Birds and all Nature, Vol. V, No. 2, February 1899

This is only one of many questions that the tree will not answer and no one else ever has answered. If we take a strip of blotting-paper and insert one end of it in an ink-well, the ink immediately begins to climb up the blotting-paper by means of the force known as capillary attraction. Here, says the seeker for truth, is the reason for the ascent of sap, and many profound authors have agreed that he is right. Others claim, however, that he is wrong, while still others think he is only partly wrong and that this force has something to do with it. If we cut the roots from a tree and insert the stem in water we will soon find that this force is not the sole cause for the ascent of sap. Another student has made experiments with the force called diffusion, and claims that this explains the rise of sap to such remarkable heights; but diffusion does not work fast enough and hence must be thrown aside. Another finds that water is imbibed through fine porous substances with great force and that air can thus be compressed to several atmospheres, and this force is affirmed to be the one at work in our trees. But the fact that the amputation of the leaves and branches checks the ascent is brought forward and this theory falls to the ground. The fact that liquid films have a tendency to expand rapidly on wetable surfaces was next advanced, but the objection to the first theory met it at once.

Another interesting theory is now brought forward and has the advantage of practical demonstration, that is, an artificial model was made through which water ascended. It is based on the principle that water will pass through moist films that air will not penetrate, on the fact that evaporation takes place under right conditions with force enough to cause something of a vacuum, and also on the elasticity of the cells.

The model was constructed of glass tubes, closed at one end with a piece of bladder, and joined together in series by means of thick-walled caoutchouc tubing; the top which represented a leaf was a funnel closed by a bladder. This artificial cell chain was filled with water, mixed with carbolic acid to keep the pores from clogging, and was set up with its base immersed. The fluid evaporated through the membrane at the top of the funnel, which drew up more from the cells below, the space so caused being continually filled from the base. This is an interesting experiment and is said to solve the question, but it is open to the same objection, that a tree will not absorb fluid and carry it for any length of time after the roots are cut off. I regard it, however as a long stride in the right direction.

To what source, then, must we look for an explanation of this process?

I think it is a fact that the small, new root-fibers imbibe fluid with considerable force, but it is undoubtedly a fact that they soon lose this force when deprived of the leaves; that the leaves with the aid of evaporation, exert a great force, which the above experiment plainly indicates; and I cannot consistently dismiss the idea that capillary attraction has something to do with it. If we also add to this the theory that the swaying of the stems and branches by the wind is continually changing the shape and size of the cells and is thus driving the juices wherever an opening will allow them to travel, thus bringing the elasticity of the tree to our aid, we have again advanced.

But the principle of life is not discovered. Whenever it is we may find it to be a force much greater than any we have so far examined, and which may even cause the overthrow of all theories heretofore advanced.

EMERSON AND THE WOODPECKER STORY

NO squirrel works harder at his pine-nut harvest than the carpenter woodpeckers in autumn at their acorn harvest, says John Muir in the December Atlantic, drilling holes in the thick, corky bark of the yellow pine and incense cedar, in which to store the crop for winter use; a hole for each acorn so nicely adjusted as to size that when the acorn, point fore-most, is driven in, it fits so well that it cannot be drawn out without digging around it. Each acorn is thus carefully stored in a dry bin, perfectly protected from the weather, a most laborious method of stowing away a crop, a granary for each kernel. Yet they never seem to weary at the work, but go on so diligently they seem determined that every acorn in the grove shall be saved. They are never seen eating acorns at the time they are storing them, and it is commonly believed that they never eat them or intend to eat them, but that the wise birds store them and protect them solely for the sake of the worms they are supposed to contain. And because these worms are too small for use at the time the acorns drop, they are shut up like lean calves and steers, each in a separate stall, with abundance of food to grow big and fat by the time they will be the most wanted, that is, in winter, when insects are scarce and stall-fed worms most valuable. So these woodpeckers are supposed to be a sort of cattle-raiser, each with a drove of thousands, rivaling the ants that raise grain and keep herds of plant lice for milk cows. Needless to say, the story is not true, though some naturalists even believe it. When Emerson was in the park, having heard the worm story, and seen the great pines plugged full of acorns, he asked (just to pump me, I suppose): "Why do woodpeckers take the trouble to put acorns into the bark of the trees?" "For the same reason," I replied, "that bees store honey and squirrels nuts." "But they tell me, Mr. Muir, that woodpeckers don't eat acorns." "Yes they do," I said. "I have seen them eating them. During snowstorms they seem to eat little besides acorns. I have repeatedly interrupted them at their meals, and seen the perfectly sound, half-eaten acorns. They eat them in the shell as some people eat eggs." "But what about the worms?" "I suppose," I said, "that when they come to a wormy one they eat both worm and acorn. Anyhow, they eat the sound ones when they can't find anything they like better, and from the time they store them until they are used they guard them, and woe to the squirrel or jay caught stealing."

