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diff --git a/30246-h/30246-h.htm b/30246-h/30246-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..df63e3f --- /dev/null +++ b/30246-h/30246-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7912 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content="HTML Tidy, see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Under the Maples, +by John Burroughs</title> +<style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em;} + + + p.indent { margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em; + text-align: left; margin-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4, h5, h6 { + text-align: center; font-weight: normal; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1.5em; + margin-bottom: 1.5em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + + small {font-size: .8em;} + + td.left {padding-top: 0em; padding-bottom: 0em; font-size: .9em; text-align: right; width: 10%;} + td.middle {padding-top: 0em; padding-bottom: 0em; font-size: .9em; text-align: left; width: 80%; vertical-align: top;} + td.right {padding-top: .0em; padding-bottom: 0em; font-size: .9em; text-align: right; width: 10%; vertical-align: bottom;} + td.left2 {padding-top: 0; padding-bottom: 0em; font-size: .9em; text-align: right; width: 20%; vertical-align: top;} + td.middle2 {padding-top: 0em; padding-bottom: 0em; font-size: .9em; text-align: left; width: 70%;} + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + right: 4%; font-style: normal; + font-size: .8em; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + ul {list-style-type: none;} + ul.IX { /* styling the IndeX */ + list-style-type: none; margin-top: .2em; + text-indent: 0em; font-size: .9em; + } + ul.IX li { /* list items in an index list: compressed */ + margin-top: .3em; text-indent: -1em; font-size: 1em; } + ul.IX li4 { /* list items in an index list: compressed */ + margin-top: .1em; } + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .blockquot {font-size: .9em; margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;} + + .quotsig { position: absolute; right: 15%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em; + font-size: 1em; text-align: right; } + + .center {text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + .center2 {text-align: center; font-size: .85em; margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .footnotes {border: none;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 5%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right; font-size: .9em;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .7em; text-decoration: none;} + + + .poem {font-size: 90%; margin-left:20%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + + + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .tn {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; font-size: .8em; width: 80%; background-color: #EEE; padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; text-align: justify;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Under the Maples, by John Burroughs + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Under the Maples + +Author: John Burroughs + +Release Date: October 13, 2009 [EBook #30246] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE MAPLES *** + + + + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Turgut Dincer, Joseph Cooper and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tn">Transcriber's Note:<br /> +Alternative spelling for chippie/chippy +has been retained as it appears in the original +publication.</div> + +<h1>UNDER THE MAPLES</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/photo.jpg" width="500" height="643" alt= +"The last portrait of John Burroughs" title="" /> + +<div class="caption">THE LAST PORTRAIT OF JOHN BURROUGHS<br /> +<small>(March 23, 1921; six days before his death)</small><br /> +Made at Pasadena Glen, California, by his long-time +friend Charles F. Lummis</div></div> + + +<h1>UNDER THE MAPLES</h1> + +<h3><small>BY</small><br /> +JOHN BURROUGHS<br /><br /></h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"><img src="images/printer.jpg" width="100" height="131" alt= +"Printer's mark" title="" /> +</div> + +<h4> +<small>BOSTON AND NEW YORK</small><br /> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +<b>The Riverside Press Cambridge</b></h4> + +<h6>COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</h6> + +<h6>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</h6> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span></p> + +<h3>PREFACE</h3> + + +<p>It was while sitting in his hay-barn study in the +Catskills and looking out upon the maple woods of +the old home farm, and under the maples at Riverby, +that the most of these essays were written, +during the last two years of the author's life. And it +was to the familiar haunts near his Hudson River +home that his thoughts wistfully turned while wintering +in Southern California in 1921. As he pictured +in his mind the ice breaking up on the river in the +crystalline March days, the return of the birds, the +first hepaticas, he longed to be back among them; he +was there in spirit, gazing upon the river from the +summer-house, or from the veranda of the Nest, or +seated at his table in the chestnut-bark Study, or +busy with his sap-gathering and sugar-making.</p> + +<p>Casting about for a title for this volume, the +vision of maple-trees and dripping sap and crisp +March days playing constantly before his mind, +one day while sorting and shifting the essays for his +new book, he suddenly said, "I have it! We'll call +it <i>Under the Maples</i>!"</p> + +<p>His love for the maple, and consequently his +pleasure in having hit upon this title, can be gathered +from the following fragment found among his +miscellaneous notes: "I always feel at home where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">vi</a></span> +the sugar maple grows It was paramount in the +woods of the old home farm where I grew up. It +looks and smells like home. When I bring in a maple +stick to put on my fire, I feel like caressing it a +little. Its fiber is as white as a lily, and nearly as +sweet-scented. It is such a tractable, satisfactory +wood to handle—a clean, docile, wholesome tree; +burning without snapping or sputtering, easily +worked up into stovewood, fine of grain, hard of +texture, stately as a forest tree, comely and clean as +a shade tree, glorious in autumn, a fountain of coolness +in summer, sugar in its veins, gold in its foliage, +warmth in its fibers, and health in it the year +round."</p> + +<p><span class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Clara Barrus</span></span></p> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Nest at Riverby</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0em;"><i>West Park on the Hudson</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>New York</i></span><br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span></p> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> + +<table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="left">I.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">The Falling Leaves</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left">II.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">The Pleasures of a Naturalist</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left">III.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">The Flight of Birds</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left">IV.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">Bird Intimacies</span></td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left">V.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">A Midsummer Idyl</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left">VI.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">Near Views of Wild Life</span></td><td class="right"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left">VII.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">With Roosevelt at Pine Knot</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left">VIII.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">A Strenuous Holiday</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left">IX.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">Under Genial Skies</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td> +</tr> +</table><table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="left2">I.</td> +<td class="middle2">A Sun-Blessed Land</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">II.</td> +<td class="middle2">Lawn Birds</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">III.</td> +<td class="middle2">Silken Chambers</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">IV.</td> +<td class="middle2">The Desert Note</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">V.</td> +<td class="middle2">Sea-Dogs</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td> +</tr> +</table><table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="left">X.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">A Sheaf of Nature Notes</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td> +</tr> +</table><table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="left2">I.</td> +<td class="middle2">Nature's Wireless</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">II.</td> +<td class="middle2">Maeterlinck on the Bee</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">III.</td> +<td class="middle2">Odd or Even</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">IV.</td> +<td class="middle2">Why and How</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">V.</td> +<td class="middle2">An Insoluble Problem</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VI.</td> +<td class="middle2">A Live World</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VII.</td> +<td class="middle2">Darwinism and the War</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VIII.</td> +<td class="middle2">The Robin</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">IX.</td> +<td class="middle2">The Weasel</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">X.</td> +<td class="middle2">Misinterpreting Nature</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">XI.</td> +<td class="middle2">Natural Sculpture</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td> +</tr> +</table><table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="left">XI.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">viii</a></span><span class="smcap">Ruminations</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td> +</tr> +</table><table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="left2">I.</td> +<td class="middle2">Man a Part of Nature</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">II.</td> +<td class="middle2">Marcus Aurelius on Death</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">III.</td> +<td class="middle2">The Interpreter of Nature</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">IV.</td> +<td class="middle2">Original Source</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">V.</td> +<td class="middle2">The Cosmic Harmony</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VI.</td> +<td class="middle2">Cosmic Rhythms</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VII.</td> +<td class="middle2">The Beginnings of Life</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VIII.</td> +<td class="middle2">Spendthrift Nature</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td> +</tr> +</table><table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="left">XII.</td> +<td class="middle"><span class="smcap">New Gleanings in Field and Wood</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td> +</tr> +</table><table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="left2">I.</td> +<td class="middle2">Sunrise</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">II.</td> +<td class="middle2">Nature's Methods</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">III.</td> +<td class="middle2">Heads and Tails</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">IV.</td> +<td class="middle2">An Unsavory Subject</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">V.</td> +<td class="middle2">Chance in Animal Life</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VI.</td> +<td class="middle2">Mosquitoes and Fleas</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VII.</td> +<td class="middle2"><p class="indent">The Change of Climate in Southern California</p></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="left2">VIII.</td> +<td class="middle2">All-Seeing Nature</td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td> +</tr> +</table><table width="100%" summary="contents" border="0"> +<tr> +<td class="middle" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Index</span></td> +<td class="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span></p> + +<h1>UNDER<br /> +THE MAPLES</h1> + + + +<div class="center">I</div> + +<div class="center">THE FALLING LEAVES</div> + + +<p>The time of the falling of leaves has come again. +Once more in our morning walk we tread upon +carpets of gold and crimson, of brown and bronze, +woven by the winds or the rains out of these delicate +textures while we slept.</p> + +<p>How beautifully the leaves grow old! How full of +light and color are their last days! There are +exceptions, of course. The leaves of most of the +fruit-trees fade and wither and fall ingloriously. +They bequeath their heritage of color to their fruit. +Upon it they lavish the hues which other trees +lavish upon their leaves. The pear-tree is often +an exception. I have seen pear orchards in October +painting a hillside in hues of mingled bronze +and gold. And well may the pear-tree do this, it +is so chary of color upon its fruit.</p> + +<p>But in October what a feast to the eye our woods +and groves present! The whole body of the air +seems enriched by their calm, slow radiance. They +are giving back the light they have been absorbing +from the sun all summer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span>The carpet of the newly fallen leaves looks so +clean and delicate when it first covers the paths and +the highways that one almost hesitates to walk +upon it. Was it the gallant Raleigh who threw +down his cloak for Queen Elizabeth to walk upon? +See what a robe the maples have thrown down for +you and me to walk upon! How one hesitates to +soil it! The summer robes of the groves and the +forests—more than robes, a vital part of themselves, +the myriad living nets with which they have captured, +and through which they have absorbed, the +energy of the solar rays. What a change when the +leaves are gone, and what a change when they come +again! A naked tree may be a dead tree. The +dry, inert bark, the rough, wirelike twigs change +but little from summer to winter. When the leaves +come, what a transformation, what mobility, what +sensitiveness, what expression! Ten thousand +delicate veined hands reaching forth and waving +a greeting to the air and light, making a union and +compact with them, like a wedding ceremony. +How young the old trees suddenly become! what +suppleness and grace invest their branches! The +leaves are a touch of immortal youth. As the +cambium layer beneath the bark is the girdle of +perennial youth, so the leaves are the facial expression +of the same quality. The leaves have their +day and die, but the last leaf that comes to the +branch is as young as the first. The leaves and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> +the blossom and the fruit of the tree come and go, +yet they age not; under the magic touch of spring +the miracle is repeated over and over.</p> + +<p>The maples perhaps undergo the most complete +transformation of all the forest trees. Their leaves +fairly become luminous, as if they glowed with +inward light. In October a maple-tree before +your window lights up your room like a great lamp. +Even on cloudy days its presence helps to dispel +the gloom. The elm, the oak, the beech, possess +in a much less degree that quality of luminosity, +though certain species of oak at times are rich in +shades of red and bronze. The leaves of the trees +just named for the most part turn brown before +they fall. The great leaves of the sycamore assume +a rich tan-color like fine leather.</p> + +<p>The spider weaves a net out of her own vitals +with which to capture her prey, but the net is not +a part of herself as the leaf is a part of the tree. +The spider repairs her damaged net, but the tree +never repairs its leaves. It may put forth new +leaves, but it never essays to patch up the old ones. +Every tree has such a superabundance of leaves +that a few more or less or a few torn and bruised +ones do not seem to matter. When the leaf +surface is seriously curtailed, as it often is by some +insect pest, or some form of leaf-blight, or by the +ravages of a hail-storm, the growth of the tree and +the maturing of its fruit is seriously checked. To<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> +denude a tree of its foliage three years in succession +usually proves fatal. The vitality of the tree +declines year by year till death ensues.</p> + +<p>To me nothing else about a tree is so remarkable +as the extreme delicacy of the mechanism by which +it grows and lives, the fine hairlike rootlets at the +bottom and the microscopical cells of the leaves at +the top. The rootlets absorb the water charged +with mineral salts from the soil, and the leaves +absorb the sunbeams from the air. So it looks as +if the tree were almost made of matter and spirit, +like man; the ether with its vibrations, on the one +hand, and the earth with its inorganic compounds, +on the other—earth salts and sunlight. The sturdy +oak, the gigantic sequoia, are each equally finely +organized in these parts that take hold upon nature. +We call certain plants gross feeders, and in a sense +they are; but all are delicate feeders in their +mechanism of absorption from the earth and air.</p> + +<p>The tree touches the inorganic world at the two +finest points of its structure—the rootlets and +the leaves. These attack the great crude world +of inorganic matter with weapons so fine that only +the microscope can fully reveal them to us. The +animal world seizes its food in masses little and big, +and often gorges itself with it, but the vegetable, +through the agency of the solvent power of water, +absorbs its nourishment molecule by molecule.</p> + +<p>A tree does not live by its big roots—these are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> +mainly for strength and to hold it to the ground. +How they grip the rocks, fitting themselves to them, +as Lowell says, like molten metal! The tree's life +is in the fine hairlike rootlets that spring from the +roots. Darwin says those rootlets behave as if +they had minute brains in their extremities. They +feel their way into the soil; they know the elements +the plant wants; some select more lime, others +more potash, others more magnesia. The wheat +rootlets select more silica to make the stalk; the +pea rootlets select more lime: the pea does not +need the silica. The individuality of plants and +trees in this respect is most remarkable. The +cells of each seem to know what particular elements +they want from the soil, as of course they do.</p> + +<p>The vital activity of the tree goes on at three +points—in the leaves, in the rootlets, and in the +cambium layer. The activity of the leaf and rootlet +furnishes the starchy deposit which forms this +generative layer—the milky, mucilaginous girdle +of matter between the outer bark and the wood +through which the tree grows and increases in size. +Generation and regeneration take place through +this layer. I have called it the girdle of perpetual +youth. It never grows old. It is annually renewed. +The heart of the old apple-tree may decay and +disappear, indeed the tree may be reduced to a +mere shell and many of its branches may die and +fall, but the few apples which it still bears attest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> +the fact that its cambium layer, at least over a part +of its surface, is still youthful and doing its work. +It is this layer that the yellow-bellied woodpecker, +known as the sapsucker, drills into and devours, +thus drawing directly upon the vitality of the tree. +But his ravages are rarely serious. Only in two +instances have I seen dead branches on an apple-tree +that appeared to be the result of his drilling.</p> + +<p>What we call the heart of a tree is in no sense +the heart; it has no vital function, but only the +mechanical one of strength and support. It adds +to the tree's inertia and power to resist storms. +The trunk of a tree is like a community where only +one generation at a time is engaged in active business, +the great mass of the population being retired +and adding solidity and permanence to the social +organism. The rootlets of a plant or a tree are +like the laborers in the field that produce for us +the raw material of our food, while the leaves are +like our many devices for rendering it edible and +nourishing. The rootlets continue their activity +in the fall, after the leaves have fallen, and +thus gorge the tree with fluid against the needs of +the spring. In the growing tree or vine the sap, +charged with nourishment, flows down from the +top to the roots. In the spring it evidently +flows upward, seeking the air through the leaves. +Or rather, we may say that the crude sap always +flows upward, while the nutritive sap flows down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span>ward, +thus giving the tree a kind of double +circulation.</p> + +<p>A tree may be no more beautiful and wonderful +when we have come to a knowledge of all its hidden +processes, but it certainly is no less so. We do +not think of the function of the leaves, nor of the +bark, nor of the roots and rootlets, when we gaze +upon a noble oak or an elm; we admire it for its +form, its sturdiness, or its grace; it is akin to ourselves; +it is the work of a vast community of cells +like those that build up our own bodies; it is a +fountain of living matter rising up out of the earth +and splitting up and spreading out at its top in a +spray of leaves and flowers; and if we could see its +hidden processes we should realize how truly like a +fountain it is. While in full leaf a current of water +is constantly flowing through it, and flowing upward +against gravity. This stream of water is truly its +life current; it enters at the rootlets under the +ground and escapes at the top through the leaves +by a process called transpiration. All the mineral +salts with which the tree builds up its woody tissues,—its +osseous system, so to speak,—the instruments +with which it imprisons and consolidates the carbon +which it obtains from the air, are borne in solution +in this stream of water. Its function is analogous to +that of the rivers which bring the produce and other +material to the great cities situated upon their +banks. A cloud of invisible vapor rises from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> +top of every tree and a thousand invisible rills +enter it through its myriad hairlike rootlets. The +trees are thus conduits in the circuit of the waters +from the earth to the clouds. Our own bodies and +the bodies of all living things perform a similar +function. Life cannot go on without water, but +water is not a food; it makes the processes of +metabolism possible; assimilation and elimination +go on through its agency. Water and air are the +two ties between the organic and the inorganic. +The function of the one is mainly mechanical, +that of the other is mainly chemical.</p> + +<p>As the water is drawn in at the roots, it flows +out at the top, to which point it rises by capillary +attraction and a process called osmosis. Neither +of them is a strictly vital process, since both are +found in the inorganic world; but they are in the +service of what we call a vital principle. Some +physicists and biochemists laugh at the idea of a +vital principle. Huxley thought we might as well +talk about the principle of aqueosity in water. +We are the victims of words. The sun does not +shoot out beams or rays, though the eye reports +such; but it certainly sends forth energy; and it +is as certain that there is a new activity in matter—some +matter—that we call vital.</p> + +<p>Matter behaves in a new manner; builds up +new compounds and begets myriads of new forms +not found in the inorganic world, till it finally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> +builds up the body and mind of man. Death puts +an end to this activity alike in man and tree, and +a new kind of activity sets in—a disorganizing +activity, still with the aid of water and air and +living organisms. It is like the compositor distributing +his type after the book is printed. The +micro-organisms answer to the compositor, but they +are of a different kind from those which build up +the body in the first instance. But the living +body as a whole, with its complex of coördinating +organs and functions—what attended to that? +The cells build the parts, but what builds the +whole?</p> + +<p>How many things we have in common with the +trees! The same mysterious gift of life, to begin +with; the same primary elements—carbon, nitrogen, +oxygen, and so on—in our bodies; and +many of the same vital functions—respiration, +circulation, absorption, assimilation, reproduction. +Protoplasm is the basis of life in both, and the cell +is the architect that builds up the bodies of both. +Trees are rooted men and men are walking trees. +The tree absorbs its earth materials through the +minute hairs on its rootlets, called fibrillæ, and the +animal body absorbs its nutriment through +analogous organs in the intestines, called lacteals.</p> + +<p>Whitman's expression "the slumbering and liquid +trees" often comes to my mind. They are the words +of a poet who sees hidden relations and meanings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> +everywhere. He knows how fluid and adaptive all +animate nature is. The trees are wrapped in a +kind of slumber in winter, and they are reservoirs +of living currents in summer. If all living bodies +came originally out of the sea, they brought a big +dower of the sea with them. The human body +is mainly a few pinches of earth salts held in +solution by several gallons of water. The ashes +of the living tree bulk small in comparison with +the amount of water it holds. Yes, "the slumbering +and liquid trees." They awaken from +their slumber in the spring, the scales fall from +their buds, the fountains within them are unsealed, +and they again become streams of living +energy, breaking into leaf and bloom and fruit +under the magic of the sun's rays.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span></p> + +<div class="center">II</div> + +<div class="center">THE PLEASURES OF A NATURALIST</div> + +<div class="center2">I</div> + +<p>How closely every crack and corner of nature is +packed with life, especially in our northern temperate +zone! I was impressed with this fact when +during several June days I was occupied with +road-mending on the farm where I was born. To +open up the loosely piled and decaying laminated +rocks was to open up a little biological and zoölogical +museum, so many of our smaller forms of life +harbored there. From chipmunks to ants and +spiders, animal life flourished. We disturbed the +chipmunks in their den a foot and a half or more +beneath the loosely piled rocks. There were two +of them in a soft, warm nest of dry, shredded +maple-leaves. They did not wait to be turned +out of doors, but when they heard the racket overhead +bolted precipitately. Two living together +surprised me, as heretofore I had never known +but one in a den. Near them a milk snake had +stowed himself away in a crevice, and in the little +earthquake which we set up got badly crushed. +Two little red-bellied snakes about one foot long +had also found harbor there.</p> + +<p>The ants rushed about in great consternation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> +when their eggs were suddenly exposed. In fact, +there was live natural history under every stone +about us. Some children brought me pieces of +stone, which they picked up close by, which +sheltered a variety of cocoon-building spiders. +One small, dark-striped spider was carrying about +its ball of eggs, the size of a large pea, attached +to the hind part of its body. This became detached, +when she seized it eagerly and bore it +about held between her legs. Another fragment +of stone, the size of one's hand, sheltered the +chrysalis of some species of butterfly which was +attached to it at its tail. It was surprising to +see this enshrouded creature, blind and deaf, +wriggle and thrash about as if threatening us with +its wrath for invading its sanctuary. One would +about as soon expect to see an egg protest.</p> + +<p>Thus the naturalist finds his pleasures everywhere. +Every solitude to him is peopled. Every +morning or evening walk yields him a harvest to +eye or ear.</p> + +<p>The born naturalist is one of the most lucky +men in the world. Winter or summer, rain or +shine, at home or abroad, walking or riding, his +pleasures are always near at hand. The great +book of nature is open before him and he has only +to turn the leaves.</p> + +<p>A friend sitting on my porch in a hickory +rocking-chair the other day was annoyed by one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> +of our small solitary wasps that seemed to want +to occupy the chair. It held a small worm in +its legs. She would "shoo" it away, only to see +it back in a few seconds. I assured her that it +did not want to sting her, but that its nest was +somewhere in the chair. And, sure enough, as +soon as she quieted down, it entered a small +opening in the end of one of the chair arms, and +deposited its worm, and presently was back with +another, and then a third and a fourth; and +before the day was done it came with little pellets +of mud and sealed up the opening.