenient and enormous length, when other breeds near by have practically no tails at all. Leaving the country of the broad-tailed sheep and passing along the south of Europe, we find in Spain a very important and interesting variety, the Merino sheep. While in the mountains of Spain they are found in the greatest perfection, the breed has spread over many parts of Europe and has been introduced into South Africa, America and Australia. It is noted for the fineness of its wool and is considered by many to be the most profitable of all sheep. For some reason the Merino sheep has not found favor in the British isles, but we find there many other well known round-tailed varieties. The Shetland and Orkney breeds have in their fleece soft, fine wool, largely intermixed with hair. They are of small size and horns may be found on both sexes, although they may be lacking in the ewes. The soft-wooled sheep of Scotland are a breed nearly extinct; they have short horns, lank bodies and short wool. In Wales we find two races of small size; one lives in the higher mountains, is dark in color, has much hair mixed with soft wool, and horns are found on both sexes. The other race is without horns and is covered with a soft wool. Both varieties are hardy and are noted for their fine flesh. The Irish Wicklow sheep were originally very similar to the Welsh variety. Among other Irish breeds the Kerry is best known. It is wild in disposition, larger than the Welsh sheep, with the horns frequently absent in the ewes. The hardiest and boldest of all the British races are the black-faced Heath breed; these have dark colored limbs and faces and coarse and shaggy fleeces. The Cheviot breed are hornless, with white limbs and faces; they are heavier than the Heath breed, but have less endurance. The old Norfolk breed of the east of England are strong and active, with horns, which are thick and spiral in the rams; the body and limbs are long, the face and legs black, and the silky wool is of medium length. The Dartmoor and Exmoor sheep are “the breeds of the older forests, commons and chases.” They are of small size, may or may not have horns, have dark or gray faces and have wool of medium length. The well known Southdowns have no horns; they have dark brown faces, ears and limbs; the head is always comparatively small, the lower jaws are thin and fine and the space between the ears is well covered with wool. The Dorset and pink-nosed Somerset breed are in the southwest of England. They are known by their long white limbs and their white faces; the muzzle is sometimes flesh-colored and the wool is of medium length. Then there are the various long-wooled sheep of which the new Leicester breed is considered first in respect to form and ability to fatten readily. Other long-wooled sheep are the Lincolnshire, the Romney Marsh, the Cotswold, the Devonshire, the Notts and the long-wooled Irish breeds. There are other breeds less well known and less important, but the breeds of the British isles are by no means confined to that locality. They have been taken to the United States and to other countries. In fact, some variety of domestic sheep can be found in every land, and no animal is more useful to its owner. In spite of the various breeds, the characteristics of all domestic sheep are similar. They have not the courage and independence of their cousins, the wild sheep of the mountains. These delight to roam to the highest altitudes, some species being found as high as 22,000 feet above the level of the sea. No other animal save the musk ox and the mountain goat can exist at this height. Doubtless the domestic sheep would thrive better if it could escape the low levels and the plains, for, like the wild sheep, it is a mountain-loving creature. It has adapted itself to the lower altitude, but at a great loss of its original characteristics. It has to an extreme extent become a dependent animal, unable to care for itself, totally lacking in courage and resources, very easily frightened and without marked character. An entire flock is easily startled by any unusual noise; thunder and lightning completely unsettles them, and human efforts to quiet them often prove unavailing. Brehm tells us that “on the steppes of Russia and Asia the shepherds often have the most arduous tasks in preserving their charges. During a snowstorm or thunderstorm the panicstricken flocks disperse in a wild stampede, rushing out into the wastes of the steppe like senseless creatures, and then resignedly suffer themselves to be snowed under or to freeze without making any attempt to shelter themselves from the storm or even to seek for food.” In Russia a goat is generally used as a leader for a flock of sheep, but even a goat is not always able to keep the stupid animals under proper guidance. During a thunderstorm they huddle together and cannot be made to move. “If lightning strikes into the flock,” says Lenz, “many are killed at once; if fire breaks out in the sheepfold the sheep do not run out, but, on the contrary, sometimes rush into the fire.” The best manner of rescuing sheep from a burning fold or structure is to let the sheep dog to which they are accustomed, drive them out. To a certain degree, however, the sheep exhibits mental capacity. It learns to know its keeper, obeys his call and displays a certain amount of affection and docility towards him. It seems to have a liking for music, or at least it patiently and passively listens to the bagpipe playing of the shepherd, and it has evidently some premonition of impending changes in the weather. Sheep thrive best on a diet of various dried plants. The botanist Linnæus states that they “feed on three hundred and twenty-seven of the common Central European plants, avoiding one hundred and forty-one. Ranunculus, cypress spurge, meadow-saffron, shave-grass, wild cabbage or skunk cabbage and rushes are poison to it. It is fond of salt and fresh drinking water is necessary to its well being.” The mother usually gives birth to but one lamb, although occasionally there are more. The little creature must first have human care, but later they are permitted to follow their mother, which shows great affection for her offspring. A sheep may live to be fourteen years of age, though at nine or ten years it will lose most of its teeth and cannot maintain itself by grazing. John Ainslie.

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