THE CRAB-EATING OPOSSUM

THE crab-eating opossum (Philander philander) is one of the largest of the family. The body is nine and one-half inches long, and the tail nearly thirteen inches. It has a wide range, extending throughout all of tropical America. It is numerous in the woods of Brazil, preferring the proximity of swamps, which furnish it with crabs. It lives almost exclusively in trees, and descends to the ground only when it wishes to forage.

While it proceeds slowly and awkwardly on the ground, its prehensile tail enables it to climb trees with some facility. This opossum readily entraps smaller mammals, reptiles, and insects, and especially crabs, which are its favorite food. It preys upon birds and their nests, but it also eats fruit, and is said to visit poultry yards and to cause great devastation among chickens and pigeons.

The young of the crab-eating opossum differ in color from the old animals. They are completely naked at birth, but when they are sufficiently developed to leave the pouch, they grow a short, silky fur of a shining nut-brown color, which gradually deepens into the dark brownish-black color of maturity. All observers agree that the little creatures escape from the pouch and, moving around and upon the mother's body, afford a charming spectacle. The pouch is formed by two folds of skin, which are laid over the unformed young attached to the mammae.

The opossum is extensively hunted on account of the havoc it works among poultry.

The negroes are its enemies, and kill it whenever and wherever they can. The flesh is said to be unpalatable to most white persons, for two glands impart a very strong and repellent odor of garlic to it, but the negroes like it, and the flesh repays them for the trouble of the pursuit. The opossum, however, is not easily killed, and resorts to dissimulation when hard pressed, rolls up like a ball, and feigns to be dead. To anyone not acquainted with its habits, the open jaws, the extended tongue, the dimmed eyes would be ample confirmation of it, but the experienced observer knows that it is only "'possuming," and that as soon as the enemy withdraws it will gradually get on its legs and make for the woods.

It is said that the opossum was formerly found in Europe, but now only inhabits America. Nearly all of the species live in the forest or in the underbrush, making their homes in hollow trees, holes in the ground, among thick grass and in bushes. All are nocturnal in their habits and lead a solitary, roving life. The opossum lives with its mate only during the pairing time. It has no fixed habitation. In captivity it is the least interesting of animals. Rolled up and motionless, it lies all day, and only when provoked does it make the slightest movement. It opens its mouth as wide as possible, and for as long a time as one stands before it, as if it suffered from lockjaw.

The opossum can hardly be classed among the game animals of America, yet its pursuit in the South in old plantation days used to afford the staple amusement for the dusky toilers of the cotton states. It was the custom, as often as the late fall days brought with them the ripened fruit and golden grain, for the dark population of the plantation, sometimes accompanied by young "massa," to have a grand 'possum hunt a la mode. We would describe the method of taking it, were it the policy of this magazine to show approval of a most cruel practice. Happily the custom, through change of circumstances, has fallen into disuse.

The specimen of this interesting animal which we present in this number of Birds and All Nature was captured, with its mother and five young ones, in a car load of bananas, having traveled all the way from the tropics to Chicago in a crate of the fruit. The mother and young were kept alive by eating the bananas, another proof that the crab-eating opossum does not feed exclusively upon animal food.

WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN

EMILY C. THOMPSON

IT is natural that at this time our thoughts should turn toward two of our great national heroes. This month is to us not merely the month of February, marking one of the twelve divisions of our calendar year, but it is a continuous memorial of two of our revered statesmen. We read all we can about our glorified dead, we search the words spoken by them, we visit the places where they toiled for us, and we scan even their homes trying to form a picture of their lives. We do even more. We presume to imagine their thoughts and conjure up the very ideas which might have occurred to them as they stood in these spots now hallowed by memories of them.