</p> + + +<div class="center2">II</div> + +<p>My morning walk up to the beech wood often +brings me new knowledge and new glimpses of +nature. This morning I saw a hummingbird +taking its bath in the big dewdrops on a small +ash-tree. I have seen other birds bathe in the +dew or raindrops on tree foliage, but did not +before know that the hummer bathed at all.</p> + +<p>I also discovered that the webs of the little +spiders in the road, when saturated with moisture, +as they were from the early fog this morning, +exhibit prismatic tints. Every thread of the web +was strung with minute spherules of moisture, +and they displayed all the tints of the rainbow. +In each of them I saw one abutment of a tiny +rainbow. When I stepped a pace or two to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> +other side, I saw the other abutment. Of course +I could not see the completed bow in so small an +area. These fragments are as unapproachable as +the bow in the clouds. I also saw that where a +suspended dewdrop becomes a jewel, or displays +rainbow tints, you can see only one at a time—to +the right or left of you. It also is a fragment of +a rainbow. Those persons who report beholding a +great display of prismatic effects in the foliage +of trees, or in the grass after a shower, are not +to be credited. You may see the drops glistening +in the sun like glass beads, but they will not exhibit +prismatic tints. In only one at a time will +you see rainbow tints. Change your position, and +you may see another, but never a great display of +prismatic tints at one time.</p> + +<p>In my walk the other morning I turned over a +stone, looking for spiders and ants. These I found, +and in addition there were two cells of one of our +solitary leaf-cutters, which we as boys called +"sweat bees," because they came around us and +would alight on our sweaty hands and arms as if +in quest of salt, as they probably were. It is about +the size of a honey bee, of lighter color, and its +abdomen is yellow and very flexible. It carries +its pollen on its abdomen and not upon its thighs. +These cells were of a greenish-brown color; each +of them was like a miniature barrel in which the +pollen with the egg of the bee was sealed up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> +When the egg hatches, the grub finds a loaf of +bread at hand for its nourishment. These little +barrels were each headed up with a dozen circular +bits of leaves cut as with a compass, exactly +fitting the cylinder, one upon the other. The wall +of the cylinder was made up of oblong cuttings +from leaves, about half an inch wide, and three +quarters of an inch long, a dozen of them lapped +over one another, and fitted together in the most +workmanlike manner.</p> + +<p>In my boyhood I occasionally saw this bee cutting +out her nesting-material. Her mandibles +worked like perfect shears. When she had cut out +her circular or her oblong patches, she rolled them +up, and, holding them between her legs, flew away +with them. I have seen her carry them into little +openings in old rails, or old posts. About the period +of hatching, I do not know.</p> + + +<div class="center2">III</div> + +<p>Swallows, in hawking through the air for insects, +do not snap their game up as do the true flycatchers. +Their mouths are little nets which they drive +through the air with the speed of airplanes. A +few mornings ago the air was cold, but it contained +many gauzy, fuzzy insects from the size of mosquitoes +down to gnats. They kept near the +ground. I happened to be sitting on the sunny +side of a rock and saw the swallows sweep past.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> +One came by within ten feet of me and drove +straight on to a very conspicuous insect which +disappeared in his open mouth in a flash. How +many hundreds or thousands of such insects they +must devour each day! Then think of how many +insects the flycatchers and warblers and other +insect-eating birds must consume in the course of +a season!</p> + + +<div class="center2">IV</div> + +<p>We little suspect how the woods and wayside +places swarm with life. We see little of it unless +we watch and wait. The wild creatures are +cautious about revealing themselves: their enemies +are on the lookout for them. Certain woods at +night are alive with flying squirrels which, except +for some accident, we never see by day. Then +there are the night prowlers—skunks, foxes, +coons, minks, and owls—yes, and mice.</p> + +<p>The wild mice we rarely see. The little shrew +mole, which I know is active at night, I have never +seen but once. I once set a trap, called the delusion +trap, in the woods by some rocks where I +had no reason to suspect there were more mice +than elsewhere, and two mornings later it was +literally packed full of mice, half a dozen or more.</p> + +<p>Turn over a stone in the fields and behold +the consternation among the small folk beneath +it,—ants, slugs, bugs, worms, spiders,—all object<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span>ing +to the full light of day, not because their deeds +are evil, but because the instinct of self-preservation +prompts this course. As I write these sentences, a +chipmunk, who has his den in the bank by the roadside +near by, is very busy storing up some half-ripe +currants which grew on a bush a few yards away. +Of course the currants will ferment and rot, but +that consideration does not disturb him; the +seeds will keep, and they are what he is after. In +the early summer, before any of the nuts and +grains are ripened, the high cost of living among +the lesser rodents is very great, and they resort to +all sorts of makeshifts.</p> + + +<div class="center2">V</div> + +<p>In regard to this fullness of life in the hidden +places of nature, Darwin says as much of the world +as a whole:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Well may we affirm that every part of the world is +inhabitable. Whether lakes of brine or those subterranean +ones hidden beneath volcanic mountains—warm +mineral springs—the wide expanse and depth of the +ocean, the upper regions of the atmosphere, and even +the surface of perpetual snow—all support organic +beings.</p></div> + +<p>Never before was there such a lover of natural +history as Darwin. In the earth, in the air, in the +water, in the rocks, in the sand, in the mud—he +scanned the great biological record of the globe as +it was never scanned before. During the voyage of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> +the Beagle he shirked no hardships to add to his +stores of natural knowledge. He would leave the +comfortable ship while it was making its surveys, +and make journeys of hundreds of miles on horseback +through rough and dangerous regions to glean +new facts. Grass and water for his mules, and geology +or botany or zoölogy or anthropology for himself, +and he was happy. At a great altitude in the +Andes the people had shortness of breath which +they called "puna," and they ate onions to correct +it. Darwin says, with a twinkle in his eye, "For my +part I found nothing so good as the fossil shells."</p> + +<p>His Beagle voyage is a regular magazine of +natural-history knowledge. Was any country +ever before so searched and sifted for its biological +facts? In lakes and rivers, in swamps, in woods, +everywhere his insatiable eye penetrated. One +re-reads him always with a different purpose in +view. If you happen to be interested in insects, +you read him for that; if in birds, you read him +for that; if in mammals, in fossils, in reptiles, in +volcanoes, in anthropology, you read him with +each of these subjects in mind. I recently had in +mind the problem of the soaring condor, and I +re-read him for that, and, sure enough, he had +studied and mastered that subject, too. If you +are interested in seeing how the biological characteristics +of the two continents, North and South +America, agree or contrast with each other, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> +will find what you wish to know. You will learn +that in South America the lightning-bugs and glowworms +of many kinds are the same as in North +America; that the beetle, or elator, when placed +upon its back, snaps itself up in the air and falls +upon its feet, as our species does; that the obscene +fungus, or <i>Phallus</i>, taints the tropical forests, as a +similar species at times taints our dooryards and +pasture-borders; and that the mud-dauber wasps +stuff their clay cells with half-dead spiders for their +young, just as in North America. Of course +there are new species of animal and plant life, but +not many. The influence of environment in modifying +species is constantly in his mind.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VI</div> + +<p>The naturalist can content himself with a day of +little things. If he can read only a word of one syllable +in the book of nature, he will make the most of +that. I read such a word the other morning when +I perceived, when watching a young but fully +fledged junco, or snowbird, that its markings +Were like those of the vesper sparrow. The young +of birds always for a brief period repeat the +markings of the birds of the parent stem from which +they are an offshoot. Thus, the young of our +robins have speckled breasts, betraying their +thrush kinship. And the young junco shows, in +its striped appearance of breast and back, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> +lateral white quills in the tail, its kinship to the +grass finch or vesper sparrow. The slate-color +soon obliterates most of these signs, but the white +quills remain. It has departed from the nesting-habits +of its forbears. The vesper sparrow nests +upon the ground in the open fields, but the junco +chooses a mossy bank or tussock by the roadside, +or in the woods, and constructs a very artistic +nest of dry grass and hair which is so well hidden +that the passer-by seldom detects it.</p> + +<p>Another small word I read about certain of the +rocks in my native Catskills, a laminated, blue-gray +sandstone, that when you have split them +open with steel wedges and a big hammer, or blown +them up with dynamite, instead of the gray fresh +surface of the rock greeting you, it is often a surface +of red mud, as if the surface had been enameled +or electrotyped with mud. It appears to date from +the first muddy day of creation. I have such +a one for my doorstone at Woodchuck Lodge. It +is amusing to see the sweepers and scrubbers of +doorstones fall upon it with soap and hot water, +and utterly fail to make any impression upon it. +Nowhere else have I seen rocks casehardened with +primal mud. The fresh-water origin of the Catskill +rocks no doubt in some way accounts for it.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VII</div> + +<p>We are all interested students of the weather, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> +the naturalist studies it for some insight into the +laws which govern it. One season I made my reputation +as a weather prophet by predicting on the +first day of December a very severe winter. It +was an easy guess. I saw in Detroit a bird from +the far north, a bird I had never before seen, the +Bohemian waxwing, or chatterer. It breeds above +the Arctic Circle and is common to both hemispheres. +I said, When the Arctic birds come down, +be sure there is a cold wave behind them. And +so it proved.</p> + +<p>When the birds fail to give one a hint of the +probable character of the coming winter, what +reliable signs remain? These remain: When +December is marked by sudden and violent extremes +of heat and cold, the winter will be broken; +the cold will not hold. I have said elsewhere that +the hum of the bee in December is the requiem of +winter. But when the season is very evenly +spaced, the cold slowly and steadily increasing +through November and December, no hurry, no +violence, then be prepared for a snug winter.</p> + +<p>As to wet and dry summers, one can always be +guided by the rainfall on the Pacific coast; a +shortage on the western coast means an excess on +the eastern. For four or five years past California +has been short of its rainfall; so much so that quite +general alarm is felt over the gradual shrinkage of +their stored-up supplies, the dams and reservoirs;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> +and during the summer seasons the parts of New +England and New York with which I am acquainted +have had very wet seasons—floods in +midsummer, and full springs and wells at all times. +The droughts have been temporary and local.</p> + +<p>We say, "As fickle as the weather," but the +meteorological laws are pretty well defined. All +signs fail in a drought, and all signs fail in a wet +season. At one time the south wind brings no +rain, at another time the north and northwest +winds do bring rain. The complex of conditions +over a continental area of rivers and lakes and +mountain-chains is too vast for us to decipher; it +inheres in the nature of things. It is one of the +potencies and possibilities which matter possesses. +We can take no step beyond that.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VIII</div> + +<p>There seems to me to be false reasoning in the +argument from analogy which William James uses +in his lectures on "Human Immortality." The +brain, he admits, is the organ of the mind, but +may only sustain the relation to it, he says, which +the wire sustains to the electric current which +it transmits, or which the pipe sustains to the water +which it conveys.</p> + +<p>Now the source and origin of the electric current +is outside the wire that transmits it, and it could +sustain no other than a transient relation to any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> +outside material through which it passed. But +if we know anything, we know that the human mind +or spirit is a vital part of the human body; its +source is in the brain and nervous system; hence, +it and the organ through which it is manifested +are essentially one.</p> + +<p>The analogy of the brain to the battery or dynamo +in which the current originates is the only +logical or permissible one.</p> + + +<div class="center2">IX</div> + +<p>Maeterlinck wrote wisely when he said:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The insect does not belong to our world. The other +animals, the plants even, notwithstanding their dumb +life, and the great secrets which they cherish, do not seem +wholly foreign to us. In spite of all we feel a sort of +earthly brotherhood with them.... There is something, +on the other hand, about the insect that does not +belong to the habits, the ethics, the psychology of our +globe. One would be inclined to say that the insect +comes from another planet, more monstrous, more +energetic, more insane, more atrocious, more infernal +than our own.</p></div> + +<p>Certainly more cruel and monstrous than our own. +Among the spiders, for instance, the female eats +the male and often devours her own young. The +scorpion does the same thing. I know of nothing +like it among our land animals outside the insect +world.</p> + +<p>The insects certainly live in a wonderland of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> +which we have little conception. All our powers +are tremendously exaggerated in these little people. +Their power makes them acquainted with the inner +molecular constitution of matter far more intimately +than we can attain to by our coarse chemical +analysis. Our world is agitated by vibrations, +coarse and fine, of which our senses can take in +only the slower ones. If they exceed three +thousand a second, they become too shrill for our +ears. It is thought that the world of sound with +the insects begins where ours leaves off. The +drums and tubes of insects' ears are very minute. +What would to us be a continuous sound is to them +a series of separate blows. We begin to hear +blows as continuous sounds when they amount to +about thirty a second. The house-fly has about +four thousand eye-lenses; the cabbage butterfly, +and the dragon-fly, about seventeen thousand; +and some species of beetles have twenty-five +thousand. We cannot begin to think in what an +agitated world the insect lives, thrilling and vibrating +to a degree that would drive us insane. If we +possessed the same microscopic gifts, how would +the aspect of the world be changed! We might +see a puff of smoke as a flock of small blue butterflies, +or hear the hum of a mosquito as the +blast of a trumpet. On the other hand, so much +that disturbs us must escape the insects, because +their senses are too fine to take it in. Doubtless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> +they do not hear the thunder or feel the earthquake.</p> + +<p>The insects are much more sensitive to heat and +cold than we are, and for reasons. The number +of waves in the ether that gives us the sensation of +heat is three or four million millions a second. The +number of tremors required to produce red light is +estimated at four hundred and seventy-four million +millions a second, and for the production of violet +light, six hundred and ninety-nine million millions +a second. No doubt the insects react to all these +different degrees of vibration. Those marvelous +instruments called antennæ seem to put them in +touch with a world of which we are quite oblivious.</p> + + +<div class="center2">X</div> + +<p>To how many things our lives have been compared!—to +a voyage, with its storms and adverse currents +and safe haven at last; to a day with its morning, +noon, and night; to the seasons with their spring, +summer, autumn, and winter; to a game, a school, +a battle.</p> + +<p>In one of his addresses to workingmen Huxley +compared life to a game of chess. We must learn +the names and the values and the moves of each +piece, and all the rules of the game if we hope +to play it successfully. The chessboard is the +world, the pieces are the phenomena of the universe, +the rules of the game are what we call the laws of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> +nature. But it may be questioned if the comparison +is a happy one. Life is not a game in this sense, +a diversion, an aside, or a contest for victory over +an opponent, except in isolated episodes now and +then. Mastery of chess will not help in the mastery +of life. Life is a day's work, a struggle where the +forces to be used and the forces to be overcome are +much more vague and varied and intangible than +are those of the chessboard. Life is coöperation +with other lives. We win when we help others to +win. I suppose business is more often like a game +than is life—your gain is often the other man's +loss, and you deliberately aim to outwit your +rivals and competitors. But in a sane, normal +life there is little that suggests a game of any kind.</p> + +<p>We must all have money, or its equivalent. +There are the three things—money, goods, labor—and +the greatest of these is labor. Labor is the +sum of all values. The value of things is the labor +it requires to produce or to obtain them. Were +gold plentiful and silver scarce, the latter would be +the more precious. The men at the plough and +the hoe and in the mines of coal and iron stand +first. These men win from nature what we all must +have, and these things are none of them in the hands +or under the guardianship of some one who is +trying to keep us from obtaining them, or is aiming +to take our aids and resources from us.</p> + +<p>The chess simile has only a rhetorical value.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> +The London workingmen to whom Huxley spoke +would look around them in vain to find in their +problems of life anything akin to a game of chess, +or for any fruitful suggestion in the idea. They +were probably mechanics, tradesmen, artisans, +teamsters, boatmen, painters, and so on, and knew +through experience the forces with which they had +to deal. But how many persons who succeed in +life have any such expert knowledge of the forces +and conditions with which they have to deal, as +two chess-players have of the pawns and knights +and bishops and queens of the chessboard?</p> + +<p>Huxley was nearly always impressive and convincing, +and there was vastly more logical force in +his figures than in those of most writers.</p> + +<p>Life may more truly be compared to a river that +has its source in a mountain or hillside spring, +with its pure and sparking or foaming and noisy +youth, then its quieter and stronger and larger +volume, and then its placid and gently moving current +to the sea. Blessed is the life that is self-purifying, +like the moving waters; that lends itself to +many noble uses, never breaking out of bonds and +becoming a destructive force.</p> + + +<div class="center2">XI</div> + +<p>I had a letter the other day from a man who wanted +to know why the meadow, or field, mice gnawed or +barked the apple-trees when there was a deep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> +coverlid of snow upon the ground. Was it because +they found it difficult to get up through the deep, +frozen snow to the surface to get seeds to eat? He +did not seem to know that meadow mice are not +seed-eaters, but that they live on grass and roots +and keep well hidden beneath the ground during the +day, when there is a deep fall of snow coming up out +of their dens and retreats and leading a free holiday +life beneath the snow, free from the danger of cats, +foxes, owls, and hawks. Life then becomes a sort +of picnic. They build new nests on the surface +of the ground and form new runways, and disport +themselves apparently in a festive mood. The +snow is their protection. They bark the trees and +take their time. When the snow is gone, their +winter picnic is at an end, and they retreat to their +dens in the ground and beneath flat stones, and lead +once more the life of fear.</p> + + +<div class="center2">XII</div> + +<p>Sitting on my porch recently, wrapped in my +blanket, recovering from a slight indisposition, I +was in a mood to be interested in the everyday +aspects of nature before me—in the white and +purple lilacs, in the maple-leaves nearly full grown, +in the pendent fringe of the yellowish-white bloom +of the chestnut and oak, in the new shoots of the +grapevines, and so forth. All these things formed +only a setting or background for the wild life near by.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span></p> + +<p>The birds are the little people that peep out at +me, or pause and regard me curiously in this great +temple of trees,—wrens, chippies, robins, bluebirds, +catbirds, redstarts, and now and then rarer visitants. +A few days earlier, for a moment, a mourning +ground warbler suddenly appeared around the +corner, on the ground, at the foot of the steps, and +glanced hastily up at me. When I arose and looked +over the railing, it had gone. Then the speckled +Canada warbler came in the lilac bushes and syringa +branches and gave me several good views. The +bay-breasted warbler was reported in the evergreens +up by the stone house, but he failed to report +to me here at "The Nest." The female redstart, +however, came several times to the gravel walk below +me, evidently looking for material to begin her +nest. And the wren, the irrepressible house wren, +was and is in evidence every few minutes, busy carrying +nesting-material into the box on the corner of +the veranda. How intense and emphatic she is! +And the male, how he throbs and palpitates with +song! Yesterday an interloper appeared. He or she +climbed the post by the back way, as it were, and +hopped out upon the top of the box and paused, as +if to see that the coast was clear. He acted as if +he felt himself an intruder. Quick as a flash there +was a brown streak from the branch of a maple +thirty feet away, and the owner of the box was after +him. The culprit did not stop to argue the case, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> +was off, hotly pursued. I must not forget the pair of +wood thrushes that are building a nest in a maple +fifty or more feet away. How I love to see them +on the ground at my feet, every motion and gesture +like music to the eye! The head and neck of the +male fairly glows, and there is something fine and +manly about his speckled breast.</p> + +<p>A pair of catbirds have a nest in the barberry +bushes at the south end of the house, and are in +evidence at all hours. But when the nest is completed, +and the laying of eggs begins, they keep out +of the public eye as much as possible. From the +front of the stage they retreat behind the curtain.</p> + +<p>One day as I sat here I heard the song of the +olive-backed thrush down in the currant-bushes +below me. Instantly I was transported to the +deep woods and the trout brooks of my native Catskills. +I heard the murmuring water and felt the +woodsy coolness of those retreats—such magic hath +associative memories! A moment before a yellow-throated +vireo sang briefly in the maple, a harsh +note; and the oriole with its insistent call added to +the disquieting sounds. I have no use for the +oriole. He has not one musical note, and in grape +time his bill is red, or purple, with the blood of our +grapes.</p> + +<p>But the most of these little people are my benefactors, +and add another ray of sunshine to the +May day. I shall not soon forget the spectacle of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> +that rare little warbler peeping around the corner of +the porch, like a little fairy, and then vanishing.</p> + +<p>The mere studying of the birds, seeking mere +knowledge of them, is not enough. You must live +with the birds, so to speak; have daily and seasonal +associations with them before they come to mean +much to you. Then, as they linger about your +house or your camp, or as you see them in your +walks, they are a part of your life, and help give +tone and color to your day.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span></p> + +<div class="center">III</div> + +<div class="center">THE FLIGHT OF BIRDS</div> + + +<p>To what widely different use birds put their power +of flight! To the great mass of them it is simply a +means of locomotion, of getting from one point to +another. A small minority put their wing-power +to more ideal uses, as the lark when he claps his +wings at heaven's gate, and the ruffed grouse when +he drums; even the woodcock has some other use +for his wings than to get from one point to another. +Listen to his flight song in the April twilight up +against the sky.</p> + +<p>Our small hawks use their power of flight mainly +to catch their prey, as does the swallow skimming +the air all day on tireless wing, but some of the other +hawks, such as our red-tailed hawk, climb their +great spirals apparently with other motives than +those which relate to their daily fare. The crow +has little other use for his wings than to gad about +like a busy politician from one neighborhood to +another. In Florida I have seen large flocks of +the white ibis performing striking evolutions high +up against the sky, evidently expressive of the +gay and festive feeling begotten by the mating +instinct.</p> + +<p>The most beautiful flyer we ever see against our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> +skies is the unsavory buzzard. He is the winged +embodiment of grace, ease, and leisure. Judging +from appearances alone, he is the most disinterested +of all the winged creatures we see. He rides the +airy billows as if only to enjoy his mastery over +them. He is as calm and unhurried as the orbs in +their courses. His great circles and spirals have +a kind of astronomic completeness. That all +this power of wing and grace of motion should be +given to an unclean bird, to a repulsive scavenger, +is one of the anomalies of nature. He does not need +to hurry or conceal his approach; what he is after +cannot flee or hide; he has no enemies; nothing +wants him; and he is at peace with all the world.</p> + +<p>The great condor of South America, in rising from +the ground, always faces the wind. It is often +captured by tempting it to gorge itself in a comparatively +narrow space. But if a strong enough wind +were blowing at such times, it could quickly rise +over the barrier. Darwin says he watched a +condor high in the air describing its huge circles for +six hours without once flapping its wings. He says +that, if the bird wished to descend, the wings were +for a moment collapsed; and when again expanded, +with an altered inclination, the momentum gained +by the rapid descent seemed to urge the bird upwards +with the even and steady movement of a +paper kite. In the case of any bird <i>soaring</i>, its +motion must be sufficiently rapid for the action of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> +the inclined surface of its body on the atmosphere +to counterbalance its gravity. The force to keep +up the momentum of a body moving in a horizontal +plane in the air (in which there is so little friction) +cannot be great, and this force is all that is wanted. +The movement of the neck and body of the condor, +we must suppose, is sufficient for this. However +this may be, it is truly wonderful and beautiful to +see so great a bird, hour after hour, without any +apparent exertion, wheeling and gliding over mountain +and river.</p> + +<p>The airplane has a propelling power in its motor, +and it shifts its wings to take advantage of the +currents. The buzzard and condor do the same +thing. They are living airplanes, and their power +is so evenly and subtly distributed and applied, +that the trick of it escapes the eye. But of course +they avail themselves of the lifting power of the +air-currents.</p> + +<p>All birds know how to use their wings to propel +themselves through the air, but the mechanism of +the act we may not be able to analyze. I do not +know how a butterfly propels itself against a breeze +with its quill-less wings, but we know that it does +do it. As its wings are neither convex nor concave, +like a bird's, one would think that the upward and +downward strokes would neutralize each other; +but they do not. Strong winds often carry them +out over large bodies of water; but such a master<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> +flyer as the monarch beats its way back to shore, +and, indeed, the monarch habitually flies long distances +over salt water when migrating along our +seacoast in spring and fall.</p> + +<p>At the moment of writing these paragraphs, I +saw a hen-hawk flap heavily by, pursued by a +kingbird. The air was phenomenally still, not a +leaf stirred, and the hawk was compelled to beat +his wings vigorously. No soaring now, no mounting +heavenward, as I have seen him mount till his +petty persecutor grew dizzy with the height and +returned to earth. But the next day, with a fairly +good breeze blowing, I watched two hawks for +many minutes climbing their spiral stairway to the +skies, till they became very small objects against the +clouds, and not once did they flap their wings! +Then one of them turned toward the mountain-top +and sailed straight into the face of the wind, till +he was probably over his mate or young, when, with +half-folded wings, he shot down into the tree-tops +like an arrow.</p> + +<p>In regard to powers of flight, the birds of the +air may be divided into three grand classes: those +which use their wings simply to transport themselves +from one place to another,—the same use we +put our legs to,—those which climb the heavens +to attain a wide lookout, either for the pleasure of +soaring, or to gain a vantage-point from which to +scan a wide territory in search of food or prey,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> +and those which feed as they fly. Most of our +common birds are examples of the first class. +Our hawks and buzzards are examples of the +second class. Swallows, nighthawks, and some sea-birds +are examples of the third class. A few of our +birds use their wings to gain an elevation from which +to deliver their songs—as the larks, and some of the +finches; but the robins and the sparrows and the +warblers and the woodpeckers are always going +somewhere. The hawks and the buzzards are, +comparatively speaking, birds of leisure.</p> + +<p>Every bird and beast is a master in the use of +its own tools and weapons. We who look on from +the outside marvel at their skill. Here is the +carpenter bumble-bee hovering and darting about +the verge-board of my porch-roof as I write this. +It darts swiftly this way and that, and now and +then pauses in midair, surrounded by a blur of +whirring wings, as often does the hummingbird. +How it does it, I do not know. I cannot count or +distinguish the separate stroke of its wings. At +the same time, the chimney swifts sweep by me +like black arrows, on wings apparently as stiff as +if made of tin or sheet-iron, now beating the air, +now sailing. In some way they suggest winged +gimlets. How thin and scimitar-like their wings +are! They are certainly masters of their own craft.</p> + +<p>In general, birds in flight bring the wings as far +below the body as they do above it. Note the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> +crow flapping his way through the air. He is a +heavy flyer, but can face a pretty strong wind. His +wings probably move through an arc of about +ninety degrees. The ph[oe]be flies with a peculiar +snappy, jerky flight; its relative the kingbird, +with a mincing and hovering flight; it tiptoes +through the air. The woodpeckers gallop, alternately +closing and spreading their wings. The +ordinary flight of the goldfinch is a very marked +undulatory flight; a section of it, the rise and the +fall, would probably measure fifty feet. The +bird goes half that distance or more with wings +closed. This is the flight the male indulges in +within hearing distance of his brooding mate. +During the love season he occasionally gives way +to an ecstatic flight. This is a level flight, performed +on round, open wings, which beat the air +vertically. This flight of ecstasy during the song +season is common to many of our birds. I have +seen even the song sparrow indulge in it, rising fifty +feet or more and delivering its simple song with +obvious excitement. The idiotic-looking woodcock, +inspired by the grand passion, rises upon +whistling wings in the early spring twilight, and +floats and circles at an altitude of a hundred feet +or more, and in rapid smackering and chippering +notes unburdens his soul. The song of ecstasy +with our meadowlark is delivered in a level flight +and is sharp and hurried, both flight and song differ<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span>ing +radically from its everyday performance. One +thinks of the bobolink as singing almost habitually +on the wing. He is the most rollicking and song-drunk +of all our singing birds. His season is brief +but hilarious. In his level flight he seems to use +only the tips of his wings, and we see them always +below the level of his back. Our common birds +that have no flight-song, so far as I have observed, +are the bluebird, the robin, the ph[oe]be, the social +sparrow, the tanager, the grosbeak, the pewee, the +wood warblers, and most of the ground warblers.</p> + +<p>Over thirty years ago a writer on flying-machines +had this to say about the flight of sea-gulls: +"Sweeping around in circles, occasionally elevating +themselves by a few flaps of the wings, they glide +down and up the aerial inclines without apparently +any effort whatever. But a close observation +will show that at every turn the angle of inclination +of the wings is changed to meet the new conditions. +There is continual movement with power—by +the bird it is done instinctively, by our machine +only through mechanism obeying a mind not nearly +so well instructed."</p> + +<p>The albatross will follow a ship at sea, sailing +round and round, in a brisk breeze, on unbending +wing, only now and then righting itself with a +single flap of its great pinions. It literally rides +upon the storm.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span></p> + +<div class="center">IV</div> + +<div class="center">BIRD INTIMACIES</div> + + +<p>When, as sometimes happens, I feel an inclination +to seek out new lands in my own country, or in +other countries, to see what Nature is doing there, +and what guise she wears, something prompts me +to pause, and after a while to say to myself: +"Look a little closer into the nature right at your +own door; do a little intensive observation at home, +and see what that yields you. The enticement +of the far-away is mostly in your imagination; +let your eyes and your imagination play once more +on the old familiar birds and objects."</p> + +<p>One season in my walks to the woods I was on +the lookout for a natural bracket among the tree-branches, +to be used in supporting a book-shelf. I +did not find it; but one day in a shad-blow tree, +within a few feet from the corner of my own house, +I found what I was searching for, perfect in every +particular—the right angle and the supporting +brace, or hypothenuse. It gave me a hint I have +not forgotten.</p> + +<p>I find that one has only to overcome a little of +his obtuseness and indifference and look a little +more closely upon the play of wild life about him +to realize how much interesting natural history is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> +being enacted every day before his very eyes—in +his own garden and dooryard and apple-orchard +and vineyard. If one's mind were only alert and +sensitive enough to take it all in! Whether one +rides or walks or sits under the trees, or loiters +about the fields or woods, the play of wild life is +going on about him, and, if he happens to be blessed +with the seeing eye and the hearing ear, is available +for his instruction and entertainment. On every +farm in the land a volume of live natural history +goes to waste every year because there is no historian +to note the happenings.</p> + +<p>The drama of wild life goes on more or less behind +screens—a screen of leaves or of grass, or of +vines, or of tree-trunks, and only the alert and +sympathetic eye penetrates it. The keenest of us +see only a mere fraction of it. If one saw one tenth +of the significant happenings that take place on his +few acres of orchard, lawn, and vineyard in the +course of the season, or even of a single week, what +a harvest he would have! The drama of wild life +is played rapidly; the actors are on and off the stage +before we fairly know it, and the play shifts to other +stages.</p> + +<p>I wonder how many of the scores of persons passing +along the road between my place and the railway +station one early May day became aware that +a rare bird incident was being enacted in the trees +over their heads. It was the annual <i>sängerfest</i> of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> +the goldfinches—one of the prettiest episodes in +the lives of any of our birds, a real musical reunion +of the goldfinch tribe, apparently a whole township, +many hundreds of them, filling scores of the tree-tops +along the road and in the groves with a fine, +sibilant chorus which the ear refers vaguely to the +surrounding tree-tops, but which the eye fails +adequately to account for. It comes from everywhere, +but from nowhere in particular. The birds +sit singly here and there amid the branches, and it +is difficult to identify the singers. It is a minor +strain, but multitudinous, and fills all the air. The +males are just donning their golden uniforms, as if +to celebrate the blooming of the dandelions, which, +with the elm-trees, afford them their earliest food-supply. +While they are singing they are busy cutting +out the green germs of the elm flakes, and going +down to the ground and tearing open the closed +dandelion-heads that have shut up to ripen their +seeds, preparatory to their second and ethereal +flowering when they become spheres of fragile silver +down.</p> + +<p>Whether this annual reunion of the goldfinches +should be called a dandelion festival, or a new-coat +festival, or whether it is to bring the sexes together +preliminary to the mating-season, I am at a loss +to decide. It usually lasts a week or more, and +continues on wet days as well as on fair. It all +has a decidedly festive air, like the fête-days of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> +humans. I know of nothing like it among other +birds. It is the manifestation of something different +from the flocking instinct; it is the social and +holiday instinct, bringing the birds together for a +brief season, as if in celebration of some special +event or purpose. I have observed it in my vicinity +every spring for many years, usually in April or early +May, and it is the prettiest and most significant +bird episode, involving a whole species, known +to me.</p> + +<p>The goldfinch has many pretty ways. He is one +of our most amiable birds. So far as my knowledge +goes, he is not capable of one harsh note. His tones +are all either joyous or plaintive. In his spring +reunions they are joyous. In the peculiar flight-song +in which he indulges in the mating season, +beating the air vertically with his round, open +wings, his tones are fairly ecstatic. His call to +his mate when she is brooding, and when he circles +about her in that long, billowy flight, the crests of +his airy waves being thirty or forty feet apart, calling, +"Perchic-o-pee, perchic-o-pee," as if he were +saying, "For love of thee, for love of thee," and she +calling back, "Yes, dearie; yes, dearie"—his tones +at such times express contentment and reassurance.</p> + +<p>When any of his natural enemies appear—a +hawk, a cat, a jay—his tones are plaintive and appealing. +"Pit-y, pit-y!" he cries in sorrow and not +in anger.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span>When with his mate he leads their brood about +the August thistles, the young call in a similar tone. +When in July the nesting has begun, the female +talks the prettiest "baby talk" to her mate as he +feeds her. The nest-building rarely begins till +thistledown can be had—so literally are all the +ways of this darling bird ways of softness and +gentleness. The nest is a thick, soft, warm structure, +securely fastened in the fork of a maple or +an apple-tree.</p> + +<p>None of our familiar birds endear themselves to +us more than does the bluebird. The first bluebird +in the spring is as welcome as the blue sky +itself. The season seems softened and tempered +as soon as we hear his note and see his warm breast +and azure wing. His gentle manners, his soft, appealing +voice, not less than his pleasing hues, seem +born of the bright and genial skies. He is the spirit +of the April days incarnated in a bird. He has +the quality of winsomeness, like the violet and the +speedwell among the flowers. Not strictly a songster, +yet his every note and call is from out the +soul of harmony. The bluebird is evidently an offshoot +from the thrush family, and without the +thrush's gift of song; still his voice affords us much +of the same pleasure.</p> + +<p>How readily the bluebirds become our friends +and neighbors when we offer them suitable nesting-retreats! +Bring them something from nature,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> +something with the bark on—a section of a dry +beech or maple limb in which the downy woodpecker +has excavated his chamber and passed the +winter or reared his brood; fasten it in early spring +upon the corner of your porch, or on the trunk of +a near-by tree, and see what interesting neighbors +you will soon have. One summer I brought home +from one of my walks to the woods a section, two +or three feet long, of a large yellow birch limb +which contained such a cavity as I speak of, and +I wired it to one of the posts of the rustic porch at +Woodchuck Lodge. The next season a pair of +bluebirds reared two broods in it. The incubation +of the eggs for the second brood was well under +way when I appeared upon the scene in early July. +My sudden presence so near their treasures, and my +lingering there with books and newspapers, disturbed +the birds a good deal. The first afternoon the +mother bird did not enter the cavity for hours. I shall +always remember the pretty and earnest manner in +which the male tried to reassure her and persuade +her that the danger was not so imminent as it +appeared to be, probably encouraging a confidence +in his mate which he did not himself share. The +mother bird would alight at the entrance to the +chamber, but, with her eye fixed upon the man +with the newspaper, feared to enter. The male, +perched upon the telegraph wire fifty feet away, +would raise his wings and put all the love and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> +assurance in his voice he was capable of, apparently +trying to dispel her fears. He would warble and +warble, and make those pretty wing gestures over +and over, saying so plainly: "It is all right, my +dear, the man is harmless—absorbed there in his +newspaper. Go in, go in, and keep warm our +precious eggs!" How long she hesitated! But as +night grew near she grew more and more anxious, +and he more and more eloquent. Finally she +alighted upon the edge of the overhanging roof and +peered down hesitatingly. Her mate applauded +and encouraged till finally she made the plunge and +entered the hole, but instantly came out again; +her heart failed her for a moment; but she soon +returned and remained inside. Then her mate flew +away toward the orchard, uttering a cheery note +which doubtless she understood.</p> + +<p>The birds soon became used to my presence and +their household matters progressed satisfactorily. +Both birds took a hand in feeding the young, which +grew rapidly. When they were nearly ready to +leave the nest, a cruel fate befell them: I slept +upon the porch, and one night I was awakened by +the cry of young bluebirds, and the sound of feet +like those of a squirrel on the roof over me. Then +I heard the cry of a young bird proceed from the +butternut-tree across the road opposite the house. +I said to myself, "A squirrel or an owl is after my +birds." The cry coming so quickly from the but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span>ternut-tree +made me suspect an owl, and that the +bird whose cry I heard was in his talons. I was +out of my cot and up to the nest in a +moment, but the tragedy was over; the birds were +all gone, and the night was silent. In the +morning I found that a piece of the brittle +birch limb had been torn away, enlarging +the entrance to the cavity so that the murderous +talons of the owl could reach in and seize the young +birds. I had been aroused in time to hear the +marauder on the roof with one, and then hear its +cry as he carried it to the tree. In the grass in +front I found one of the young, unable to fly, but +apparently unhurt. I put it back in the nest, but +it would not stay. The spell of the nest was +broken, and the young bird took to the grass +again. The parent birds were on hand, much +excited, and, when I tried to return the surviving +bird to the nest, the male came at me +fiercely, apparently charging the whole catastrophe +to me.</p> + +<p>We had strong proof the previous season that +an owl, probably the screech owl, prowled about +the house at night. A statuette of myself in clay +which a sculptor was modeling was left out one +night on the porch, and in the morning its head +was unusually bowed. The prints of a bird's +talons upon the top told what had happened. In +the bronze reproduction of that statuette the head<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> +has more of a droop than the artist at first planned +to give it.</p> + +<p>The next season the bluebirds occupied the cavity +in the birch limb again, but before my arrival in +July the owls had again cleaned them out. In so +doing they had ripped the cavity open nearly to the +bottom. For all that, early the following May +bluebirds were occupying the cavity again. It +held three eggs when I arrived. I looked over the +situation and resolved to try to head off the owl +this time, even at the risk of driving the bluebirds +away. I took a strip of tin several inches wide +and covered the slit with it and wired it fast. +Then I obtained a broad strip of dry birch-bark, +wrapped it about the limb over the tin, and wired +it fast, leaving the entrance to the nest in its +original form. I knew the owl could not slit the +tin; the birch-bark would hide it and preserve in +a measure the natural appearance of the branch. +When the bluebirds saw what had happened to +their abode, they were a good deal distressed; they +could no longer see their eggs through the slit +which the owl had made, and they refused to enter +the cavity. They hung about all day, uttering +despondent notes, approaching the nest at times, +but hesitating even to alight upon the roof above +it. Occasionally the female would fly away toward +the distant woods or hills uttering that plaintive, +homesick note which seemed to mean farewell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> +The male would follow her, calling in a more cheery +and encouraging tone. Once the couple were +gone three or four hours, and I concluded they had +really deserted the place. But just before sundown +they were back again, and the female alighted +at the entrance to the nest and looked in. The +male called to her cheerily; still she would not enter, +but joined him on the telephone wire, where the two +seemed to hold a little discussion. Presently the +mother bird flew to the nest again, then to the +roof above it, then back to the nest, and entered +it till only her tail showed, then flew back to the +wire beside her mate. She was evidently making +up her mind that the case was not hopeless. After +a little more maneuvering, and amid the happy, +reassuring calls of her mate, she entered the nest +cavity and remained, and I was as well pleased as +was her mate.</p> + +<p>No owls disturbed them this time, and the brood +of young birds was brought off in due season. In +July a second brood of four was successfully reared +and sent forth on their career.</p> + +<p>The oriole nests in many kinds of trees—oaks, +maples, apple-trees, elms—but her favorite is the +elm. She chooses the end of one of the long drooping +branches where a group of small swaying twigs +affords her suitable support. It is the most unlikely +place imaginable for any but a pendent nest, +woven to half a dozen or more slender, vertical<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> +twigs, and swaying freely in the wind. Few nests +are so secure, so hidden, and so completely sheltered +from the rains by the drooping leaves above and +around it. It is rarely discoverable except from +directly beneath it. I think a well-built oriole's +nest would sustain a weight of eight or ten pounds +before it would be torn from its moorings. They +are also very partial to the ends of branches that +swing low over the highway. One May I saw two +female orioles building their nests twenty or twenty-five +feet above our State Road, where automobiles +and other vehicles passed nearly every minute all +the day. An oriole's nest in a remote field far from +highways and dwellings is a rare occurrence.</p> + +<p>Birds of different species differ as widely in skill +in nest-building as they do in song. From the rude +platform of dry twigs and other coarse material of +the cuckoo, to the pendent, closely woven pouch of +the oriole, the difference in the degree of skill displayed +is analogous to the difference between the +simple lisp of the cedar-bird, or the little tin whistle +of the "chippie," and the golden notes of the wood +thrush, or the hilarious song of the bobolink.</p> + +<p>Real castles in the air are the nests of the orioles; +no other nests are better hidden or apparently more +safe from the depredations of crows and squirrels. +To start the oriole's nest successfully is quite an +engineering feat. The birds inspect the branches +many times before they make a decision. When<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> +they have decided on the site, the mother bird +brings her first string or vegetable fiber and attaches +it to a twig by winding it around and around many +times, leaving one or both ends hanging free. I have +nests where these foundation strings are wound +around a twig a dozen times. In her blind windings +and tuckings and loopings the bird occasionally ties +a substantial knot, but it is never the result of a +deliberate purpose as some observers contend, but +purely a matter of chance. When she uses only +wild vegetable fibers, she fastens it to the twig by +a hopeless kind of tangle. It is about the craziest +kind of knitting imaginable. After the builder has +fastened many lines to opposite twigs, their ends +hanging free, she proceeds to span the little gulf +by weaving them together. She stands with her +claws clasped one to each side, and uses her beak +industriously, looping up and fastening the loose +ends. I have stood in the road under the nest looking +straight up till my head swam, trying to make out +just how she did it, but all I could see was the bird +standing astride the chasm she was trying to bridge, +and busy with the hanging strings. Slowly the maze +of loose threads takes a sacklike form, the bottom +of the nest thickens, till some morning you see the +movement of the bird inside it; her beak comes +through the sides from within, like a needle or an +awl, seizes a loose hair or thread, and jerks it back +through the wall and tightens it. It is a regular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> +stitching or quilting process. The course of any +particular thread or fiber is as irregular and haphazard +as if it were the work of the wind or the +waves. There is plan, but no conscious method of +procedure. In fact, a bird's nest is a growth. It +is not something builded as we build, in which +judgment, design, forethought enter; it is the result +of the blind groping of instinct which rarely errs, +but which does not see the end from the beginning, +as reason does. The oriole sometimes overhands +the rim of her nest with strings and fibers to make +it firm, and to afford a foundation for her to perch +upon, but it is like the pathetic work which an +untaught blind child might do under similar conditions. +The birds use fine, strong strings in their +nest-building at their peril. Many a tragedy results +from it. I have an oriole's nest sent me from +Michigan on the outside of which is a bird's dried +foot with a string ingeniously knotted around it. +It would be difficult to tie so complicated a knot. +The tragedy is easy to read. Another nest sent me +from the Mississippi Valley is largely made up of +fragments of fish-line with the fish-hooks on them. +But there is no sign that the bird came to grief +using this dangerous material. Where the lives of +the wild creatures impinge upon our lives is always +a danger-line to them. They are partakers of our +bounty in many ways, but they pay a tax to fate +in others.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span>The orioles in my part of the country always use +the same material in the body of their nests—a +kind of soft, gray, flaxlike fiber which they apparently +get from some species of everlasting flower. +Woven together and quilted through with strings +and horse-hairs, it makes strong, warm, feltlike +walls. In the nest sent me from Michigan the +walls are made of something that suggests brown +human hair, except that it is too hard and brittle +for hair.</p> + +<p>Our orchard oriole also makes a pendent nest, +but not so deep and pocketlike as that of the +Baltimore oriole, and showing no such elaborate +use of strings and hairs. It is made entirely of +some sort of dried grass, very elaborately woven +together.</p> + +<p>Bullock's oriole of California weaves its nest entirely +of the long, strong threads which it draws out +of the palm-leaves. The only one I have seen was +suspended from the under side of one of those +leaves.</p> + +<p>I think the prize nest of the woods, if we except +the nest of the hummingbird, is that of the wood +pewee. It is as smooth and compact and symmetrical +as if turned in a lathe out of some soft, feltlike +substance. Of course, the ph[oe]be's artistic masonry +under the shelving rocks, covered with moss +and lined with feathers, or with the finest dry grass +and bark fibers, sheltered from the storms and be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span>yond +the reach of four-footed prowlers, is almost +ideal. It certainly is a happy thought.</p> + +<p>The least flycatcher, the kingbird, the cedar-bird, +the goldfinch, the indigo-bird, are all fine nest-builders, +each with a style of its own.</p> + +<p>About the most insecure nest in our trees is that +of the little social sparrow, or "chippie." When +the sudden summer storms come, making the tree-tops +writhe as if in agony, I think of this frail nest +amid the tossing branches. Pass through the grove +or orchard after the tempest is over, and you are +pretty sure to find several wrecked nests upon the +ground. "Chippie" has never learned the art of +nest-building in trees. She is a poor architect. +She should have kept to the ground or to the low +bushes. The true tree nest-builders weave their +nests fast to the branches, but "Chippie" does not; +she simply arranges her material loosely between +them, where the nest is supported, but not secured. +She seems pathetically ignorant of the fact that +there are such things as wind and storm. Hence +her frail structure is more frequently dislodged from +the trees than that of any other bird.</p> + +<p>Recently, after a day of violent northwest wind, +I found a wrecked robin's nest and eggs upon the +lawn under a maple—not a frequent spectacle. +The robin's firm masonry is usually proof against +wind and rain, but in this case the nest was composed +almost entirely of dry grass; there was hardly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> +a trace of mud in it, hence it was flexible and yielding, +and had no grip of the branches. It was evidently +the second nest of the pair this season, and +the second nest in summer of any species of bird +is frailer and more of a makeshift than the first +nest in spring. Comparatively few of our birds +attempt to bring off a second brood unless the first +attempt has been defeated, but the robin is sure to +bring off two, and may bring off three. But the +robin is a hustler, probably the most enterprising +of all our birds. I recall a mother robin that, in +late June, repaired a nest in a climbing rosebush +which her first brood had vacated only a week +before. A brood of wood thrushes which left their +nest about the same time was still being fed by +their parents about the place.</p> + +<p>The song sparrow, the social sparrow, the ph[oe]be, +the bluebird, all build a second nest. The first +brood of the bluebird will be looked after by the +father in some near-by grove or orchard, while the +mother starts a new family in the old nest. If all +goes well with them, those two bluebird families +will unite and keep together in a loose flock till +they migrate in the fall.