It is a fascinating occupation to fathom the characters of truly great men and contemplate their attitude toward various subjects. Sometimes mere conjectures are the fruit of our toil. At other times sure conclusions are reached from facts which are brought to light. Stories galore are told of both Lincoln and Washington, which help us more vividly to picture their natures. The question in which we are interested could easily be answered if we knew these men, but still as we are acquainted with the manifestations of their characteristics we can answer it almost as satisfactorily. Did Lincoln and Washington love nature? Could they appreciate her beauties, and did they evince an interest in her creations?

Lincoln in his log-cabin home, splitting rails, working on the farm, hunting coons, driving the horses and cattle, must have found a glorious opportunity to become acquainted with this great mother of ours. The son of a pioneer who, with his great covered wagon, cattle, family, and household belongings, wanders over the country, whose only neighbors for hundreds of miles are the birds in the woods, the rabbits in the field, and the fish in the stream, the son of such a man certainly sees nature as few of our city-bred, World's Fair, Paris Exposition young people, can imagine it. Lincoln was content with these, his neighbors. Never do we hear sighs from him and wishes that his lot might be exchanged for that of another, even if his lot was toilsome and lonely. Who can tell but he thus imbibed his love for pure freedom undefiled and his lofty conceptions of this life in its relation to this world and something beyond?

We cannot doubt that the great, tall, clumsy lad had a real love in his heart for the little feathered and furry friends about him, and not simply a love for the beautiful ones, but what is far higher a feeling of sympathy even for the ugly and a genuine tender solicitude for all.

Even when the youth became a man perplexed by business and political problems his nature remained unaltered. Once when a party of his friends on a judicial circuit stopped to water their horses, Lincoln was not there. His companion on the way was asked of his whereabouts. He replied that the last he had seen of Lincoln he was hunting around for a bird's nest, two of the former occupants of which he held in his hand. The wind had blown the tiny nestlings from their snug little home and the greathearted man was trying to find the nest for the wee, helpless chirpers. The same great heart which felt the human cry of pain as keenly as the bewildered cry of the little birds gave its last throb to restore little black nestlings to the warm comfort of free homes protected by law.

There is an amusing incident, told probably as a "good one" upon the politician, but which has more than an amusing side to us. Lincoln was one of a party of ladies and gentlemen, dressed in their best, journeying along a country road. Their attention was arrested by the distressed squealings of a pig. There it was by the roadside, caught in a fence. Of course a general laugh followed. To the astonishment of all Lincoln, clad as he was, dismounted from his horse and released the poor animal. He could not see even an occupant of the pigsty suffer without feelings of sympathy.

We expect different stories of Washington, a different attitude toward nature and animals, just as the nature of the man was different. Visit Mt. Vernon and at once you feel his relation to the natural world, a love and keen appreciation of the beautiful in nature, with a thorough conviction that where man tampers with the rough beauties of nature a severe orderliness, precision, and care must be manifested.

Seated upon his front veranda, Washington beheld every day a scene of beauty, one gaze at which stays with a stranger for months and for years. The green of his own lawn ending abruptly not far away with the decline of the bluff, the tops of a few trees farther down just visible, and the blue waters of the Potomac bounded in the distance by the bluff of the opposite bank; to the right a carefully mowed lawn sloping away in natural terraces to the bank of the river; to the left a small sward and orchard; behind the house a large green plot. It is to the left of the beautiful, sunny, open space behind the house that the garden is found. Every visitor must spend a few moments there, admiring the hedges, the neatly-trimmed boxtrees, the regular formal designs, and incidentally bidding "Good-day" to the saucy little squirrel who scampers about the paths. It is an interesting spot as revealing what Washington considered the beauty of scenic gardening.

Washington is said to have loved noble horses and to have taken great pride in his stables. He always drove white horses with hoofs painted black. Of dogs, too, he was exceedingly fond and kept an accurate account of the pedigree of every animal belonging to the estate. Usually he drove in a carriage drawn by a span while his family came next in a larger vehicle drawn by four horses. On state occasions he allowed himself the luxury of an elegant coach and six.