</p> + +<p>So many of our birds nest about our houses and +lawns and gardens and along our highways, that +at first sight it seems as if they must be drawn +there by a sense of greater security for their eggs +and young. The robin has become almost a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> +domestic institution. It is rarely that one finds a +robin's nest very far from a human habitation. +One spring there were four robins' nests on my +house and outbuildings—in the vines, on window-sills, +or other coigns of vantage. There were at +the same time at least fifteen robins' nests on my +lot of sixteen acres, and I am quite certain +that I have not seen all there were. They were in +sheds and apple-trees and spruces and cedars, in +the ends of piles of grape-posts, in rosebushes, in +the summer-house, and on the porch. We did not +expect to get one of the early cherries, and might +count ourselves lucky if we got any of the later ones.</p> + +<p>A robin has built her nest in my summer-house. +She abuses me so when I try to tarry there, after +incubation has begun, that I take no comfort and +presently withdraw. Until her brood has flown, I +am practically a stranger in my open-air rest-house +and study.</p> + +<p>When the fish crows come egging in the spruces +and maples about the house, and I hear the screaming +of the robins, I seize my gun and rush out to +protect them, but am not always successful, as the +mischief is often done before I get within reach; +I am not sure but that the robins think—if they +think at all—that I am in league with the crows +to despoil them. I was not in time to save the eggs +of the wood thrush the other morning, when I +heard the alarm calls of the birds, but I had the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> +satisfaction of seeing the black marauder go limping +over the hill, dropping quills from his wings at +nearly every stroke. I am sure he will not come +back. The fish crow is one of the most active enemies +of our small birds. Of course, he only obeys +his instincts in hunting out and devouring their +eggs and young, but I fancy I obey something +higher than instinct when I protest with powder +and shot.</p> + +<p>The birds do not mind the approach of the +domestic animals, such as the cow, the horse, the +sheep, the pig, and they are only a little suspicious +of the dog, but the appearance of the cat fills them +with sudden alarm. I think that birds that have +never before seen a cat join in the hue and cry. +What alarms one alarms all within hearing. The +orioles are probably the most immune from the +depredations of crows and jays and owls of all our +birds, and yet they will join in the cry of "Thief, +thief!" when a crow appears. (The alarm cry of +birds will even arrest the attention of four-footed +beasts, and often bring the sportsman's stalking to +naught.)</p> + +<p>I fancy that Ph[oe]be selects our sheds and bridges +and porticoes for her nesting-sites because they are +so much more numerous than the overhanging +rocks where her forbears built. For the same reason +certain of the swallows and the swifts select +our barns and chimneys.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span>If the birds themselves are not afraid to draw +near us, why should their instinct lead them to feel +that their enemies will be afraid of us? How do +they know that a jay or a crow or a red squirrel +will be less timid than they are? And why also, +if they have such confidence in us, do they raise +such a hue and cry when we pass near their nests? +The robin in my summer-house knew, if she knew +anything, that I had never raised a finger against +her. On the contrary, my hoe in the garden had +unearthed many a worm and slug for her. Still +she sees in me only a possible enemy, and tolerate +me with my book or my newspaper near her nest +she will not. Another robin has built her nest +in a rosebush that has been trained to form +an arch over the walk that leads to the kitchen +door and only a few yards from it; but whenever +we pass and repass she scurries away with +loud, angry protests and keeps it up as long as +we are in sight, so that we do not feel at all +complimented by her settling down so near us. If +one's appearance is so alarming, even when he +is going to hoe the garden, why did the intolerant +bird set up her household gods so near? If I +keep away her enemies, why will she not be +gracious enough to regard me as her friend? +The robin that trusted her brood to the sheltering +vines of the woodshed, and lined her nest with +the hair of our old gray horse—why should she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> +scream, "Murder!" whenever any of us go to the +well a few feet away?</p> + +<p>What is the real explanation of the fact that so +many of our birds nest so near our dwellings and +yet show such unfriendliness when we come near +them? Their apparent confidence, on the one +hand, contradicts their suspicion on the other. Is +it because we have here the workings of a new +instinct which has not yet adjusted itself to the +workings of the older instinct of solicitude for the +safety of the nest and young? My own interpretation +is that birds are not drawn near us by any +sense of greater security in our vicinity. It is evident +from the start that there is an initial fear of +us to be overcome. How, then, could the sense of +greater safety in our presence arise? Fear and +trust do not spring from the same root. How +should the robins and thrushes know that their +enemies—the jays, the crows, and the like—are +more afraid of human beings than they are themselves? +Hunted animals pursued by wolves or +hounds will at times take refuge in the haunts of +men, not because they expect human protection, +but because they are desperate, and oblivious to +everything save some means of escape. If the +hunted deer or fox rushes into an open shed or a +barn door, it is because it is desperately hard-pressed, +and sees and knows nothing but some object +or situation that it may place between itself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> +and its deadly enemy. The great fear obliterates +all minor fears.</p> + +<p>The key to the behavior of the birds in this +respect may be found in the Darwinian theory of +natural selection. From the first settlement of the +country a few of the common birds, attracted by a +more suitable or more abundant food-supply, or +other conditions, must inevitably have nested near +human dwellings. These birds would thrive better +and succeed in bringing off more young than +those that nested in more exposed places. Hence, +their progeny would soon be in the ascendancy. All +animals seem to have associated memory. These +birds would naturally return to the scenes and conditions +of their youth, and start their nests there. +It would not be confidence in men that would draw +them; rather would the truth be that the fear of +man is inadequate to overcome or annul this home +attraction.</p> + +<p>The catbird does not come to our vines on the +veranda to nest from considerations of safety, but +because her line of descent runs through such places. +The catbirds and robins and ph[oe]be-birds that were +reared far from human habitations doubtless return +to such localities to rear their young. The home +sense in birds is strong. I have positive proof in a +few instances of robins and song sparrows returning +successive years to the same neighborhood. It +is very certain, I think, that the ph[oe]be-birds that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> +daub our porches with their mud, and in July leave +a trail of minute creeping and crawling pests, +were not themselves hatched and reared in the +pretty, moss-covered structure under the shelving +rocks in the woods, or on the hillsides.</p> + +<p>How different from the manners of the robins +are the manners of a pair of catbirds that have a +nest in the honeysuckle against the side of the first-floor +sleeping-porch! Nothing seems farther from +the nature of the catbird than the hue and cry +which the robin at times sets up. The catbird is +sly and dislikes publicity. An appealing feline +<i>mew</i> is her characteristic note. She never raises +her voice like the town-crier, as the robin does, +perched in the mean time where all eyes may behold +him. The catbird peers and utters her soft protest +from her hiding-place in the bushes. This particular +pair of catbirds appeared in early May and +began slyly to look over the situation in the vines +and bushes about the house. All their proceedings +were very stealthy; they were like two dark shadows +gliding about, avoiding observation—no tree-tops +or house-tops for them, but coverts close to +the ground. We hoped they would divine safety +in the shadow of the cottage, but tried to act as +if oblivious of their goings and comings. We saw +them now and then stealthily inspecting the tangle +of honeysuckle on the east side of the veranda, +where a robin last season reared a brood, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> +low hedge of barberry-bushes on the south side of +the cottage, where a song sparrow had her nest. +If they come, which will they take, we wondered. +Several times in the early morning I heard the +male singing vivaciously and confidently in the +thick of the honeysuckle. I guessed that the +honeysuckle was the choice of the male, and that +his song was a pæan in praise of it, addressed to +his mate. But it was nearly a week before his +musical argument prevailed and the site was apparently +agreed upon.</p> + +<p>When the nest-building actually began, the birds +were so shy about it that, watch as I might, I failed +to catch them in the act. One morning I saw the +mother bird in the garden with nesting-material +in her beak, but she failed to come to the honeysuckle +with it while I watched from a near-by +covert. At the same time robins were flying here +and there with loaded beaks, and wood thrushes +were going through the air trailing long strips of +white paper behind them, but the catbird was an +emblem of secrecy itself. She, too, brought fragments +of white paper to her nest, but no one saw +her do it. Like other nest-builders, she apparently +put in her big strokes of work in the early morning +before the sleepers on the veranda were stirring. +A few times my inquisitive eye, cautiously peering +over the railing, started her from the vine, but I +never saw her enter it with leaf, stick, or straw;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> +yet slowly the nest grew and came into shape, and +finally received its finishing touches. So cautiously +had the birds proceeded that, were they capable +of concepts like us, I should fancy they flattered +themselves that we had not the least suspicion of +their little secret. The male ceased to sing near +the house after the nest was begun. So much time +elapsed after the finishing of the nest before the +first egg appeared in it that some members of the +household feared the birds had deserted it, especially +as they were not seen about the premises for +several days. But the weather was wet and cool, +and the eggs ripened slowly. Then one morning +the birds were seen again, and one blue-green egg +was discovered in the nest. The next morning +another egg was added, and a third egg on the +third morning, and a fourth on the fourth morning. +In due time incubation began, and thenceforth all +went well with our dusky neighbors.</p> + +<p>It is an anxious moment for all birds when their +young leave the nest. One noontime by the unusual +mewing of a parent catbird I felt sure that +the critical time had come. Sure enough, there +sat one of the young on a twig a few inches above +the nest, motionless and hushed. No lusty response +to the agitated cry of the mother, as is +usually the case with the robin. "No publicity" is +the watchword of the young catbirds as well as +of the old. An hour or two later another young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> +one was perched on a branch, and before night, +when no one was looking, they both disappeared, +leaving two motionless birds in the nest. The +next morning early, without any signs of alarm +or agitation on the part of the old birds, they took +the important step. It could hardly have been +much of a flight with any of them, as their wing-quills +were only partially developed, and their tails +were mere stubs. For several days afterward no +sign or sound of old or young was seen or heard. +They were probably keeping well concealed in the +near-by trees or in the vines and currant-bushes in +the vineyard. In about a week the whole family +appeared briefly in upper branches of the maples +near the house. The young were distinguishable +from the old only by their shorter tails. A few +days later the parent birds were seen moving +stealthily through the vines and bushes about the +house, or perching on the near-by stakes that supported +the wire netting. Are they coming back +for a second brood? was the question in our minds.</p> + +<p>Soon we began to hear snatches of song from the +male, then one morning a regular old-time burst of +joy from him in the vine that held the old nest. +Then he sang in a syringa-bush near the window +on the south side of the cottage, and both birds +were soon seen paying frequent visits to the bush. +We felt sure another brood was in the air. Whether +or not the first brood were now shifting for them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span>selves, +we did not know; they never again appeared +upon the scene. Finally, on the morning of the +Fourth of July, the foundation of a new nest was +started in the syringa-bush three feet from the +ground, and barely four feet from the window!</p> + +<p>We had a view of the proceedings that the first +site did not afford us. The old nest appeared to be +in perfect condition, but there was evidently no +thought with the birds of using it again, as the +robins sometimes do, and as bluebirds and cliff +swallows always do. A new nest, built of material +almost identical with that of the old, and in a more +exposed position, was decided upon. It progressed +rapidly, and I was delighted to find that the male +assisted in the building. Indeed, he was fully as +active as the female. Very often they were both +in the nest with material at the same moment. +They seemed to agree perfectly. At first I got the +impression that the male was not quite as decided +as the female, and hesitated more, once or twice +bringing material that he finally rejected. But he +soon warmed up to the work and certainly did his +share.</p> + +<p>With most species of our birds the nest is entirely +built by the female. With the robin, the +wood thrush, the ph[oe]be, the oriole, the hummingbird, +the pewee, and many others, the male is only +an interested spectator of the proceeding. He +usually attends his mate in her quest for material,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> +but does not lend a hand, or a bill. I think the +cock wren assists in nest-building. I know the +male cedar-bird does, and probably the male woodpeckers +do also. The male rose-breasted grosbeak +assists in incubation, and has been seen to sing +upon the nest. It seems fair to infer that he assists +in the nest-building also, but I am not certain that +he does, and I have heard another observer state +that in a nest which he watched the female apparently +did it all.</p> + +<p>My catbirds both worked overtime one afternoon +at least, being on their job as late as seven o'clock. +In three days the nest was done, all but touching +up the interior. During the construction I laid +out pieces of twine and bits of white paper on the +bushes and wire netting, also some loose material +from the outside of the old nest; all was quickly +used. How much labor the birds would have saved +themselves had they pulled the old nest to pieces +and used the material a second time! I have +known the oriole to start a nest, then change her +mind, and then detach some of her strings and +fibers and carry them to the new site; and I once +saw a "chebec" whose eggs had been destroyed pull +the old nest to pieces and rebuild it in a tree a +hundred feet away.</p> + +<p>The male catbird is slightly brighter and fresher-looking +than his mate, but we could easily tell her +by her often simulating the actions of a young bird<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> +when she came with material in her beak; she would +alight on a near-by post and slightly spread and +quiver her wings in a tender, beseeching kind of +way. She would do this also when bringing food +to her first brood. When one of the parent birds +of any species simulates by voice or manner the +young birds, it is always the female; her heart +would naturally be more a-quiver with anticipation +than that of the male.</p> + +<p>On the fifth day the nest was completed and +received its first egg. There was considerable delay +with the second egg, but it appeared on the +second or third day, and the third egg the following +day. Then incubation began. In twenty days +from the day the nest was begun, the birds were +hatched, and in eleven days more they had quietly +left the nest.</p> + +<p>A friend of mine who has a summer home on +one of the trout-streams of the Catskills discovered +that the catbird was fond of butter, and she soon +had one of the birds coming every day to the dining-room +window for its lump of fresh butter, and +finally entering the dining-room, perching on the +back of the chair, and receiving its morsel of butter +from a fork held in the mistress's hand. I think +the butter was unsalted. My friend was convinced +after three years that the same pair of +birds returned to her each year, because each +season the male came promptly for his butter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span>The furtive and stealthy manners of the catbird +contrast strongly with the frank, open manners of +the thrushes. Its cousin the brown thrasher goes +skulking about in much the same way, flirting from +bush to bush like a culprit escaping from justice. +But he does love to sing from the April tree-tops +where all the world may see and hear, if said world +does not come too near. In the South and West +the thrasher also nests in the vicinity of houses, +but in New York and New England we must look +for him in remote, bushy fields. I do not know of +any bad traits that go with the thrasher's air of +suspicion and secrecy, but I do know of one that +goes with the catbird's—I have seen her perch on +the rim of another bird's nest and deliberately +devour the eggs. But only once. Whether or not +she frequently does this, I have no evidence. If +she does, she is doubtless so sly about it that she +escapes observation.</p> + +<p>I welcomed the catbird, though she is not so +attractive a neighbor as the wood thrush. She has +none of the wood thrush's dignity and grace. She +skulks and slinks away like a culprit, while the +wood thrush stands up before you or perches upon +a limb, and turns his spotted waistcoat toward you +in the most open and trusting manner. In fact, +few birds have such good manners as the wood +thrush, and few have so much the manner of a +Paul Pry and eavesdropper as the catbird. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> +flight of the wood thrush across the lawn is such a +picture of grace and harmony, it is music to the eye. +The catbird seems saying, "There, there! I +told you so, pretty figure, pretty figure you make!" +But the courteous thrush (just here I heard the +excited calls of robins and the hoarse, angry caw +of a crow, and rushed out hatless to see a fish crow +fly away from the maple in front of the Study, +pursued by a mob of screeching robins. He took +refuge in the spruces above the house where the +collected robins abused him from surrounding +branches. On my appearance he flew away, and +the robins dispersed)—but the courteous thrush, I +say, invites the good-breeding in you which he +himself shows. The thrush never has the air of a +culprit, while the catbird seldom has any other +air. But I welcome them both. One shall stand +for the harmony and repose of bird life, and the +other for its restlessness and curiosity. The +songs and the manners of birds correspond. The +catbird, the brown thrasher, and the mockingbird +are all theatrical in their manners—full of +gestures of tail and wings, and their songs all +imply an audience, while the serene melody of the +thrushes is in keeping with the grace and poise of +their behavior.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span></p> + +<div class="center">V</div> + +<div class="center">A MIDSUMMER IDYL</div> + + +<p>As I sit here of a midsummer day, in front of the +wide-open doors of a big hay-barn, busy with my +pen, and look out upon broad meadows where my +farmer neighbor is busy with his haymaking, I +idly contrast his harvest with mine. I have to +admit that he succeeds with his better than I do +with mine, though he can make hay only while the +sun shines, while I can reap and cure my light fancies +nearly as well in the shade as in the sun. Yet his +crop is the surer and of more certain value to mankind. +But I have this advantage over him—I +might make literature out of his haymaking, or +might reap his fields after him, and gather a harvest +he never dreamed of. What does Emerson say?</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One harvest from the field</span> +<span class="i1">Homeward bring the oxen strong;</span> +<span class="i0">A second crop thine acres yield,</span> +<span class="i1">Which I gather in a song.</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>But the poet, like the farmer, can reap only +where he has sown, and if Emerson had not scattered +his own heart in the fields his Muse would not +reap much there. Song is not one of the instruments +with which I gather my harvest, but long +ago, as a farm boy, in haymaking, and in driving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> +the cows to and from the pasture, I planted myself +there, and whatever comes back to me now from +that source is honestly my own. The second crop +which I gather is not much more tangible than that +which the poet gathers, but the farmer as little +suspects its existence as he does that of the poet. I +can use what he would gladly reject. His daisies, +his buttercups, his orange hawkweed, his yarrow, +his meadow-rue, serve my purpose better than they +do his. They look better on the printed page than +they do in the haymow. Yes, and his timothy +and clover have their literary uses, and his new-mown +hay may perfume a line in poetry. When +one of our poets writes, "wild carrot blooms nod +round his quiet bed," he makes better use of this +weed than the farmers can.</p> + +<p>Certainly a midsummer day in the country, with +all its sights and sounds, its singing birds, its +skimming swallows, its grazing or ruminating cattle, +its drifting cloud-shadows, its grassy perfumes from +the meadows and the hillsides, and the farmer with +his men and teams busy with the harvest, has +material for the literary artist. A good hay day is +a good day for the writer and the poet, because it +has a certain crispness and pureness; it is positive; +it is rich in sunshine; there is a potency in the blue +sky which you feel; the high barometer raises your +spirits; your thoughts ripen as the hay cures. You +can sit in a circle of shade beneath a tree in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> +fields, or in front of the open hay-barn doors, as I +do, and feel the fruition and satisfaction of nature +all about you. The brimming meadows seem fairly +to purr as the breezes stroke them; the trees rustle +their myriad leaves as if in gladness; the many-colored +butterflies dance by; the steel blue of the +swallows' backs glistens in the sun as they skim the +fields; and the mellow boom of the passing bumble-bee +but enhances the sense of repose and contentment +that pervades the air. The hay cures; the +oats and corn deepen their hue; the delicious +fragrance of the last wild strawberries is on the +breeze; your mental skies are lucid, and life has +the midsummer fullness and charm.</p> + +<p>As I linger here I note the oft-repeated song of +the scarlet tanager in the maple woods that crown +a hill above me, and in the loft overhead two broods +of swallows are chattering and lining up their +light-colored breasts on the rims of their nests, or +trying their newly fledged wings while clinging to +its sides. The only ominous and unwelcome sound +is the call of the cuckoo, which I hear and have +heard at nearly all hours for many days, and which +surely bodes rain. The countryman who first +named this bird the "rain crow" hit the mark. +The cuckoo is a devourer of worms and caterpillars, +and why he should be interested in rain is hard to +see. The tree-toad calls before and during a +shower, mainly, I think, because he likes to have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> +his back wet, but why a well-dressed bird like the +cuckoo should become a prophet of the rain is a +mystery, unless the rain and the shadows are congenial +to the gloomy mood in which he usually +seems to be. He is the least sprightly and cheery +of our birds, and the part of doleful prophet in our +bird drama suits him well.</p> + +<p>A high barometer is best for the haymakers and +it is best for the human spirits. When the smoke +goes straight up, one's thoughts are more likely to +soar also, and revel in the higher air. The persons +who do not like to get up in the morning till the +day has been well sunned and aired evidently +thrive best on a high barometer. Such days do +seem better ventilated, and our lungs take in fuller +draughts of air. How curious it is that the air +should seem heavy to us when it is light, and light +when it is heavy! On those sultry, muggy days +when it is an effort to move, and the grasshopper +is a burden, the air is light, and we are in the +trough of the vast atmospheric wave; while we +are on its crest, and are buoyed up both in mind and +in body, on the crisp, bright days when the air +seems to offer us no resistance. We know that the +heavier salt sea-water buoys us up more than the +fresh river or pond water, but we do not feel in the +same way the lift of the high barometric wave. +Even the rough, tough-coated maple-trees in spring +are quickly susceptible to these atmospheric<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> +changes. The farmer knows that he needs sunshine +and crisp air to make maple-sugar as well as +to make hay. Let the high blue-domed day with +its dry northwest breezes change to a warmer, +overcast, humid day from the south, and the +flow of sap lessens at once. It would seem +as if the trees had nerves on the outside of their +dry bark, they respond to the change so quickly. +There is no sap without warmth, and yet warmth, +without any memory of the frost, stops the flow.</p> + +<p>The more the air presses upon us the lighter we +feel, and the less it presses upon us the more "logy" +we feel. Climb to the top of a mountain ten thousand +feet high, and you breathe and move with an +effort. The air is light, water boils at a low +temperature, and our lungs and muscles seem inadequate +to perform their usual functions. There is +a kind of pressure that exhilarates us, and an +absence of pressure that depresses us.</p> + +<p>The pressure of congenial tasks, of worthy +work, sets one up, while the idle, the unemployed, +has a deficiency of hæmoglobin in his blood. +The Lord pity the unemployed man, and pity the +man so over-employed that the pressure upon him +is like that upon one who works in a tunnel filled +with compressed air.</p> + +<p>Haying in this pastoral region is the first act in +the drama of the harvest, and one likes to see it +well staged, as it is to-day—the high blue dome,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> +the rank, dark foliage of the trees, the daisies still +white in the sun, the buttercups gilding the pastures +and hill-slopes, the clover shedding its +perfume, the timothy shaking out its little clouds +of pollen as the sickle-bar strikes it, most of the +song-birds still vocal, and the tide of summer +standing poised at its full. Very soon it will begin +to ebb, the stalks of the meadow grasses will become +dry and harsh, the clover will fade, the +girlish daisies will become coarse and matronly, +the birds will sing fitfully or cease altogether, the +pastures will turn brown, and the haymakers will +find the hay half cured as it stands waiting for +them in the meadows.</p> + +<p>What a wonderful thing is the grass, so common, +so abundant, so various, a green summer snow that +softens the outlines of the landscape, that makes a +carpet for the foot, that brings a hush to the fields, +and that furnishes food to so many and such various +creatures! More than the grazing animals live +upon the grass. All our cereals—wheat, barley, +rye, rice, oats, corn—belong to the great family of +the grasses.</p> + +<p>Grass is the nap of the fields; it is the undergarment +of the hills. It gives us the meadow, a +feature in the northern landscape so common that +we cease to remark it, but which we miss at once +when we enter a tropical or semi-tropical country. +In Cuba and Jamaica and Hawaii I saw no mead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span>ows +and no pastures, no grazing cattle, none of the +genial, mellow look which our landscape presents. +Harshness, rawness, aridity, are the prevailing +notes.</p> + +<p>From my barn-door outlook I behold meadows +with their boundary line of stone fences that are +like lakes and reservoirs of timothy and clover. +They are full to the brim, they ripple and rock in +the breeze, the green inundation seems about to +overwhelm its boundaries, all the surface inequalities +of the land are wiped out, the small rocks and +stones are hidden, the woodchucks make their +roads through it, immersed like dolphins in the +sea. What a picture of the plenty and the flowing +beneficence of our temperate zone it all presents! +Nature in her kinder, gentler moods, dreaming of +the tranquil herds and the bursting barns. Surely +the vast army of the grass hath its victories, for +the most part noiseless, peace-yielding victories +that gladden the eye and tranquillize the heart.</p> + +<p>The meadow presents a pleasing picture before +it is invaded by the haymakers, and a varied and +animated one after it is thus invaded; the mowing-machine +sending a shudder ahead of it through the +grass, the hay-tedder kicking up the green locks +like a giant, many-legged grasshopper, the horserake +gathering the cured hay into windrows, +the white-sleeved men with their forks pitching it +into cocks, and, lastly, the huge, soft-cheeked loads<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> +of hay, towering above the teams that draw them, +brushing against the bar-ways and the lower +branches of the trees along their course, slowly +winding their way toward the barn. Then the +great mows of hay, or the shapely stacks in the +fields, and the battle is won. Milk and cream +are stored up in well-cured hay, and when the +snow of winter fills the meadows as grass fills +them in summer, the tranquil cow can still rest +and ruminate in contentment.</p> + +<p>As the swallows sweep out and in near my head +they give out an angry "Sleet, sleet," as if my presence +had suddenly become offensive to them. I +know what makes the change in their temper. The +young are leaving their nests, and at such eventful +times the parent birds are always nervous and +anxious. When any of our birds launch a family +into the world they would rather not have spectators, +and you are pretty sure to be abused if you +intrude upon the scene. The swallow can put a +good deal of sharp emphasis into that "Sleet, +sleet," though she is not armed to make any of +her threats good. Who knows that all will go well +with them when they first make the plunge into +space with their untried wings? A careful parent +should keep the coast clear.</p> + +<p>They have been testing their wings for several +days, clinging to the sides of the nest and beating +the wings rapidly. And now comes the crucial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> +moment of letting go and attempting actual flight. +Several of them have already done it, and I see +them resting on the dead limbs of a plum-tree +across the road. But more are to follow, and parental +anxiety is still rife. I shall be sorry when the +spacious hayloft becomes silent. That affectionate +"Wit, wit" and that contented and caressing +squeaking and chattering give me a sense of winged +companionship. The old barn is the abode of +friendly and delicate spirits, and the sight of them +and the sound of them surely bring a suggestion of +poetry and romance to these familiar scenes.</p> + +<p>Is not the swallow one of the oldest and dearest +of birds? Known to the poets and sages and +prophets of all peoples! So infantile, so helpless +and awkward upon the earth, so graceful and +masterful on the wing, the child and darling of the +summer air, reaping its invisible harvest in the +fields of space as if it dined on the sunbeams, touching +no earthly food, drinking and bathing and +mating on the wing, swiftly, tirelessly coursing the +long day through, a thought on wings, a lyric in +the shape of a bird! Only in the free fields of the +summer air could it have got that steel-blue of the +wings and that warm tan of the breast. Of +course I refer to the barn swallow. The cliff +swallow seems less a child of the sky and sun, +probably because its sheen and glow are less, and +its shape and motions less arrowy. More varied in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> +color, its hues yet lack the intensity, and its flight +the swiftness, of those of its brother of the haylofts. +The tree swallows and the bank swallows +are pleasing, but they are much more local and +restricted in their ranges than the barn-frequenters. +As a farm boy I did not know them at all, but the +barn swallows the summer always brought.</p> + +<p>After all, there is but one swallow; the others +are particular kinds that we specify. How curious +that men should ever have got the notion that this +airy, fairy creature, this playmate of the sunbeams, +spends the winter hibernating in the mud of +ponds and marshes, the bedfellow of newts and +frogs and turtles! It is an Old-World legend, born +of the blindness and superstition of earlier times. +One knows that the rain of the rainbow may be +gathered at one's feet in a mud-puddle, but the +fleeting spectrum of the bow is not a thing of life. +Yet one would as soon think of digging up a rainbow +in the mud as a swallow. The swallow follows +the sun, and in August is off for the equatorial +regions, where it hibernates on the wing, buried +in tropical sunshine.</p> + +<p>Well, this brilliant day is a good day for the +swallows, a good day for the haymakers, and a good +day for him who sits before his open barn door and +weaves his facts and midsummer fancies into this +slight literary fabric.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span></p> + +<div class="center">VI</div> + +<div class="center">NEAR VIEWS OF WILD LIFE</div> + + +<p>The wild life around us is usually so unobtrusive +and goes its own way so quietly and furtively that +we miss much of it unless we cultivate an interest +in it. A person must be interested in it, to paraphrase +a line of Wordsworth's, ere to him it will +seem worthy of his interest. One thing is linked +to another or gives a clue to another. There is +no surer way to find birds' nests than to go berrying +or fishing. In the blackberry or raspberry bushes +you may find the bush sparrow's nest or the indigobird's +nest. Once while fishing a trout-stream I +missed my fish, and my hook caught on a branch +over my head. When I pulled the branch down, +there, deftly saddled upon it, was a hummingbird's +nest. I unwittingly caught more than I +missed. On another occasion I stumbled upon the +nest of the water accentor which I had never before +found; on still another, upon the nest of the +winter wren, a marvel of mossy softness and delicacy +hidden under a mossy log.</p> + +<p>Along trout-streams with overhanging or shelving +ledges the fisherman often sees the nest of the +ph[oe]be-bird, which does not cease to please for the +hundredth time, because of its fitness and exquisite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> +artistry. On the newly sawn timbers of your +porch or woodshed it is far less pleasing, because +the bird's art, born of rocky ledges, only serves in +the new environment to make its nest conspicuous.</p> + +<p>Sitting in my barn-door study I see a vesper +sparrow fly up and alight on the telephone wire with +nesting-material in her beak. I keep my eye upon +her. In a moment she drops down to the grassy +and weedy bank of the roadside in front of me and +disappears. A few moments later I have her +secret—a nest in a little recess in the bank. That +straw gave the finishing touch. She kept her +place on the nest until she had deposited her first +egg on June 24th, probably for her second brood this +season. Some young vespers flitting about farther +up the road are presumably her first brood. Each +day thereafter for four consecutive days she added +an egg. Incubation soon began and on the +10th of July the young were out, the little sprawling, +skinny things looking, as a city girl said +when she first beheld newly-hatched birds in a +nest, as if they were mildewed.</p> + +<p>These ground-builders among the birds, taking +their chances in the great common of the open +fields, at the mercy of all their enemies every hour—the +hoofs of grazing cattle, prowling skunks, foxes, +weasels, coons by night, and crows and hawks by +day—what bird-lover does not experience a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> +thrill when in his walk he comes upon one of their +nests? He has found a thing of art among the unkempt +and the disorderly; he has found a thing of +life and love amid the cold and the insensate. Yet +all so artless and natural! Every shred and straw +of it serves a purpose; it fairly warms and vivifies +the little niche in which it is placed. What a center +of solicitude and forethought.</p> + +<p>Not many yards below the vesper's nest, on the +other side of the road, is a junco's nest. You may +know the junco's nest from that of any other +ground-builder by its being more elaborate and +more perfectly hidden. The nest is tucked far under +the mossy and weedy bank, and only a nest-hunter +passing along the road, with "eye practiced like a +blind man's touch" and with juncos in mind, would +have seen it. A little screen of leaves of the hawkweed +permits only the rim of one edge of the nest +to be seen. Not till I stooped down and reached +forth my hand did the mother bird come fluttering +out and go down the road with drooping wings and +spread tail, the white quills of the latter fairly +lighting up the whole performance.</p> + +<p>A very shy and artful bird is the junco. I had +had brief glimpses of the male many times about the +place. The morning I found the nest I had seen +one male spitefully pursuing another male along +the top of the stone wall opposite, which fact, +paralleled in a human case, would afford a hint for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> +detectives to work on. The junco is evidently a +very successful bird. The swarms of them that +one sees in the late fall and in the early winter going +south is good evidence of this. They usually precede +the white-throats north in the spring, but a few +linger and breed in the high altitude of the Catskills.</p> + +<p>When the sun shines hot the sparrow in front of +my door makes herself into a sunshade to protect +her nestlings. She pants with the heat, and +her young pant too; they would probably perish +were not the direct rays of the sun kept from them. +Another vesper sparrow's nest yonder in the hill +pasture, from which we flushed the bird in our walk, +might be considered in danger from a large herd of +dairy cows, but it is wisely placed in view of such a +contingency. It is at the foot of a stalk of Canada +thistle about a foot and a half high, and where, for a +few square yards, the grazing is very poor. I do +not think that the chances are one in fifty that the +hoof of a cow will find it. I do not suppose that +the problem presented itself to the bird as it does to +me, but her instinct was as sure a guide as my +reason is to me—or a surer one.</p> + +<p>The vesper sparrow was thus happily named by +a New England bird-lover, Wilson Flagg, an old-fashioned +writer on our birds, fifty or more years +ago. I believe the bird was called the grass finch by +our earlier writers. It haunts the hilly pastures +and roadsides in the Catskill region. It is often<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> +called the road-runner, from its habit of running +along the road ahead when one is driving or walking—a +very different bird, however, from the road-runner +of the Western States. The vesper is +larger than the song sparrow, of a lighter gray and +russet, and does not frequent our gardens and +orchards as does the latter. In color it suggests +the European skylark; the two lateral white +quills in its tail enhance this impression. One +season a stray skylark, probably from Long Island +or some other place where larks had been liberated, +appeared in a broad, low meadow near me, and not +finding his own kind paid court to a female vesper +sparrow. He pursued her diligently and no doubt +pestered her dreadfully. She fled from him precipitately +and seemed much embarrassed by the +attentions of the distinguished-looking foreigner.</p> + +<p>When the young of any species appear, the solicitude +and watchfulness of the mother bird are +greatly increased. Although my near neighbor the +vesper sparrow in front of my door has had proof of +my harmless character now for several weeks and, +one would think, must know that her precious secret +is safe with me, yet, when she comes with food in +her beak while I am at my desk ten or eleven yards +away, she maneuvers around for a minute or two, +flying up to the telephone wire or a few yards up +or down the road, and finally approaches the nest +with much hesitation and suspicion, lest I see her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> +in the act. When she comes again and again +and again, she is filled with the same apprehension.</p> + +<p>After a night of heavy but warm rain two of the +half-fledged young were lying on the ground in +front of the nest, dead. There were no murderous +marks upon them, and the secret of the tragedy I +could not divine.</p> + +<p>What automatons these wild creatures are, apparently +so wise on some occasions and so absurd +on others! This vesper sparrow in bringing food +to her young, going through the same tactics over +and over, learns no more than a machine would. +But, of course, the bird does not think; hence the +folly of her behavior to a being that does. The +wisdom of nature, which is so unerring under +certain conditions, becomes to us sheer folly under +changed conditions.</p> + +<p>When the mother bird's suspicion gets the better +of her, she often devours the food she has in her +beak, so fearful is she of betraying her precious +secret. But the next time she comes she may only +maneuver briefly before approaching the nest, and +then again hesitate and parley with her fears and +make false moves and keep her eye on me, as if I +had only just appeared upon the scene.</p> + +<p>One of the best things a bird-lover can have in +front of his house or cabin is a small dead tree with +numerous leafless branches. Many kinds of birds +love to perch briefly where they can look around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> +them. I would not exchange the old dead plum-tree +that stands across the road in front of my lodge +for the finest living plum-tree in the world. It +bears a perpetual crop of birds. Of course the +strictly sylvan birds, such as the warblers, the +vireos, the oven-bird, the veery and hermit +thrushes, do not come, but many kinds of other +birds pause there during the day and seem to enjoy +the unobstructed view.</p> + +<p>All the field and orchard and grove birds come. +In early summer the bobolink perches there, then +tiptoes, or tip-wings, away to the meadows below, +pouring out his ecstatic song. The rose-breasted +grosbeak comes and shows his brilliant front. The +purple finch, the goldfinch, the indigo bunting, the +bluebird, the kingbird, the ph[oe]be-bird, the great +crested flycatcher, the robin, the oriole, the chickadee, +the high-hole, the downy woodpecker, the +vesper sparrow, the social sparrow, or chippy, pause +there in the course of the day, and some of them +several times during the day. Occasionally the +scarlet tanager lights it up with his vivid color.</p> + +<p>But more than all it is the favorite perch of a song +sparrow whose mate has a nest not far off. Here +he perches and goes through his repertoire of three +or four different songs from dawn till nightfall, +pausing only long enough now and then to visit his +mate or to refresh himself with a little food. He +repeats his strain six times a minute, often preening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> +his plumage in the intervals. He sings several +hundred times a day and has been doing so for many +weeks. The house wren during the breeding-season +repeats his song thousands of times a day, while +the red-eyed vireo sings continuously from morning +till night for several months. How a conscious +effort like that would weary our human singers and +their hearers! But the birds are quite unconscious, +in our sense, of what they are doing.</p> + +<p>When we pause to think of it, what a spectacle +this singing sparrow presents! A little wild bird +sitting on a dead branch and lifting up its voice +in song hour after hour, day after day, week after +week.</p> + +<p>In terms of science we say it is a secondary sexual +characteristic, but viewed in the light of the spirit +of the whole, what is it except a song of praise +and thanksgiving—joy in life, joy in the day, joy +in the mate and brood, joy in the paternal and +maternal instincts and solicitudes, a voice from the +heart of nature that the world is good, thanksgiving +for the universal beneficence without which you +and I and the little bird would not be here? In +foul weather as in fair, the bird sings. The rain and +the cold do not silence him.</p> + +<p>There are few or no pessimists among the birds. +One might think the call of the turtle-dove, which +sounds to us like "woe, woe, woe," a wail of +despair; but it is not. It really means "love, love,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> +love." The plaint of the wood pewee, pensive and +like a human sigh, is far from pessimistic, although +in a minor key. The cuckoo comes the nearest to +being a pessimist, with his doleful call, and the +catbird and the jay, with their peevish and complaining +notes, might well be placed in that category, +were it not for their songs when the love passion +makes optimists even of them. The strain of +the hermit thrush which floats down to me from the +wooded heights above day after day at all hours, +but more as the shades of night are falling—what +does this pure, serene, exalted strain mean but +that, in Browning's familiar words,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God's in his heaven—</span> +<span class="i0">All's right with the world!</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The bird may sing for his mate and his brood alone, +but what puts it into his heart to do that? +Certainly it is good to have a mate and a +brood!</p> + +<p>A new season brings new experiences with the +same old familiar birds, or new thoughts about +them. This season I have had new impressions of +our cuckoos, which are oftener heard than seen. +Of the two species, the black-billed and the yellow-billed, +the former prevails in the latitude of New +England, and the latter farther south. We +cannot hail our black-billed as "blithe newcomer," +as Wordsworth does his cuckoo. "Doleful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> +newcomer" would be a fitter title. There is nothing +cheery or animated in his note, and he is about +as much a "wandering voice" as is the European +bird. He does not babble of sunshine and of +flowers. He is a prophet of the rain, and the +country people call him the rain crow. All his +notes are harsh and verge on the weird. His +nesting-instincts seem to lead him, or rather her, to +the thorn-bushes as inevitably as the grass finch's +lead her to the grass.</p> + +<p>The cuckoo seems such an unpractical and +inefficient bird that it is interesting to see it doing +things. One of our young poets has a verse in which +he sings of</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The solemn priestly bumble-bee</span> +<span class="i0">That marries rose to rose.</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>He might apply the same or similar adjectives to +the cuckoo. Solemn and priestly, or at least +monkish, it certainly is. It is a real recluse and +suggests the druidical. If it ever frolics or fights, +or is gay and cheerful like our other birds, I have +yet to witness it.</p> + +<p>During the last summer, day after day I saw one +of the birds going by my door toward the clump of +thorn-trees with a big green worm in its bill. One +afternoon I followed it. I found the bird sitting +on a branch very still and straight, with the worm +still in its beak. I sat down on the tentlike thicket +and watched him. Presently he uttered that harsh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> +guttural note of alarm or displeasure. Then after +a minute or two he began to shake and bruise the +worm. I waited to see him disclose the nest, but +he would not, and finally devoured the worm. +Then he hopped or flitted about amid the branches +above me, uttering his harsh note every minute or +two.</p> + +<p>After a half-hour or more I gave it up and parted +the curtain of thorny branches which separated the +thicket from the meadow and stepped outside. I +had moved along only a few paces when I discovered +the nest on an outer branch almost in the sunshine. +The mother bird was covering her half-grown +young. As I put up my hand toward her, +she slipped off, withdrew a few feet into the +branches, and uttered her guttural calls.</p> + +<p>In the nest were four young, one of them nearly +ready to leave it, while another barely had its +eyes open; the eldest one looked frightened, while +the youngest lifted up its head with open mouth +for food. The most mature one pointed its bill +straight up and sat as still as if petrified. The whole +impression one got from the nest and its contents +was of something inept and fortuitous. But the +cares of a family woke the parents up and they got +down to real work in caring for their charge.</p> + +<p>The young had a curious, unbirdlike aspect with +threadlike yellow stripes, and looked as if they were +wet or just out of the shell.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span>That strain of parasitism in the blood of the +cuckoo—how long in the history of its race since +it mastered it and became its own nest-builder? +But a crude and barbarous nest-builder it certainly +is. Its "procreant cradle" is built entirely of the +twigs of the thorn-tree, with all their sharp needle-like +spines upon them, some of the twigs a foot long, +bristling with spines, certainly the most forbidding-looking +nest and nursery I ever beheld—a mere +platform of twigs about four inches across, carpeted +with a little shredded brown fibrous material, looking +as if made from the inner bark of some tree, +perhaps this very thorn.</p> + +<p>In the total absence of the tent caterpillar or +apple-tree worm, which is their favorite food, +cuckoos seem to succeed in finding a large green +worm here in the orchard. In the beech woods +they can find a forest worm that is riddling the +leaves of the beeches. The robins are there in +force and I hope the cuckoos will join them in the +destruction of the worms. It is interesting to see +the cuckoo fly by several times a day with a big +green worm in its beak. Inefficient as it seems, +here it is doing things. It is like seeing a monk at +the plough-handle. It is a solemn creature; its +note is almost funereal.</p> + +<p>Our indigo bunting is as artful and secretive +about its nesting-habits as any of the sparrows. +The male bird seems to know that his brilliant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> +color makes him a shining mark, and he keeps far +away from the nest, singing at all hours of the day +in a circle around it, the radius of which must be +more than fifty yards. In one instance the nest +was near the house, almost under the clothes-line, +in a low blackberry-bush, partly masked by tall-growing +daisies and timothy. I chanced to pass +near it, when off went the little brown bird with her +sharp, chiding manners. She is a very emphatic +creature. It is yea and nay with her every time.</p> + +<p>The male seems like a bit of the tropics. He is +not a very pleasing singer, but an all-day one and +an all-summer one. He is one of our rarer birds. +In a neighborhood where you see scores of sparrows +and goldfinches you will see only one pair of indigobirds. +Their range of food is probably very limited. +I have never chanced to see them taking +food of any kind.</p> + +<p>How crowded with life every square rod of the +fields and woods is, if we look closely enough! +Beneath my leafy canopy on the edge of the beech +woods where I now and then seek refuge from a hot +wave, reclining on a cushion of dry leaves or sitting +with my back against a cool, smooth exposure of the +outcropping place rock, I am in a mood to give +myself up to a day of little things. And the little +things soon come trooping or looping along.</p> + +<p>I see a green measuring-worm taking the dimensions +of the rim of my straw hat which lies on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> +the dry leaves beside me. It humps around it in +an aimless sort of way, stopping now and then and +rearing up on its hind legs and feeling the vacant +space around it as a blind man might hunt for a +lost trail. I know what it wants: it is on its +travels looking for a place in which to go through +that wonderful transformation of creeping worm +into a winged creature. In its higher stage of +being it is a little silvery moth, barely an inch +across, and, like other moths, has a brief season of +life and love, the female depositing its eggs in some +suitable place and then dying or falling a victim +to the wood pewee or some other bird. After some +minutes of groping and humping about on my hat +and on dry twigs and leaves, it is lost to my sight.</p> + +<p>A little later a large black worm comes along. +It is an inch and a quarter long, and is engaged in +the same quest as its lesser brother of the green, +transparent coat. Magnify it enough times, say, +many thousand times, and what a terrible-looking +monster we should have—a traveling arch of +contracting and stretching muscular tissue, higher +than your head, and measuring off the ground a rod +or more at a time, or standing twenty feet or more +high, like some dragon of the prime. But now it is +a puny insect of which the caroling vireo overhead +would quickly dispose.</p> + +<p>With a twig I lift it to a maple sapling close by +and watch it go looping up the trunk. Evidently it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> +doesn't know just where it wants to go, but it +finally strikes a small sugar maple and humps up +that. By chance it strikes one of the branches six +feet from the ground and goes looping up that. +Then, by chance, in its aimless reachings it hits one +of three small branches and climbs that a foot or +more, and a dry twig, six or eight inches long, is +seized and explored. At the end of it the creature +tarries a minute or more, reaching out in the empty +space, then turns back and hits a smaller twig on +this twig about an inch long. This it explores over +and over and sounds the depths that surround it, +then loops back again to the end of the main twig +it has just explored, profiting nothing by experience; +then retraces its steps and measures off another +small branch, and is finally lost to sight amid the +leaves.</p> + +<p>Has the course of life up through geologic time +been in any way like this? There has been the +push of life, the effort to get somewhere, but has +there been no more guiding principle than in the +case of this worm? The singular thing about the +worm is its incessant reachings forth into surrounding +space, searching, searching, sounding, sounding, +as if to be sure that no chance to make a new connection +is missed.</p> + +<p>Finally the black worm comes to rest and, clinging +by its hind feet, lets itself down and simulates +a small dry twig, in which disguise it would deceive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> +the sharpest-eyed enemy. No doubt it passed +the night posing as a twig.</p> + +<p>Among the sylvan denizens that next came upon +the stage were a hummingbird, a little red newt, +and a wood frog. The hummer makes short +work of everything: with a flash and a hum it is +gone. This one seemed to be exploring the dry +twigs for nesting-material, either spiders' webs or +bits of lichen. For a brief moment it perched on a +twig a few yards from me. My ardent wish could +not hold it any longer. Truly a fairy bird, appearing +and vanishing like a thought, familiar with the +heart of all the flowers and taking no food grosser +than their nectar, the winged jewel of the poets, the +surprise and delight of all beholders—it came like +a burnished meteor into my leafy alcove and +was gone as quickly.</p> + +<p>All sylvan things have a charm and delicacy of +their own, all except the woodchuck; wherever he +is, he is of the earth earthy. The wood frog is +known only to woodsmen and farm boys. He is a +real sylvan frog, as pretty as a bird, the color of the +dry leaves, slender and elegant in form and quick +and furtive in movement. My feet disturbed one +in the bed of dry leaves. Slowly I moved my hand +toward him and stroked his back with a twig. If +you can tickle a frog's back in any way you put +a spell upon him. He becomes quite hypnotized. +He was instantly responsive to my passes. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> +began to swell and foreshorten, and when I used my +finger instead of the twig, he puffed up very rapidly, +rose up more upon his feet, and bowed his head. +As I continued the titillation he began to give +forth broken, subdued croaks, and I wondered if +he were going to break out in song. He did not, +but he seemed loath to go his way. How different +he looked from the dark-colored frogs which in +large numbers make a multitudinous croaking and +clucking in the little wild pools in spring! He +wakes up from his winter nap very early and is in +the pools celebrating his nuptials as soon as the ice +is off them, and then in two or three days he takes +to the open woods and assumes the assimilative +coloring of the dry leaves.</p> + +<p>The little orange-colored salamander, a most +delicate and highly colored little creature, is as +harmless as a baby, and about as slow and undecided +in its movements. Its cold body seems +to like the warmth of your hand. Yet in color +it is as rich an orange as the petal of the cardinal +flower is a rich scarlet. It seems more than an +outside color; it is a glow, and renders the creature +almost transparent, an effect as uniform as +the radiance of a precious stone. Its little, innocent-looking, +three-toed foot, or three and a half +toed—how unreptilian it looks through my pocket +glass! A baby's hand is not more so. Its throbbing +throat, its close-shut mouth, its jet-black eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> +with a glint of gold above them—only a close view +of these satisfies one.