Varied are the feelings with which one views the estate of our first president. It is almost impossible in the midst of all this beauty to realize that it was the same man who enjoyed this peaceful home of luxury and spent that awful winter at Valley Forge or crossed the Delaware amid the floating ice. The quiet restfulness of Mt. Vernon must have been a haven of peace to the valiant soldier who faced the enemy so bravely, to the statesman who toiled so assiduously for his country, and to the heart of human sympathy returning even from the cities of 1776.

At the foot of a gentle slope about midway between the house and the boat-landing is the tomb of the Washington family. The very aged, gray resting-place has been exchanged for one of more modern design. An open vault in front with a protection of iron grating and other chambers extending into the earth form the tomb. It is with awe that the visitor approaches the open vault to gaze upon the gray sarcophagi of George and Martha Washington standing out in bold relief against the dark gray walls and background. Few are the letters sculptured upon the stone caskets, but above in the wall behind them is a square slab bearing the words: "I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth on me shall not perish but have everlasting life."

It is touching to see the tributes which have been paid to this great man, the trees planted in his honor, the monuments erected to his memory, but none is more touching than the unconscious tribute which nature herself is giving. The tomb is silent and cold. One thinks of the sterner qualities of the dead, when a bit of color catches the eye. There above the sarcophagi in a corner of the inscribed tablet nestle two little yellow birds, a fitting tribute of Mother Nature to her love and trustfulness in one of her noblest sons.

England holds the honor of having first formed societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals and of having first legislated for its punishment.

THE GEOGRAPHIC TURTLE

MAP and mud-turtle (Malacoclemmys geographicus) are the more common names by which this animal is known; and as it is a characteristic species of the waters of Illinois and occurs in countless numbers in lakes, rivers, and flood-ground pools, it may be assumed that most of our readers have met with it. It is exceedingly common in the Illinois and Mississippi rivers, where it is often confounded with quite another species. It is the only species seen by Mr. F. M. Woodruff on the shores of Lake Michigan, whence he has frequently chased it to the water and caught it in his hands. It is timid and inoffensive in disposition, always sliding from bank or log when approached, and even when captured shows none of the ferocity of the snapper. The great strength of its jaws, unsurpassed in massiveness by any of our turtles, would enable it to inflict serious wounds, and it is not a little surprising to find such efficient weapons of offense unaccompanied by special ruggedness of temper. Our streams and lakes, with their numerous sandy shores, and their abundance of animal and vegetable life, would seem to form an ideal habitat for these reptiles. Their food consists ordinarily of fishes, frogs, and mollusks, crayfishes, aquatic insects, and vegetation. They trouble fishermen at times by devouring fishes which they have caught on trot-lines or in set nets. They are not rapid swimmers. An animal once within reach of their jaws must be very quick to escape capture. The eggs are white and are provided with a rather tough shell. They bury their eggs in sand on the shore and leave them to hatch by the sun's heat.

A gentleman who had a pet turtle which he kept in a tank tells some interesting things about its appetite. During the early spring he fed him on bits of meat, either raw or cooked. Having no teeth, he swallowed these whole, gulping them down with large quantities of water. Outside of his tank he would carry food in his mouth for hours at a time, but apparently was unable to swallow it with his head out of water. He always aimed well, and snapped up bits of meat as carefully and as quickly as if they had been bits of life that might escape him. When a morsel was too large to be swallowed whole, he held it down firmly with his fore feet and pulled bits off with his mouth. His owner once gave him a fish so large that it took him three hours to eat it, and in all that time he never removed his foot. Rival turtles and swift currents had probably taught him this bit of discretion in the days of his freedom. One time he put twenty small fish averaging three inches in length into his tank, thinking this would be a treat for him and would save the trouble of feeding him for some time. A treat he evidently considered it, for within half an hour he had disposed of the entire lot. This excited the admiration of the gentleman's boy friends, and the next day they brought in sixty small fish. At the end of the second day the turtle looked about with an Oliver Twist-like air, which plainly called for more. When there was any perceptible difference in the size of the fish it always ate the largest one first. It ate grasshoppers and dragon-flies, tadpoles, and little frogs – animal food of any kind. It would eat eggs as readily as meat. This voracity of appetite accounts for much of the destruction of young fish life in our lakes and streams, where these turtles are extremely abundant.