</p> + +<p>Here is another remarkable transformation +among the small wild folk. In the spring he is a +dark, slimy, rather forbidding lizard in the pools; +now he is more beautiful than the jewel-weed in the +woods. This is said to be an immature form, which +returns to the ponds and matures the next season; +but whether it is the male or the female that assumes +this bright hue, or both, I do not know. +The coat seems to be its midsummer holiday uniform +which is laid aside when it goes back to the +marshes to hibernate in the fall.</p> + +<p>Wild creatures so unafraid are sure to have means +of protection that do not at once appear. In the +case of the newt it is evidently an acrid or other +disagreeable secretion, which would cause any +animal to repent that took it in its mouth. It is +even less concerned at being caught than is the +skunk, or porcupine, or stink-bug.</p> + +<p>In my retreat I was unwittingly intruding upon +the domain of another sylvan denizen, the chipmunk. +One afternoon one suddenly came up from +the open field below me with his pockets full of +provender of some sort; just what sort I wondered, +as there was no grain or seeds or any dry food that +it would be safe to store underground for the winter.</p> + +<p>Beholding me sitting there within two yards of +his den was a great surprise to him. He eyed me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> +a long time—squirrel time—making little, spasmodic +movements on the flat stone above his den. +At a motion of my arm he darted into his hole with +an exultant chip. He was soon out with empty +pockets, and he then proceeded to sound his little +tocsin of distrust or alarm so that all the sylvan +folk might hear. As I made no sign, he soon +ceased and went about his affairs.</p> + +<p>All this time, behind and above me, concealed by +a vase fern, reposed that lovely creature of the +twilight, the luna moth, just out of her chrysalis, +drying and inflating her wings. I chanced to lift +the fern screen, and there was this marvel! Her +body was as white and spotless as the snow, and +her wings, with their Nile-green hue, as fair and +delicate as—well, as only those of a luna moth +can be. It is as immaculate as an angel. With +a twig I carefully lifted her to the trunk of a maple +sapling, where she clung and where I soon left her +for the night.</p> + +<p>While I was loitering there on the threshold of +the woods, observing the small sylvan folk, about +a hundred yards above me, near the highway, was +a bird's nest of a kind I had not seen for more than +a score of years, the nest of the veery, or Wilson's +thrush. Some friends were camping there with +their touring-car outfit in a fringe of the beech +woods, and passed and repassed hourly within a +few yards of the nest, and, although they each had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> +sharp eyes and sharp ears, they had neither seen +nor heard the birds during the two days they had +been there.</p> + +<p>While calling upon them I chanced to see the +hurried movements of a thrush in the low trees six +or seven yards away. The bird had food in its +beak, which caused me to keep my eye upon it. +It quickly flew down to a small clump of ferns that +crowned a small knoll in the open, about ten feet +from the border of the woods. As it did so, another +thrush flew out of the ferns and disappeared in the +woods. Their stealthy movements sent a little +thrill through me, and I said, Here is a treasure. +I parted the ferny screen, and there on the top of +the small knoll was the nest with two half-fledged +young.</p> + +<p>A mowing-machine in a meadow in front of my +door gave an unkind cut to a sparrow that had a +nest in the clover near the wall. The mower +chanced to see the nest before the sickle-bar had +swept over it. It contained four young ones just +out of the shell. At my suggestion the mower +carefully placed it on the top of a stone wall. The +parent birds were not seen, but we naturally +reasoned that they would come back and would +alight upon the wall to make observations.</p> + +<p>But that afternoon and the next morning passed, +and we saw no anxious bird parents. The young +lifted up their open mouths whenever I looked into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> +the nest and seemed to be more contented than +abandoned birds usually are. The next night was +unseasonably cold, and I expected to find the nestlings +dead in the morning; but they were not, and, +strangely enough, for babes in the wood or rather +on a stone wall, they seemed to be doing well. +Maybe the mother bird is still caring for them, I +said to myself, and I ambushed myself across the +road opposite to them and watched.</p> + +<p>I had not long to wait. The mother sparrow +came slyly up and dropped some food into an open +mouth and disappeared.</p> + +<p>Who does not feel a thrill of pleasure when, in +sauntering through the woods, his hat just brushes +a vireo's nest? This was my experience one +morning. The nest was like a natural growth, +hanging there like a fairy basket in the fork of a +beech twig, woven of dry, delicate, papery, brown +and gray wood products, just high enough to escape +prowling ground enemies and low enough to escape +sharp-eyed tree enemies. Its safety was in its +artless art. It was a part of the shadows and the +green-and-brown solitude. The weaver had bent +down one of the green leaves and made it a part of +the nest; it was like the stroke of a great artist. +Then the dabs of white here and there, given by +the fragments of spiders' cocoons—all helped to +blend it with the flickering light and shade.</p> + +<p>I gently bent down the branch and four con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span>fident +heads with open mouths instantly appeared +above the brim. The mother bird meanwhile was +flitting about in the branches overhead, peering +down upon me and uttering her anxious "quay +quay," equivalent, I suppose, to saying: "Get +away!" This I soon did.</p> + +<p>Most of our bird music, like our wild flowers, is +soon quickly over. But the red-eyed vireo sings +on into September—not an ecstatic strain, but a +quiet, contented warble, like a boy whistling at +his work.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span></p> + +<div class="center">VII</div> + +<div class="center">WITH ROOSEVELT AT PINE KNOT</div> + + +<p>It was in May during the last term of his Presidency +that Roosevelt asked me to go with him down to +Pine Knot, Virginia, to help him name his birds. +I stayed with him at the White House the night +before we started. I remember that at dinner<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> +there was an officer from the British army stationed +in India, and the talk naturally turned on Indian +affairs. I did not take part in it because I knew +nothing about India, but Roosevelt was so conversant +with Indian affairs and Indian history that +you would think he had just been cramming on it, +which I knew very well he had not. But that +British officer was put on his mettle to hold his +own. In fact, Roosevelt knew more about India +and England's relation to it than the officer seemed +to know. It was amazing to see the thoroughness +of his knowledge about India.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">1</span></a> Mr. Burroughs's memory played him false here. The incident +he speaks of was at a dinner in the White House, just +before starting on the Yellowstone trip, in 1903.<br /> + C. B.</p></div> + +<p>The next morning we started off for Virginia, +taking an early train.</p> + +<p>Pine Knot is about one hundred miles from +Washington. I think we left the train at Char<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span>lottesville, +Virginia, and drove about ten miles to +Pine Knot; the house is a big barnlike structure on +the edge of the woods, a mile from the nearest +farmhouse.</p> + +<p>Before we reached there we got out of the wagon +and walked, as there were a good many warblers in +the trees—the spring migration was on. It was +pretty warm; I took off my overcoat and the +President insisted on carrying it. We identified +several warblers there, among them the black-poll, +the black-throated blue, and Wilson's black-cap. +He knew them in the trees overhead as quickly as +I did.</p> + +<p>We reached Pine Knot late in the afternoon, but +as he was eager for a walk we started off, he leading, +as if walking for a wager. We went through fields +and woods and briers and marshy places for a mile or +more, when we stopped and mopped our brows and +turned homeward without having seen many birds.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Roosevelt took him to task, I think, when +she saw the heated condition in which we returned, +for not long afterwards he came to me and said: +"Oom John, that was no way to go after birds; we +were in too much of a hurry." I replied, "No, Mr. +President, that isn't the way I usually go a-birding." +His thirst for the wild and the woods, and +his joy at returning to these after his winter in the +White House, had evidently urged him on. He +added, "We will try a different plan to-morrow."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span>So on the morrow we took a leisurely drive along +the highways. Very soon we heard a wren which +was new to me. "That's Bewick's wren," he said. +We got out and watched it as it darted in and out +of the fence and sang.</p> + +<p>I asked him if he knew whether the little gray +gnatcatcher was to be seen there. I had not seen +or heard it for thirty years. "Yes," he replied, "I +saw it the last time I was here, over by a spring run."</p> + +<p>We walked over to some plum-trees where there +had been a house at one time. No sooner had we +reached the spot than he cried, "There it is now!" +And sure enough, there it was in full song—a little +bird the shape of a tiny catbird, with a very fine +musical strain.</p> + +<p>As we were walking in a field we saw some birds +that were new to me. Roosevelt also was puzzled +to know what they were till we went among them +and stirred them up, discovering that they were +females of the blue grosbeak, with some sparrows +which we did not identify.</p> + +<p>In the course of that walk he showed me a place +where he had seen what he had thought at the time +to be a flock of wild pigeons. He described how +they flew, the swoop of their movements, and the +tree where they alighted. I was skeptical, for it +had long been thought that wild pigeons were extinct, +but that fact had not impressed itself upon +his mind. He said if he had known there could be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> +any doubt about it, he would have observed them +more closely. I was sorry that he had not, as it +was one of the points on which I wanted indisputable +evidence. We talked with the colored coachman +about the birds, as he also had seen them. +His description agreed with Roosevelt's, and he had +seen wild pigeons in his youth; still I had my doubts. +Subsequently Roosevelt wrote me that he had come +to the conclusion that they had been mistaken +about their being pigeons.</p> + +<p>One day while there, as we were walking through +an old weedy field, I chanced to spy, out of the +corner of my eye, a nighthawk sitting on the +ground only three or four yards away. I called +Roosevelt's attention to it and said, "Now, Mr. +President, I think with care you can drop your hat +over that bird." So he took off his sombrero and +crept up on the bird, and was almost in a position +to let his hat drop over it when the bird flew to a +near tree, alighting lengthwise on the branch as this +bird always does. Roosevelt approached it again +cautiously and almost succeeded in putting his hand +upon it; the bird flew just in time to save itself +from his hand.</p> + +<p>One Sunday after church he took me to a field +where he had recently seen and heard Lincoln's +sparrow. We loitered there, reclining upon the +dry grass for an hour or more, waiting for the +sparrow, but it did not appear.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span>During my visit there we named over seventy-five +species of birds and fowl, he knowing all of +them but two, and I knowing all but two. He +taught me Bewick's wren and the prairie warbler, +and I taught him the swamp sparrow and one of +the rarer warblers; I think it was the pine warbler. +If he had found the Lincoln sparrow again, he +would have been one ahead of me.</p> + +<p>I remember talking politics a little with him +while we were waiting for the birds, and, knowing +that he was expecting Taft to be his successor, I +expressed my doubts as to Taft's being able to fill +his shoes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, he can," he said confidently; "you +don't know him as well as I do."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," I admitted; "but my feeling is +that, though Taft is an able and amiable man, he +is not a born leader."</p> + +<p>(I am glad to say that Mr. Taft's recent course +in support of the proposed League of Nations has +quite brought me around to Roosevelt's estimate +of him.)</p> + +<p>Pine Knot is a secluded place in the woods. One +evening as we sat in the lamplight, he reading Lord +Cromer on Egypt, and I a book on the man-eating +lions of Tsavo, and Mrs. Roosevelt sitting +near with her needlework, suddenly Roosevelt's +hand came down on the table with such a bang +that it made us both jump, and Mrs. Roosevelt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> +exclaimed in a slightly nettled tone, "Why, my +dear, what <i>is</i> the matter?"</p> + +<p>He had killed a mosquito with a blow that would +almost have demolished an African lion.</p> + +<p>It occurred to me later that evening how risky +it was for the President of the United States to be +so unprotected—without a guard of any kind—in +that out-of-the-way place, and I expressed something +of this to him, suggesting that some one might +"kidnap" him.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he answered, slapping his hand on his +hip pocket, "I go armed, and they would have to +be mighty quick to get the drop on me."</p> + +<p>Shortly after that, to stretch my legs a little and +listen to the night sounds in the Virginia woods, I +went out around the cabin and almost immediately +heard some animal run heavily through the woods +not far from the house. I thought perhaps it was +a neighboring dog, but, on speaking of it to Mrs. +Roosevelt, was told that two secret service men +came every night at nine o'clock and stood on +guard till morning, spending the day at a farmhouse +in that vicinity. She did not let the President +know of this because it would irritate him.</p> + +<p>The only flower we saw there which was new to +me was the Indian pink. Roosevelt seemed to +know the flowers as well as he did the birds. Pink +moccasin-flowers and the bird's-foot violet were +common in that locality.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span>On our return trip, Roosevelt's secretary being +on the train, Roosevelt threw himself into the +dictation of many letters, the wrens and the warblers +already sidetracked for the business of the +Administration.</p> + +<p>I passed another night at the White House, and +in the morning early we went out on the White +House grounds to look for birds, our quest seeming +to attract the puzzled attention of the passers-by.</p> + +<p>"They often stare at me as though they thought +me crazy," he said, "when they see me gazing up +into the trees."</p> + +<p>"Well, now they will think I am your keeper," +I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I your nurse," laughed Mrs. Roosevelt.</p> + +<p>When I left, Roosevelt gave me a list of the birds +that we had seen while at Pine Knot and hoped +that I would sometime write up the trip; in fact, +for years after, whenever we would meet, almost +the first thing he would say was, "Have you written +up our Pine Knot trip yet, Oom John?" And his +disappointment at my failure to do so was always +unmistakable.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">2</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">2</span></a> +The following letter may be of interest in this connection.<br /> +<span class="quotsig">C. B.</span><br /> + +<span class="smcap">Dear Oom John:</span><br /> + + +Did you ever get the pamphlet on Concealing Coloration? +If not, I will send you another. I do hope that you will include +in your coming volume of sketches a little account of the time +you visited us at Pine Knot, our little Virginia camp, while I +was President. I am very proud of you, Oom John, and I want<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> +the fact that you were my guest when I was President, and that +you and I looked at birds together, recorded there—and don't +forget that I showed you the blue grosbeak and the Bewick's +wren, and almost all the other birds I said I would!<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Ever yours,</span><br /> +<span class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Theodore Roosevelt</span></span> +</p></div> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span><br /></p> + +<div class="center">VIII</div> + +<div class="center">A STRENUOUS HOLIDAY</div> + + +<p>One August a few years ago (1918) I set out with +some friends for a two weeks' automobile trip into +the land of Dixie—joy-riders with a luxurious outfit +calculated to be proof against any form of discomfort.</p> + +<p>We were headed for the Great Smoky Mountains +in North Carolina. I confess that mountains and +men that do not smoke suit me better. Still I can +stand both, and I started out with the hope that the +great Appalachian range held something new and +interesting for me. Yet I knew it was a risky thing +for an octogenarian to go a-gypsying, and with +younger men. Old blood has lost some of its red +corpuscles, and does not warm up easily over the +things that moved one so deeply when one was +younger. More than that, what did I need of an +outing? All the latter half of my life has been an +outing, and an "inning" seemed more in order. +Then, after fourscore years, the desire for change, +for new scenes and new people, is at low ebb. The +old and familiar draw more strongly. Yet I was +fairly enlisted and bound to see the Old Smokies.</p> + +<p>Pennsylvania is an impressive State, so vast, so +diversified, so forest-clad—the huge unbroken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> +Alleghany ranges with their deep valleys cutting +across it from north to south; the world of fine +farms and rural homesteads in the eastern half, and +the great mining and manufacturing interests in +the western, the source of noble rivers; and the +storehouse of many of Nature's most useful gifts +to man.</p> + +<p>The great Lincoln Highway, of course, follows +the line of least resistance, but it has some formidable +obstacles to surmount, and it goes at them very +deliberately; and, in a powerful car, gives one a +sense of easy victory. But I smile as I remember +persons with lighter cars standing beside them at +the foot of those long, winding ascents, nursing +and encouraging them, as it were, and preparing +them for the heavy task before them. An almost +perfect road, worthy of its great namesake, but an +Alleghany range which you cannot get around or +through gives the automobilist pause.</p> + +<p>As we were hurled along over the great highway +the things I remember with the most satisfaction +were the groups or processions of army trucks we +met coming east. The doom of kaiserism was +written large on that Lincoln Highway in that army +of resolute, slow-moving army trucks. Dumb, khaki-colored +fighters on wheels, staunch, powerful-looking, +a host of them, rolling eastward toward the +seat of war, some loaded with soldiers, some with +camp equipments, and all hinting of the enormous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> +resources the fatuous Kaiser had let loose upon +himself in this far-off land. On other highways +the weapons and materials of war were converging +toward the great seaports in the same way. The +silent, grim, processions—how impressive they +were!</p> + +<p>Pittsburgh is a city that sits with its feet in +or very near the lake of brimstone and fire, and +its head in the sweet country air of the hill-tops. +I think I got nearer the infernal regions there than +I ever did in any other city in this country. One +is fairly suffocated at times driving along the public +highway on a bright, breezy August day. It +might well be the devil's laboratory. Out of such +blackening and blasting fumes comes our civilization. +That weapons of war and of destructiveness +should come out of such pits and abysses of hell-fire +seemed fit and natural, but much more comes +out of them—much that suggests the pond-lily +rising out of the black slime and muck of the lake +bottoms.</p> + +<p>We live in an age of iron and have all we can +do to keep the iron from entering our souls. Our +vast industries have their root in the geologic history +of the globe as in no other past age. We delve +for our power, and it is all barbarous and unhandsome. +When the coal and oil are all gone and we +come to the surface and above the surface for the +white coal, for the smokeless oil, for the winds and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> +the sunshine, how much more attractive life will be! +Our very minds ought to be cleaner. We may +never hitch our wagons to the stars, but we can +hitch them to the mountain streams, and make +the summer breezes lift our burdens. Then the +silver age will displace the iron age.</p> + +<p>The western end of Pennsylvania is one vast +coal-mine. The farmer has only to dig into the +side of the hill back of his house and take out his +winter's fuel. I was surprised to see how smooth +and gentle and grassy the hills looked. It is a +cemetery of the old carboniferous gods, and it +seems to have been prepared by gentle hands and +watched over with kindly care. Good crops of hay +and grain were growing above their black remains, +and rural life seemed to go on in the usual way. +The shuffling and the deformation of the earth's +surface which attended the laying down of the +coal-beds is not anywhere evident. The hand of +that wonderful husbandman, Father Time, has +smoothed it all out.</p> + +<p>Our first camp was at Greensborough, thirty or +more miles southeast of Pittsburgh, an ideal place—a +large, open oak grove on a gentle eminence well +carpeted with grass, with wood and water in +abundance. But the night was chilly. Folding +camp-cots are poor conservers of one's bodily +warmth, and until you get the hang of them and +equip yourself with plenty of blankets, Sleep enters<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> +your tent very reluctantly. She tarried with me +but briefly, and at three or four in the morning I +got up, replenished the fire, and in a camp-chair +beside it indulged in the "long, long thoughts" +which belong to age much more than to youth. +Youth was soundly and audibly sleeping in the +tents with no thoughts at all.</p> + +<p>The talk that first night around the camp-fire +gave us an inside view of many things about which +we were much concerned. The ship question was +the acute question of the hour and we had with us +for a few days Commissioner Hurley, of the Shipping +Board, who could give us first-hand information, +which he did to our great comfort.</p> + +<p>Our next stop was near Uniontown, Pennsylvania, +where for that night we slept indoors.</p> + +<p>On the following day one of the big cars had an +accident—the fan broke, and the iron punctured +the radiator. It looked as if we should be delayed +until a new radiator could be forwarded from Pittsburgh. +We made our way slowly to Connellsville, +where there was a good garage, but the best workmen +there shook their heads; they said a new radiator +was the only remedy. All four arms of the fan +were broken off and there was no way to mend +them. This verdict put Mr. Ford on his mettle. +"Give me a chance," he said, and, pulling off his +coat and rolling up his sleeves, he fell to work. In +two hours we were ready to go ahead. By the aid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> +of drills and copper wire the master mechanic had +stitched the severed arms to their stubs, soldered +up the hole in the radiator, and the disabled car +was again in running order.</p> + +<p>On August the 31st we made our camp on the +banks of a large, clear creek in West Virginia called +Horseshoe Run. A smooth field across the road +from the creek seemed attractive, and I got the +reluctant consent of the widow who owned it to +pitch our camp there, though her patch of roasting-ears +near by made her hesitate; she had probably +had experiences with gypsy parties, and was not +impressed in our favor even when I gave her the +names of two well-known men in our party. But +Edison was not attracted by the widow's open +field; the rough, grassy margin of the creek suited +him better, and its proximity to the murmuring, +eddying, rocky current appealed to us all, albeit it +necessitated our mess-tent being pitched astride a +shallow gully, and our individual tents elbowing one +another in the narrow spaces between the boulders. +But wild Nature, when you can manage her, is what +the camper-out wants. Pure elements—air, water, +earth—these settle the question; Camp Horseshoe +Run had them all. It was here, I think, that I +got my first view of the nonpareil, or painted bunting—a +bird rarely seen north of the Potomac.</p> + +<p>An interesting object near our camp was an old, +unused grist-mill, with a huge, decaying overshot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> +oaken water-wheel. We all perched on the wheel +and had our pictures taken.</p> + +<p>At our lunch that day, by the side of a spring, a +twelve-year-old girl appeared in the road above us +with a pail of apples for sale. We invited her into +our camp, an invitation she timidly accepted. We +took all of her apples. I can see her yet with her +shining eyes as she crumpled the new one-dollar +bill which one of the party placed in her hand. +She did not look at it; the feel of it told the story +to her. We quizzed her about many things and +got straight, clear-cut answers—a very firm, level-headed +little maid. Her home was on the hill +above us. We told her the names of some of the +members of the party, and after she had returned +home we saw an aged man come out to the gate +and look down upon us. An added interest was +felt whenever we came in contact with any of the +local population. Birds and flowers and trees and +springs and mills were something, but human +flowers and rills of human life were better. I do +not forget the other maiden, twelve or thirteen +years old, to whom we gave a lift of a few miles on +her way. She had been on a train five times, and +once had been forty miles from home. Her mother +was dead and her father lived in Pennsylvania, and +she was living with her grandfather. When asked +how far it was to Elkins she said, "Ever and ever +so many miles."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span>The conspicuous roadside flowers for hundreds +of miles, in fact, all the way from Pennsylvania to +North Carolina, were the purple eupatorium, or +Joe-Pye-weed, and the ironweed—stately, hardy +growths, and very pleasing to look upon, the ironweed +with its crimson purple, and the eupatorium +with its massive head of soft, pinkish purple.</p> + +<p>August the 22d we reached Cheat River in West +Virginia, a large, clear mountain trout-brook. +It crossed our path many times that day. Every +mountain we crossed showed us Cheat River on +the other side of it. It was flowing by a very +devious course northwest toward the Ohio. We +were working south and east.</p> + +<p>We made our camp that night on the grounds +of the Cheat Mountain Club, on the banks of the +river—an ideal spot. The people at the big clubhouse +gave us a hospitable welcome and added +much to our comfort. I found the forests and +streams of this part of West Virginia much like +those of the Catskills, only on a larger scale, and +the climate even colder. That night the mercury +dropped to thirty. On June the 24th they had +a frost that killed all their garden truck. The +paper outlines of big trout which covered the +walls in the main room of the clubhouse told the +story of the rare sport the club-members have there. +Evidently Cheat River deserves a better name.</p> + +<p>The mountains and valleys of the Virginias all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> +present a marked contrast to those of New York +and Pennsylvania. They were not rubbed down +and scooped out by the great ice-sheet that played +such a part in shaping our northern landscapes. +The valleys are markedly V-shaped, while ours are +markedly U-shaped. The valley sides are so steep +that they are rarely cultivated; the farm land for +the most part lies on the tops of the broad, rounded +hills, though we passed through some broad, open +river valleys that held miles upon miles of beautiful +farms in which hay and oats were still being harvested. +Everywhere were large fields of buckwheat, +white with bloom, and, I presume, humming +with bees.</p> + +<p>Here and there, by the rocks and the boulders +strewn over the landscape, I saw evidences of large +local glaciers that had hatched in these mountains +during the great Ice Age.</p> + +<p>We made camp at Bolar Springs on August the +23d—a famous spring, and a beautiful spot. We +pitched our tents among the sugar maples, and +some of the party availed themselves of the +public bathhouse that spanned the overflow of +the great spring. The next night our camp was +at Wolf Creek, not far from the Narrows—a beautiful +spot, marred only by its proximity to the dusty +highway. It was on the narrow, grassy margin of +a broad, limpid creek in which the fish were jumping. +Some grazing horses disturbed my sleep early<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> +in the morning, but on the whole I have only pleasant +memories of our camp at Wolf Creek.</p> + +<p>We were near a week in Virginia and West Virginia, +crossing many times the border between the +two States, now in one, then in the other, all the +time among the mountains, with a succession of +glorious views from mountain-tops and along broad, +fertile valleys. Now we were at Warm Springs, +then at Hot Springs, then at White Sulphur, or at +Sweet Water Springs. Soft water and hard water, +cold water and warm water, mineral water and +trout-streams, companion one another in these +mountains. This part of the continent got much +folded and ruptured and mixed up in the building, +and the elements are unevenly distributed.</p> + +<p>I think to most of us West Virginia had always +been a rather hazy proposition, and we were glad +to get a clear impression of it. We certainly +became pretty intimate with the backbone of the +continent—or with its many backbones, as its +skeleton seems to be a very multiplex affair. The +backbones of continents usually get broken in many +places, but they serve their purpose just as well. +In fact, our old Earth is more like an articulate +than a vertebrate. Its huge shell is in many sections.</p> + +<p>One of our camps we named Camp Lee, the name +of the owner of the farm. One of the boys there, +Robert E. Lee, made himself very useful in bringing +wood and doing other errands.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span>A privation, which I think Mr. Edison and I +felt more than did the others, was the scanty or +delayed war news; the local papers, picked up here +and there, gave only brief summaries, and when in +the larger towns we could get some of the great +dailies, the news was a day or two old. When one +has hung on the breath of the newspapers for four +exciting years, one is lost when cut off from them.</p> + +<p>Such a trip as we were taking was, of course, a +kind of a lark, especially to the younger members +of the party. Upon Alleghany Mountain, near +Barton, West Virginia, a farmer was cradling oats +on a side-hill below the road. Our procession +stopped, and the irrepressible Ford and Firestone +were soon taking turns at cradling oats, but with +doubtful success. A photograph shows the farmer +and Mr. Ford looking on with broad smiles, watching +Mr. Firestone with the fingers of the cradle +tangled in the oats and weeds, a smile on his face +also, but decidedly an equivocal smile—the trick +was not so easy as it looked. Evidently Mr. Ford +had not forgotten his cradling days on the home +farm in Michigan.</p> + +<p>Camp-life is a primitive affair, no matter how +many conveniences you have, and things of the +mind keep pretty well in the background. Occasionally +around the camp-fire we drew Edison out +on chemical problems, and heard formula after +formula come from his lips as if he were reading<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> +them from a book. As a practical chemist he perhaps +has few, if any, equals in this country. It +was easy to draw out Mr. Ford on mechanical +problems. There is always pleasure and profit in +hearing a master discuss his own art.</p> + +<p>A plunge into the South for a Northern man is +in many ways a plunge into the Past. As soon as +you get into Virginia there is a change. Things and +people in the South are more local and provincial +than in the North. For the most part, in certain +sections, at least, the county builds the roads +(macadam), and not the State. Hence you pass +from a fine stone road in one county on to a rough +dirt road in the next. Toll-gates appear. In one +case we paid toll at the rate of two cents a mile for +the cars, and five cents for the trucks. Grist-mills +are seen along the way, driven by overshot wheels, +and they are usually at work. A man or a boy on +horseback, with a bag of grain or of meal behind +him, going to or returning from the mill, is a frequent +sight; or a woman on horseback, on a sidesaddle, +with a baby in her arms, attracts your +attention. Thus my grandmother went to mill in +pioneer days in the Catskills.</p> + +<p>The absence of bridges over the small streams +was to us a novel feature. One of the party called +these fording places, "Irish bridges." They are +made smooth and easy, and gave us no trouble. +Another Southern feature, indicating how far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> +behind our Northern and more scientific farming +the South still is, are the groups of small haystacks +in the meadows with poles sticking out of their +tops, letting the rain and the destructive bacteria +into their hearts. Among the old-fashioned features +of the South much to be commended are +the large families. In a farmhouse near which we +made camp one night there were thirteen children, +the eldest of whom was at the front in France. +The schools were in session in late August, and the +schoolrooms were well filled with pupils.</p> + +<p>No doubt there are many peculiar local customs +of which the hurrying tourist gets no inkling. At +a station in the mountains of North Carolina a +youngish, well-clad countryman, smoking his pipe, +stood within a few feet of my friend and me and +gazed at us with the simple, blank curiosity of a +child. There was not the slightest gleam of intelligent +interest, or self-consciousness in his face; it +was the frank stare of a five-year-old boy. He +belongs to a type one often sees in the mountain +districts of the South—good human stuff, valiant +as soldiers, and industrious as farmers, but so +unacquainted with the great outside world, their +unsophistication is shocking to see.</p> + +<p>It often seemed to me that we were a luxuriously +equipped expedition going forth to seek discomfort, +for discomfort in several forms—dust, rough roads, +heat, cold, irregular hours, accidents—is pretty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> +sure to come to those who go a-gypsying in the +South. But discomfort, after all, is what the +camper-out is unconsciously seeking. We grow +weary of our luxuries and conveniences. We react +against our complex civilization, and long to get +back for a time to first principles. We cheerfully +endure wet, cold, smoke, mosquitoes, black flies, +and sleepless nights, just to touch naked reality +once more.</p> + +<p>Our two chief characters presented many contrasts: +Mr. Ford is more adaptive, more indifferent +to places, than is Mr. Edison. His interest in +the stream is in its potential water-power. He +races up and down its banks to see its fall, and +where power could be developed. He never ceases +to lament so much power going to waste, and points +out that if the streams were all harnessed, as they +could easily be, farm labor everywhere, indoors and +out, could be greatly lessened. He dilates upon +the benefit that would accrue to every country +neighborhood if the water-power that is going to +waste in its valley streams were set to work in +some useful industry, furnishing employment to +the farmers and others in the winter seasons when +the farms need comparatively little attention. He +is always thinking in terms of the greatest good to +the greatest number. He aims to place his inventions +within reach of the great mass of the people. +As with his touring-car, so with his tractor engine,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> +he has had the same end in view. Nor does he +forget the housewife. He has plans afoot for bringing +power into every household that will greatly +lighten the burden of the women-folk.</p> + +<p>Partly owing to his more advanced age, but +mainly, no doubt, to his meditative and introspective +cast of mind, Mr. Edison is far less active than +is Mr. Ford. When we would pause for the midday +lunch, or to make camp at the end of the day, +Mr. Edison would sit in his car and read, or curl +up, boy fashion, under a tree and take a nap, while +Mr. Ford would inspect the stream or busy himself +in getting wood for the fire. Mr. Ford is a runner +and a high kicker, and frequently challenged +some of the party to race with him. He is also a persistent +walker, and from every camp, both morning +and evening, he sallied forth for a brisk half-hour +walk. His cheerfulness and adaptability on all +occasions, and his optimism in regard to all the +great questions, are remarkable. His good-will and +tolerance are boundless. Notwithstanding his +practical turn of mind, and his mastery of the +mechanical arts and of business methods, he is +through and through an idealist. As tender as a +woman, he is much more tolerant. He looks like +a poet, and conducts his life like a philosopher. No +poet ever expressed himself through his work more +completely than Mr. Ford has expressed himself +through his car and his tractor engine. They typify<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> +him; not imposing, nor complex, less expressive of +power and mass than of simplicity, adaptability, +and universal service, they typify the combination +of powers and qualities which make him a beneficent, +a likable, and a unique personality. Those +who meet him are invariably drawn to him. He is +a national figure, and the crowds that flock around +the car in which he is riding, as we pause in the +towns through which we pass, are not paying their +homage merely to a successful car-builder or business +man, but to a beneficent human force, a great +practical idealist whose good-will and spirit of universal +helpfulness they have all felt. He has not +only brought pleasure and profit into their lives, +but has illustrated and written large upon the pages +of current history a new ideal of the business man—that +of a man whose devotion to the public good +has been a ruling passion, and whose wealth has +inevitably flowed from the depth of his humanitarianism. +He has taken the people into partnership +with him, and has eagerly shared with them +the benefits that are the fruit of his great enterprise—a +liberator, an emancipator, through channels +that are so often used to enslave or +destroy.</p> + +<p>In one respect, essentially the same thing may +be said of Mr. Edison: his first and leading thought +has been, "What can I do to make life easier and +more enjoyable to my fellow-men? He is a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> +chemist, a trenchant and original thinker on all the +great questions of life, though he has delved but +little into the world of art and literature—a practical +scientist, plus a meditative philosopher of profound +insight. And his humor is delicious. We +delighted in his wise and witty sayings. A good +camper-out, he turns vagabond very easily, can go +with hair disheveled and clothes unbrushed as long +as the best of us, and can rough it week in and week +out and wear that benevolent smile. He eats so little +that I think he was not tempted by the chicken-roosts +or turkey-flocks along the way, nor by the +cornfields and apple-orchards, as some of us were, +but he is second to none in his love for the open +and for wild nature.</p> + +<p>Mr. Firestone belongs to an entirely different +type—the clean, clear-headed, conscientious business +type; always on his job, always ready for whatever +comes; in no sense an outdoor man; always +at the service of those around him; a man generous, +kindly, appreciative, devoted to his family +and his friends; sound in his ideas—a manufacturer +who has faithfully and honestly served +his countrymen.</p> + +<p>It is after he gets home that a meditative man +really makes such a trip. All the unpleasant features +are strained out or transformed. In retrospect +it is all enjoyable, even the discomforts. I am +aware that I was often irritable and ungracious, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> +my companions were tolerant, and gave little heed +to the flitting moods of an octogenarian. Now, at +this distance, and sitting beside my open fire at +Slabsides, I look upon the whole trip with unmixed +pleasure.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span><br /></p> + +<div class="center">IX</div> + +<div class="center">UNDER GENIAL SKIES</div> + +<div class="center2">I. A SUN-BLESSED LAND</div> + + +<p>The two sides of our great sprawling continent, the +East and West, differ from each other almost as +much as day differs from night. On the coast of +southern California the dominant impression made +upon one is of a world made up of three elements—sun, +sea, and sky. The Pacific stretches away to +the horizon like a vast, shining, gently undulating +floor. Its waves are longer and come in more languidly +than they do upon the Atlantic coast. It +justifies its name. The passion and fury of the +Eastern seas I got no hint of, even in winter. Its +rocks, all that I saw of them, are soft and friable. +The languid waves rapidly wear them down. They +are non-strenuous rocks, lifted up out of a non-strenuous +sea. The mountains that tower four or +five thousand feet along the coast are of the same +character. They are young, and while they carry +their heads very high, they are soft and easily disintegrated +compared with the granite of our coast.</p> + +<p>As a rule, young mountains always wear the look +of age, from their deep lines and jagged and angular +character, while the really old mountains wear the +look of youth from their comparative smoothness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> +their unwrinkled appearance, their long, flowing +lines. Time has taken the conceit all out of them.</p> + +<p>The annual rainfall in the Far West is only about +one third of what it is on the eastern side of the +continent. And the soil is curiously adapted to the +climate. Trees flourish and crops are grown there +under arid conditions that would kill every green +thing on the Atlantic seaboard. The soil is clay +tempered with a little sand, probably less than ten +per cent of it by weight is sand. I washed the clay +out of a large lump of it and found the sand a +curious heterogeneous mixture of small and large, +light and dark grains of all possible forms. The +soil does not bake as do our clay soils, and keeps +moist when ours would almost defy the plough. +Under cultivation it works up into a good tillable +condition. Its capacity to retain moisture is remarkable, +as if it were made for a scant rainfall. +As a crop-producing soil, it has virtues which I am +at a loss to account for. Root vegetables grown +here have a sweetness, and above all, a tenderness, +of which we know nothing in the East. Much sunshine +in our climate makes root vegetables fibrous +and tough.</p> + +<p>I more than half believe that the wonderful +sweetness of the bird songs here, such as that of +the meadowlark, is more or less a matter of climate; +the quality of the sunshine seems to have affected +their vocal cords. The clear, piercing, shaft-like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> +note of our meadowlark contrasts with that of the +Pacific variety as our hard, brilliant blue skies contrast +with the softer and tenderer skies of this sun-blessed +land.</p> + + +<div class="center2">II. LAWN BIRDS</div> + +<p>To have a smooth grassy lawn about your house +on the Pacific coast is to have spread out before +you at nearly all hours of the day a pretty spectacle +of wild-bird life. Warblers, sparrows, thrushes, +titlarks, and plovers flutter across it as thick as +autumn leaves—not so highly colored, yet showing +a pleasing variety of tints, while the black ph[oe]be +flits about your porch and arbor vines.</p> + +<p>Audubon's warbler is the most numerous, probably +ten to one of any other variety of birds. Then +the white-crowned sparrows, Gambel's sparrow, the +tree sparrow, and one or two other sparrows of +which I am not sure are next in number.</p> + +<p>Two species of birds from the Far North are +usually represented by a solitary specimen of each, +namely, the Alaska hermit thrush and the American +pipit, or titlark. The thrush is silent, but has its +usual trim, alert look. The pipit is the only walker +in the group. It walks about like our oven-bird +with the same pretty movement of the head and a +teetering motion of the hind part of the body.</p> + +<p>While in Alaska, in July, 1899, with the Harriman +Expedition, I found the nest of the pipit far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> +up on the side of a steep mountain. It was tucked +in under a mossy tuft and commanded a view of +sea and mountain such as Alaska alone can afford.</p> + +<p>But the most conspicuous and interesting of all +these lawn birds are the ring-necked plovers, or +killdeers. Think of having a half-dozen or more of +those wild, shapely creatures, reminiscent of the +shore and of the spirit of the tender, glancing April +days, running over your lawn but a few yards from +you! Their dovelike heads, their long, slender legs, +that curious, mechanical jerking up-and-down +movement of their bodies, their shrill, disconsolate +cries as they take flight, their beautiful and powerful +wings and tail, and their mastery of the air—all +arrest your attention or challenge your admiration. +They bring the distant and the furtive to +your very door. All climes and lands wait upon +their wings. They fly around the world.</p> + +<p>The plovers are the favored among birds. +Beauty, speed, and immunity from danger from +birds of prey are theirs. Ethereal and aerial creatures! +Is that the cry of the sea in the bird's voice? +Is that the motion of the waves in its body? Is +that the restlessness of the surf in its behavior?</p> + +<p>However high and far it may fly, it has to come +back to earth as we all do. It comes to our lawn to +feed upon earthworms. The other birds are all busy +picking up some minute fly or insect that harbors +in the grass, but the plover is here for game that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> +harbors in the turf. His methods are like those of +the robin searching for grubs or angle-worms. He +scrutinizes the turf very carefully as he runs about +over it, making frequent drives into it with his bill, +but only now and then seizing the prey of which he +is in search. When he does so, he shows the same +judgment which the robin does under like conditions. +He pulls slowly and evenly, so as to make +sure of the whole worm, or to compel it to let go its +hold upon the soil without breaking. All birds are +wise about their food-supplies.</p> + +<p>On the beach the wild life that I see is all on +wings. There are the tranquil, effortless gliding +herring gulls, snow-white beneath and pearl-gray +above, displaying an affluence of wing-power restful +to look upon—airplanes that put forth their powers +so subtly and so silently as to elude both eye and +ear. At low tide I see large groups of their white +and gray-blue forms seated upon the dark, moss-covered +rocks. Fresh water is at a premium on +this coast, and the thirsty gulls avail themselves +of the makeshift of the drain-pipes from the town, +which discharge on the beach.</p> + +<p>There are the clumsy-looking but powerful-winged +birds, the brown pelicans, usually in a line +of five or six, skimming low over the waves, shaping +their course to the "hilly sea," often gliding on set +wings for a long distance, rising and falling to clear +the water—coasting, at it were, on a horizontal sur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span>face, +and only at intervals beating the air for more +power. They are heavy, awkward-looking birds +with wings and forms that suggest none of the +grace and beauty of the usual shore birds. They +do not seem to be formed to cleave the air, or to +part the water, but they do both very successfully. +When the pelican dives for his prey, he is for the +moment transformed into a thunderbolt. He comes +down like an arrow of Jove, and smites and parts +the water in superb style. When he recovers +himself, he is the same stolid, awkward-looking +creature as before.</p> + +<p>A bird evidently not far removed from its reptilian +ancestors—a bird that is at home under the +water and hunts its prey there on the wing—is the +black cormorant. There is a colony of several hundred +of them on the face of a sea-cliff a short +distance above me.</p> + +<p>I see, at nearly all hours of the day, the black +lines they make above the foaming breakers as +they go and come on their foraging expeditions. +In diving, they disappear under the water like +the loon, and penetrate to as great depths. One +does not crave an intimate acquaintance with +them, but they are interesting as a part of the +multitudinous life of the shore.</p> + + +<div class="center2">III. SILKEN CHAMBERS</div> + +<p>The trap-door spider has furnished me with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> +one of the most interesting bits of natural history +I have found on the coast. An obliging +sojourner near me from one of the Eastern States +had discovered a large plot of uncultivated ground +above the beach that abounded in the hidden burrows +of these curious animals. One afternoon he +volunteered to conduct me to the place.</p> + +<p>The ground was scantily covered with low bushy +and weedy growths. My guide warned me that +the quarry we sought was hard to find. I, indeed, +found it so. It not only required an "eye +as practiced as a blind man's touch," it required +an eye practiced in this particular kind of detective +work. My new friend conducted me down +into the plot of ground and, stopping on the edge +of it, said, "There is a nest within two feet of me." +I fell to scrutinizing the ground as closely as I +knew how, fairly bearing on with my eyes; I went +over the soil inch by inch with my eyes, but to +no purpose. There was no mark on the gray and +brown earth at my feet that suggested a trap-door, +or any other device. I stooped low, but without +avail. Then my guide stooped, and with a long +needle pried up a semicircular or almost circular +bit of the gray soil nearly the size of a silver quarter +of a dollar, which hinged on the straight +side of it, and behold—the entrance to the spider's +castle! I was not prepared for anything so novel +and artistic—a long silken chamber, about three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> +quarters of an inch in diameter, concealed by a +silken trap-door, an inch in its greatest diameter. +The under side of the door, a dull white, the color +of old ivory, is slightly convex, and its top +is a brownish gray to harmonize with its surroundings, +and slightly concave. Its edges are beveled +so that it fits into the flaring or beveled end +of the chamber with the utmost nicety. No joiner +could have done it better. A faint semicircular +raised line of clay as fine as a hair gave the only +clue. The whole effect, when the door was held +open, was of a pleasing secret suddenly revealed.</p> + +<p>Then we walked about the place, and, knowing +exactly what to look for, I gave my eyes another +chance, but they were slow to profit by it. My +guide detected one after another, and when I +failed, he would point them put to me. But presently +I caught on, as they say, and began to find +them unaided.</p> + +<p>We often found the lord of the manor on duty as +doorkeeper, and in no mood to see strangers. He +held his door down by inserting his fangs in two fine +holes near the edge and bracing himself, or, rather, +herself (as, of course, it is the female), offered a degree +of resistance surprising in an insect. If one +persists with a needle, there is often danger of +breaking the door. But when one has made a crack +wide enough to allow one to see the spider, she lets +go her hold and rushes farther down in her burrow.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span>Occasionally we found one about half the usual +size, indicating a young spider, but no other sizes. +My guide said they only emerge from their tunnel +at night, and proved it by an ingenious mechanical +device made of straws attached to the door. When +the door was opened, the straws lifted up, but did +not fall down when it was closed. Whenever he +found the straw still up in the morning he knew +the door had been opened in the night.</p> + +<p>As they are nocturnal in habits, they doubtless +prey upon other insects, such as sow-bugs and +crickets, which the night brings forth. Two bright +specks upon the top of the head appear to be eyes, +but they are so small they probably only serve to +enable them to tell night from day. I think these +spiders are mainly guided by a marvelously acute +tactile sense. They probably feel the slightest +vibration in the earth or air, unless they have a +sixth sense of which we know nothing.</p> + +<p>All their work, the building and repairing of +their nests, as well as all their hunting, is done by +night. This habit, in connection with their extreme +shyness, makes the task of getting at their +life-histories a difficult one. The inside of the +burrow seems coated with a finer and harder substance +than the soil in which they are dug. It is +made on the spot, the spider mixing some secretion +of her own with the clay, and working it up into +a finer product.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span></p> + +<p>The trap-door sooner or later wears out at the +hinge, and is then discarded and a new door manufactured. +We saw many nests with the old door +lying near the entrance. The door is made of +several layers of silk and clay, and is a substantial +affair.</p> + +<p>The spider families all have the gift of genius. +Of what ingenious devices and arts are they masters! +How wide their range! They spin, they +delve, they jump, they fly. They are the original +spinners. They have probably been on their job +since carboniferous times, many millions of years +before man took up the art. And they can spin a +thread so fine that science makes the astonishing +statement that it would take four millions of them +to make a thread the caliber of one of the hairs of +our head—a degree of delicacy to which man can +never hope to attain.</p> + +<p>Trap-doors usually mean surprises and stratagems, +secrets and betrayals, and this species of the +arachnids is proficient in all these things.</p> + +<p>The adobe soil on the Pacific coast is as well fitted +to the purposes of this spider as if it had been made +for her special use. But, as in all such cases, the +soil was not made for her, but she is adapted to it. +It is radically unlike any soil on the Atlantic coast—the +soil for cañons and the rectangular watercourses, +and for the trap-door spider. It is a tough, +fine-grained homogeneous soil, and when dry does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> +not crumble or disintegrate; the cohesion of particles +is such that sun-dried brick are easily made +from it.</p> + +<p>This spider is found in New Mexico, Arizona, +California, and Jamaica. It belongs to the family +of <i>Mygalidae</i>. It resembles in appearance the tarantula +of Europe, described by Fabre, and has many +of the same habits; but its habitation is a much +more ingenious and artistic piece of workmanship +than that of its European relative. The tarantula +has no door to her burrow, but instead she builds +about the entrance a kind of breastwork an inch +high and nearly two inches in diameter, and from +this fortress sallies out upon her prey. She sinks +a deeper shaft than does our spider, but excavates +it in the same way with similar tools, her fangs, +and lines it with silk from her own body.</p> + +<p>Our spider is an artist, evidently the master +builder and architect of her kind. Considering her +soft and pussy-like appearance—no visible drills for +such rough work—one wonders how she excavates +a burrow six inches or more deep in this hard +adobe soil of the Pacific coast, and how she removes +the dirt after she has loosened it. But she has +been surprised at her work; her tools are her two +fangs, the same weapons with which she seizes and +dispatches her prey, and the rake or the <i>cheliceræ</i>. +To use these delicate instruments in such coarse +work, says Fabre, seems as "illogical as it would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> +to dig a pit with a surgeon's scalpel." And she +carries the soil out in her mandibles, a minute pellet +at a time, and drops it here and there at some +distance from her nest. Her dooryard is never +littered with it. It takes her one hour to dig a +hole the size of half an English walnut, and to +remove the earth.</p> + +<p>One afternoon I cut off the doors from two nests +and left them turned over, a few inches away. +The next morning I found that the occupants of +the nests, under cover of the darkness, had each +started the construction of a new door, and had +it about half finished. It seemed as if the soil +on the hinge side had begun to grow, and had put +out a semicircular bit of its surface toward the +opposite side of the orifice, each new door copying +exactly the color of the ground that surrounded it, +one gray from dead vegetable matter, the other a +light brick-red. I read somewhere of an experimenter +who found a nest on a mossy bit of ground +protectively colored in this way. He removed the +lid and made the soil bare about. The spider made +a new lid and covered it with moss like the old +one, and her art had the opposite effect to what it +had in the first case. This is typical of the working +of the insect mind. It seems to know everything, +and yet to know nothing, as we use the term +"know."