In the Philippines, it is said, there lives a turtle that climbs trees. The feet are strongly webbed, and each has three sharp claws.

NOSES

W. E. WATT

THE Rev. Sam Jones says of a trained bird dog that he once saw in the tall grass jumping up to get signals from his master's hand, moving to the right or left, or lying down without a word spoken: "When I saw the faithfulness of that animal in carrying out the wishes of its human master I was ashamed of myself in the presence of the dog."

A hunting dog is busy with eye and ear. Every nerve seems strained to catch the slightest indication of game. But those who know the dog best know he is mainly occupied with his nose. That delicate organ dilates and adjusts itself constantly to every breath of air.

The bird dog knows of the presence of a game bird before he can see it. He scents its location at long range. He is trained to "stand" when he recognizes the scent. With one paw lifted, his nose and tail stretched out to their greatest reach, he points his master to the spot where the game is to be found. At the word of command he moves cautiously forward towards the bird, and when his master is ready another word causes the dog to "flush" the bird, or make it take wing.

The hound upon the track of fox or deer has remarkable power, not only of following the exact track made by the pursued animal, even when some hours have elapsed since the game passed that way, but his scent is so keen that in many instances he is able to tell, when he comes upon such a track, which way the deer or fox was running. Sometimes the hound "takes the back track," but the best dogs are usually so positive in this sense that they make no mistakes as to which way the animal has traveled.

It is common knowledge, but none the less marvelous, that an ordinary dog is usually able to follow his master by scent alone through the crowded streets of the city or across fields where a thousand fragrant flowers and grasses seem to arise on purpose to baffle him.

This marvelous power is not confined to dogs. Many other animals possess it in a remarkable degree. The keenness of this sense in deer, antelopes, and other wild ruminants is so well known that hunters despair of ever approaching them except from the side which gives them the wind in their faces so that their own peculiar scent may be carried away from the extremely sensitive nostrils of their game. The hippopotamus has this sense highly developed and can discover his human enemy without getting sight of him or hearing his approach.

The polar bear climbs upon an iceberg and sniffs afar the dead whale floating his way, although still miles toward the horizon. The camel in the desert is often saved from death by the keenness and accuracy of his olfactory organs, which tell him the direction he must take to fill his depleted reservoir with water.

The North American Indian smells as keenly as he sees, for he can not only detect the presence of human beings by his nose alone, but also surely tell whether they are of his own or the suspected white race. In the Massachusetts Asylum for the Blind was a mute girl named Julia Brace, who knew her friends and acquaintances by the peculiar odors of their hands. Not being able to see them or converse with them, she was compelled to distinguish them by the sense of smell alone. So remarkable were her powers that she was regularly employed in assorting the clothes of the pupils as they came from the wash, that operation not being far-reaching enough to remove the signs which were known to her alone. The case of James Mitchell, who was deaf and blind from his birth, is remarkable, for he could detect the approach of a stranger in this way.

Those who have made a thorough study of the subject claim that there is a peculiar odor belonging to every class of living beings, and each is subdivided so that each order, family, species, race, and variety is distinct. Furthermore every individual is distinct from the rest of his kind in the odor given off so profusely and unconsciously in most instances.

Horses seem to be somewhat less keen than dogs in noting odors, for a horse which is accustomed to but one groom and will not consent to attendance from another may sometimes be deceived by having the new groom dress himself in the clothes of his predecessor.

Insects possess this sense to such a degree that flies have been the means of locating a dead rat under a floor by their settling over the body in large numbers, although there was no chance for them to reach it. Just where the organs of smell are in insects has been disputed among scientists. Sir John Lubbock is inclined to the opinion that they are located in the antennæ and palpi, though some contend that insects smell as the air is taken in at the spiracles or breathing-holes which are scattered over their bodies.

That fish have this sense to some extent is attested by fishermen who use essential oils upon their bait and secure readier attention from the inhabitants of the water. But fish seem to be less capable of smell than even the reptiles upon land who are not considered at all remarkable in this respect. To make up in some sort for this deficiency there are some kinds of fish which have four nostrils while all other animals that smell at all seem content with but two as a rule.