</p> + +<p>On the second morning, one of the doors had at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span>tained +its normal size, but not yet its normal thickness +and strength. It was much more artfully concealed +than the old one had been. The builder +had so completely covered it with small dry twigs +about the size of an ordinary pin, and had so woven +these into it, standing a few of them on end, that +my eye was baffled. I knew to an inch where to +look for the door, and yet it seemed to have vanished. +By feeling the ground over with a small +stick I found a yielding place which proved to be +the new unfinished door. Day after day the door +grew heavier and stronger. The builder worked +at it on the under side, adding new layers of silk. +There is always a layer of the soil worked into the +door to give it weight and strength.</p> + +<p>Spiders, like reptiles, can go months without +food. The young, according to Fabre, go seven +months without eating. They do not grow, but +they are very active; they expend energy without +any apparent means of keeping up the supply. +How do they do it? They absorb it directly from +the sun, Fabre thinks, which means that here is +an animal between which and the organic world +the vegetable chlorophyl plays no part, but which +can take at first-hand, from the sun, the energy of +life. If this is true, and it seems to be so, it is +most extraordinary.</p> + +<p>In view of the sex of the extraordinary spider I +have been considering, it is interesting to remember<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> +that one difference between the insect world and +the world of animal life to which we belong, which +Maeterlinck has forgotten to point out, is this:</p> + +<p>In the vertebrate world, the male rules; the female +plays a secondary part. In the insect world +the reverse is true. Here the female is supreme and +often eats up the male after she has been fertilized +by him. Motherhood is the primary fact, fatherhood +the secondary. It is the female mosquito +that torments the world. It is the female spider +that spins the web and traps the flies. Size, craft, +and power go with the female. The female spider +eats up the male after he has served her purpose; +her caresses mean death. The female scorpion devours +the male in the same way. Among our wild +bees it is the queen alone that survives the winter +and carries on the race. The big noisy blow-flies on +the window-pane are females. With the honey +bees the males are big and loud, but are without +any authority, and are almost as literally destroyed +by the female as is the male spider. The queen bee +does not eat her mate, but she disembowels him. +The work of the hive is done by the neuters. In the +vertebrate world it is chiefly among birds of prey +that the female is the larger and bolder; the care of +the young devolves largely upon her. Yes, there is +another exception: Among the fishes, the females +are, as a rule, larger than the males; the immense +number of eggs which they carry brings this about.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span>There are always exceptions to this dominance +of the female in the insect world. We cannot corner +Nature and keep her cornered. She would not +be Nature if we could. With the fireflies, it is the +male that dominates; the female is a little soft, +wingless worm on the ground, always in the larval +state.</p> + +<p>In the plant world, also, the male as a rule is dominant. +Behold the showy catkins of the chestnuts, +the butternuts, the hazelnuts, the willows, and +other trees. The stamens of most flowers are +numerous and conspicuous. Our Indian corn carries +its panicle of pollen high above the silken tresses +which mother the future ear.</p> + +<p>One day I dug up a nest which was occupied by +a spider with her brood of young ones. I took up +a large block of earth weighing ten pounds or more, +and sank it in a box of earth of its own kind. I +kept it in the house under observation for a week, +hoping that at some hour of day or night the spider +would come out. But she made no sign. My ingenious +friend arranged the same mechanical contrivance +over the door which he had used successfully +before. But the latch was never lifted. +Madam Spider sulked or bemoaned her fate at +the bottom of her den. At the end of a week I +broke open the nest and found her alone. She had +evidently devoured all her little ones.</p> + +<p>I kept two nests with a spider in each in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> +house for a week, and in neither case did the occupant +ever leave its nest.</p> + +<p>Apparently the young spiders begin to dig nests +of their own when they are about half-grown. As +to where they stay, or how they live up to that +time, I have no clue. The young we found in +several nests were very small, not more than an +eighth of an inch long. Of the size and appearance +of the male spider, and where he keeps himself, +I could get no clue.</p> + +<p>One morning I went with my guide down to +the spider territory, and saw him try to entice or +force a spider out of her den. The morning previous +he had beguiled several of them to come up +to the opening by thrusting a straw down the burrow +and teasing them with it till in self-defense +they seized it with their fangs and hung on to it +till he drew them to the surface. But this morning +the trick would not work. Not one spider would +keep her hold. But with a piece of wire bent at +the end in the shape of a hook, he finally lifted one +out upon the ground. How bright and clean and +untouched she looked! Her limbs and a part of +the thorax were as black as jet and shone as if they +had just been polished. No lady in her parlor +could have been freer from any touch of soil or +earth-stain than was she. On the ground, in +the strong sunlight, she seemed to be lost. We +turned her around and tried to induce her to enter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> +the nest again; but over and over she ran across +the open door without heeding it. In the novel +situation in which she suddenly found herself, all +her wits deserted her, and not till I took her between +my thumb and finger and thrust her abdomen into +the hole, did she come to herself. The touch of +that silk-lined tube caused the proper reaction, and +she backed quickly into it and disappeared.</p> + +<p>Just what natural enemy the trap-door spider +has I do not know. I never saw a nest that had +been broken into or in any way disturbed, except +those which we had disturbed in our observations.</p> + + +<div class="center2">IV. THE DESERT NOTE</div> + +<p>I often wonder what mood of Nature this world +of cacti which we run against in the great Southwest +expresses. Certainly something savage and +merciless. To stab and stab again suits her humor. +How well she tempers her daggers and bayonets! +How hard and smooth and sharp they are! How +they contrast with the thick, succulent stalks and +leaves which bear them! It is a desert mood; heat +and drought appear to be the exciting causes. The +scarcity of water seems to stimulate Nature to +store up water in vegetable tissues, just as it stimulates +men to build great dams and reservoirs. +These giant cacti are reservoirs of water. But why +spines and prickles and cruel bayonets? They certainly +cannot be for protection or defense; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> +grass and other vegetation upon which the grazing +animals feed are not armed with spines.</p> + +<p>If the cacti were created that grazing animals in +the desert might have something to feed upon, as +our fathers' way of looking at things might lead us +to believe, why was that benevolent plan frustrated +by the armor of needles and spines?</p> + +<p>Nature reaches her hungry and thirsty creatures +this broad, mittened hand like a cruel joke. +It smites like a serpent and stings like a scorpion. +The strange, many-colored, fascinating desert! +Beware! Agonies are one of her garments.</p> + +<p>All we can say about it is that Nature has her +prickly side which drought and heat aggravate. In +the North our thistles and thorns and spines are +a milder expression of this mood. The spines on +the blackberry-bush tend against its propagation +for the same reason. Among our wild gooseberries, +there are smooth and prickly varieties, and one succeeds +about as well as the other. Apple-and pear-trees +in rough or barren places that have a severe +struggle for life, often develop sharp, thorny +branches. It is a struggle of some kind which +begets something like ill-temper in vegetation—heat +and drought in the desert, and browsing animals +and poor soil in the temperate zones. The +devil's club in Alaska is one mass of spines; why, +I know not. It must just be original sin. Our +raspberries have prickles on their stalks, but the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> +large, purple-flowering variety is smooth-stemmed.</p> + +<p>Mr. John C. Van Dyke in his work on the desert +expresses the belief that thorns and spines are +given to the desert plants for protection; and +that if no animal were there that would eat them, +they would not have these defenses. But I believe +if there had never been a browsing animal in the +desert the cacti would have had their thorns just +the same.</p> + +<p>Nature certainly arms her animal forms against +one another. We know the quills of the porcupine +are for defense, and that the skunk carries a weapon +that its enemies dread, but I do not believe that +any plant form is armed against any creature whose +proper food it might become. Cacti carry formidable +weapons in the shape of spines and thorns, +but the desert conditions where they are found, +heat and aridity, are no doubt their primary cause. +The conditions are fierce and the living forms +are fierce.</p> + +<p>We cannot be dogmatic about Nature. From +our point of view she often seems partial and inconsistent. +But I would just as soon think that +Nature made the adobe soil in the arid regions +that the human dwellers there might have material +at hand with which to construct a shelter, as that +she gives spines and daggers to any of the vegetable +forms to secure their safety. One may confute +Mr. Van Dyke out of his own mouth. He says:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Remove the danger which threatened the extinction of +a family, and immediately Nature removes the defensive +armor. On the desert, for instance, the yucca has a +thorn like a point of steel. Follow it from the desert +to the high tropical table-lands of Mexico where there is +plenty of soil and moisture, plenty of chance for yuccas +to thrive, and you will find it turned into a tree and the +thorn merely a dull blade-ending. Follow the sahuaro +and the pitahaya into the tropics again, and with their +cousin, the organ cactus, you will find them growing a +soft thorn that would hardly penetrate clothing.</p></div> + +<p>But are they not just as much exposed to browsing +animals in the high table-lands as in the desert, +if not more so?</p> + +<p>Mr. Van Dyke asserts that Nature is more solicitous +about the species than about the individual. +She is no more solicitous about the one than the +other. The same conditions apply to all. But +the species are numerous; a dozen units may be +devoured while a thousand remain. A general will +sacrifice many soldiers to save his army, he will +sacrifice one man to save ten, but Nature's ways +are entirely different. Both contending armies are +hers, and she is equally solicitous about both. She +wants the cacti to survive, and she wants the +desert animals to survive, and she favors both +equally. All she asks of them is that they breed +and multiply endlessly. Notwithstanding, according +to Van Dyke, Nature has taken such pains to +protect her desert plants, he yet confesses that, +although it seems almost incredible, it is neverthe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span>less +true that "deer and desert cattle will eat the +cholla—fruit, stem, and trunk—though it bristle +with spines that will draw blood from the human +hand at the slightest touch."</p> + +<p>This question of spines and thorns in vegetation +is a baffling one because Nature's ways are so +unlike our ways. Darwin failed utterly in his +theory of the origin of species, because he proceeded +upon the idea that Nature selects as man +selects. You cannot put Nature into a formula.</p> + +<p>Behold how every branch and twig of our red +thorn bristles with cruel daggers! But if they are +designed to keep away bird or beast from eating +its fruit, see how that would defeat the tree's own +ends! If no creature ate its little red apples and +thus scattered its seeds, the fruit would rot on the +ground beneath the branches, and the tribe of red +thorns would not increase. And increase alone is +Nature's end.</p> + +<p>It is safe to say, as a general statement, that the +animal kingdom is full of design. Every part and +organ of our bodies has its purpose which serves +the well-being of the whole. I do not recall any +character of bird or beast, fish or insect, that does +not show purpose, but in the plant world Nature +seems to allow herself more freedom, or does not +work on so economical a plan. What purpose do +the spines on the prickly ash serve? or on the +thistles? or on the blackberry, raspberry, goose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span>berry +bushes? or the rose? Our purple-flowering +raspberry has no prickles, and thrives as well as +any. The spines on the blackberry and raspberry +do not save them from browsing cattle, nor their +fruit from the birds. In fact, as I have said, the +service of the birds is needed to sow their seeds. +The devil's club of Alaska is untouchable, it is so +encased in a spiny armor; but what purpose the +armor serves is a mystery. We know that hard +conditions of soil and climate will bring thorns +on seedling pear-trees and plum-trees, but we +cannot know why.</p> + +<p>The yucca or Spanish bayonet and the century-plant, +or American aloe (<i>Agave americana</i>), are +thorny and spiny; they are also very woody and +fibrous; yet nothing eats them or could eat them. +They are no more edible than cordwood or hemp +ropes. This fact alone settles the defense question +about spines.</p> + + +<div class="center2">V. SEA-DOGS</div> + +<p>There is a bit of live natural history out here in +the sea in front of me that is new and interesting. +A bunch of about a dozen hair seals have their +rendezvous in the unstable waves just beyond the +breakers, and keep together there week after week. +To the naked eye they seem like a group of children +sitting there on a hidden bench of rock, undisturbed +by the waves that sweep over them. Their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> +heads and shoulders seem to show above the +water, and they appear to be having a happy +time.</p> + +<p>Now and then one may be seen swimming about +or lifted up in a wall of green-blue transparent +water, or leaping above the wrinkled surface in +the exuberance of its animal spirits. I call them +children of the sea, until I hear their loud barking, +and then I think of them as dogs or hounds of the +sea. Occasionally I hear their barking by night +when it has a half-muffled, smothered sound.</p> + +<p>They are warm-blooded, air-breathing animals, +and there seems something incongruous in their +being at home there in the cold briny deep—badgers +or marmots that burrow in the waves, +wolves or coyotes that hunt their prey in the sea.</p> + +<p>Their progenitors were once land animals, but +Darwinism does not tell us what they were. The +whale also was once a land animal, but the testimony +of the rocks throws no light upon its antecedents. +The origin of any new species is shrouded +in the obscurity of whole geological periods, and +the short span of human life, or of the whole +human history, gives us no adequate vantage-ground +from which to solve the problem.</p> + +<p>I can easily believe that these hair seals are close +akin to the dog. They have five digits; they bolt +their food like dogs; their sense of smell is said to +be very acute, though how it could serve them in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> +the sea does not appear. The young are born +upon the land and enter the water very reluctantly.</p> + +<p>This seal is easily tamed. It has the intelligence +of the dog and attaches itself to its master as does +the dog. Its sense of direction and locality is very +acute. This group of seals in front of me, day +after day, and week after week, returns to the +same spot in the ever-changing waters, without +the variation of a single yard, so far as I can see. +The locality is purely imaginary. It is a love tryst, +and it seems as if some sixth sense must guide +them to it. Locality is as unreal in the sea as in +the sky, but these few square yards of shifting +waters seem as real to these seals as if they were +a granite ledge. They keep massed there on the +water at that particular point, with their flippers +protruding above the surface, as if they were as +free from danger as so many picnickers. Yet +something attracts them to this particular place. +I know of no other spot along the coast for a +hundred miles or more where the seals congregate +as they do here. What is the secret of it? Evidently +it is a question of security from their +enemies. At this point the waves break much +farther out than usual, which indicates a hidden +reef or bench of rocks, and comparatively shallow +water. This would prevent their enemies, sharks +and killer whales, from stealing up beneath them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> +and pulling them down. I do not hear their +barking in the early part of the night, but long +before morning their half-muffled baying begins. +Old fishermen tell me that they retire for the night +to the broad belts of kelp that lie a hundred yards +or more out to sea. Doubtless the beds of kelp +also afford them some protection from their enemies. +The fishermen feel very bitter toward them +on account of the fish they devour, and kill them +whenever opportunity offers. Often when I lie +half asleep in the small hours of the morning, I +seem to see these amphibian hounds pursuing their +quarry on the unstable hills and mountains of the +sea, and giving tongue at short intervals, as did +the foxhounds I heard on the Catskills in my +youth.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span><br /></p> + +<div class="center">X</div> + +<div class="center">A SHEAF OF NATURE NOTES</div> + +<div class="center2">I. NATURE'S WIRELESS</div> + + +<p>The Spirit of the Hive, which Maeterlinck makes +so much of, seems to give us the key to the psychic +life of all the lower orders. What one knows, all +of that kind seem to know at the same instant. +It seems as if they drew it in with the air they +breathed. It is something like community of mind, +or unity of mind. Of course it is not an intellectual +process, but an emotional process; not a thought, +as with us, but an impulse.</p> + +<p>So far as we know there is nothing like a council +or advisory board in the hive. There are no decrees +or orders. The swarm is a unit. The members +act in concert without direction or rule. If +anything happens to the queen, if she is lost or +killed, every bee in the hive seems to know it at the +same instant, and the whole swarm becomes greatly +agitated. The division of labor in the hive is spontaneous: +the bees function and coöperate as do the +organs in our own bodies, each playing its part +without scheme or direction.</p> + +<p>This community of mind is seen in such an instance +as that of the migrating lemmings from the +Scandinavian peninsula. Vast hordes of these little +creatures are at times seized with an impulse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> +to migrate or to commit suicide, for it amounts to +that. They leave their habitat in Norway and, +without being deflected by any obstacle, march +straight toward the sea, swimming lakes and rivers +that lie in their way. When the coast is reached, +they enter the water and continue on their course. +Ship captains report sailing for hours through +waters literally alive with them. This suicidal +act of the lemmings strikes one as a kind of insanity. +It is one of the most puzzling phenomena I know +of in animal life. But the migration of all animals +on a large scale shows the same unity of purpose. +The whole tribe shares in a single impulse. The +annual migration of the caribou in the North is an +illustration. In the flocking birds this unity of +mind is especially noticeable. The vast armies of +passenger pigeons which we of an older generation +saw in our youth moved like human armies under +orders. They formed a unit. They came in countless +hordes like an army of invasion, and they +departed in the same way. Their orders were +written upon the air; their leaders were as intangible +as the shadows of their wings. The same is +true of all our flocking birds; a flock of snow buntings, +or of starlings, or of blackbirds, will act as +one body, performing their evolutions in the air +with astonishing precision.</p> + +<p>In Florida, in the spring when the mating-instinct +is strong, I have seen a flock of white ibises waltz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span>ing +about the sky, going through various intricate +movements, with the precision of dancers in a +ballroom quadrille. No sign, no signal, no guidance +whatever. Let a body of men try it under +the same conditions, and behold the confusion, and +the tumbling over one another! At one moment +the birds would wheel so as to bring their backs +in shadow, and then would flash out the white of +their breasts and under parts. It was like the opening +and shutting of a giant hand, or the alternate +rapid darkening and brightening of the sail of a +tacking ice-boat. This is the spirit of the flock. +When a hawk pursues a bird, the birds tack and +turn as if linked together. When one robin dashes +off in hot pursuit of another, behold how their +movements exactly coincide! The hawk-hunted +bird often escapes by reaching the cover of +a tree or a bush, but not by dodging its pursuer, +as a rabbit or a squirrel will dodge a dog. +Schools of fish act with the same machine-like +unity.</p> + +<p>In the South, I have seen a large area of water, +acres in extent, uniformly agitated by a school of +mullets apparently feeding upon some infusoria on +the surface, and then instantly, as if upon a given +signal, the fish would dive and the rippling cease. +It showed a unity of action as of ten thousand +spindles controlled by electricity.</p> + +<p>How quickly the emotion of fear is communi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span>cated +among the wild animals! How wild and +alarmed the deer become after the opening of the +first day of the shooting season. Those who have +not seen or heard a hunter seem to feel the impending +danger.</p> + +<p>The great flocks of migrating butterflies (the +monarch) illustrate the same law. In the fall they +are all seized with this impulse to go South and +thousands of them march in one body. At night +they roost in the trees. I have seen photographs +of them in which they appeared like a new kind of +colored foliage covering the trees. In the return +flight in the spring, the same massing again occurs. +Recently the Imperial Valley in California was invaded +by a vast army of worms moving from east +to west. In countries that have been cursed with +a plague of grasshoppers witnesses of the spectacle +describe them as moving in the same way. They +stopped or delayed railway trains and automobiles, +their crushed bodies making the rails +and highways as slippery as grease would have +made them. Ten million or ten billion behaving +as one.</p> + +<p>This community of mind stands the lower orders +in great stead. It makes up to them in a measure +for the want of reason and judgment. In what +we call telepathy we get hints of the same thing +among ourselves. Telepathy is probably a survival +from our earlier animal state.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span></p> + +<div class="center2">II. MAETERLINCK ON THE BEE</div> + +<p>Maeterlinck, in his "Life of the Bee" resists the +conclusion of Sir John Lubbock that flies are more +intelligent than honey bees:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>If you place in a bottle half a dozen bees [says Sir +John], and the same number of flies, and lay the bottle +down horizontally with its base to the window, you will +find that the bees will persist till they die of exhaustion +or hunger in their endeavors to discover an issue through +the glass; while the flies, in less than two minutes, will +all have sallied forth through the neck on the opposite +side.</p></div> + +<p>The flies are more intelligent than the bees +because their problems of life are much more complicated; +they are fraught with many more dangers; +their enemies lurk on all sides; while the bees have +very few natural enemies. There are no bee-catchers +in the sense that there are scores of flycatchers. +I know of no bird that preys upon the +worker bees. The kingbird is sometimes called the +"bee martin" because he occasionally snaps up +the drones. All our insectivorous birds prey upon +the flies; the swallows sweep them up in the air, the +swifts scoop them in, while, besides the so-called +flycatchers, the cedar-birds, the thrushes, the +vireos, and all other soft-billed birds, subsist more +or less upon them. Try to catch a big blow-fly +upon the window-pane and see how difficult the +trick is, while with a honey bee it is no trick at all. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span>Or try to "swat" the ordinary house-fly with your +hand. See how he squares himself and plants himself +as your threatening hand approaches! He is +ready for a trial of speed. He seems to know that +your hand is slower than he is, and he is right in +most cases. Now try a honey bee. The case is +reversed. The bee has never been stalked; it shows +no fear; and to crush it is as easy as to crush a +beetle.</p> + +<p>The wit and cunning of all animals are developed +by their struggle for existence. The harder the +struggle, the more their intelligence. Our skunk +and porcupine are very stupid because they do not +have to take thought about their own safety; +Nature has done that for them.</p> + +<p>To bolster up his case, Maeterlinck urges that +"the capacity for folly so great in itself argues +intelligence," which amounts to saying that the +more fool you are, the more you know.</p> + +<p>Buffon did not share Maeterlinck's high opinion +of the intelligence of the bee; he thought the dog, +the monkey, and the majority of other animals +possess far more; an opinion which I share. Indeed, +of free intelligence the bee possesses very little. +The slave of an overmastering instinct, as our +new nature poet, McCarthy, says,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She makes of labor an eternal lust.</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Bees do wonderful things, but do them blindly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> +They work as well (or better) in the darkness as +in the light. The Spirit of the Hive knows and +directs all. The unit is the swarm, and not the +individual bee.</p> + +<p>The bee does not know fear; she does not know +love. She will defend the swarm with her life, +but her fellows she heeds not.</p> + +<p>It is very doubtful if the individual bees of the +same hive recognize one another at all outside the +hive. Every beehunter knows how the bees from +the same tree will clip and strike at one another +around his box, when they are first attracted to it. +After they are seriously engaged in carrying away +his honey, they pay no attention to one another or +to bees from other swarms. That bees tell one +another of the store of honey they have found is +absurd. The unity of the swarm attends to that.</p> + +<p>Maeterlinck tells of a little Italian bee that he +once experimented upon during an afternoon, the +results showing that this bee had told the news of +her find to eighteen bees! Its "vocabulary" stood +it in good stead!</p> + +<p>Maeterlinck's conception of the Spirit of the Hive +was an inspiration, and furnishes us with the key +to all that happens in the hive. The secret of all +its economies are in the phrase. Having hit upon +this solution, he should have had the courage to +stand by it. But he did not. He is continually +forgetting it and applying to his problem the explanations +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> +we apply in our dealings with one +another. He talks of the power of the bees to give +"expression to their thoughts and feelings"; of +their "vocabulary," phonetic and tactile; he says +that the "extraordinary also has a name and place +in their language"; that they are able to "communicate +to each other news of an event occurring outside +the hive"; all of which renders his Spirit of +the Hive superfluous. He quotes from a French +apiarist who says that the explorer of the dawn,—the +early bee,—like the early bird that catches the +worm, returns to the hive with the news that "the +lime-trees are blooming to-day on the banks of the +canal"; "the grass by the roadside is gay with white +clover"; "the sage and the lotus are about to open"; +"the mignonette and the lilies are overflowing with +pollen." Whereupon the bees must organize quickly +and arrange to divide the work. They probably +call a council of the wise ones and after due discussion +and formalities proceed to send out their +working expeditions. "Five thousand of the sturdiest +will sally forth to the lime-trees, while three +thousand juniors go and refresh the white clover." +"They make daily calculations as to the means of +obtaining the greatest possible wealth of saccharine +liquid."</p> + +<p>When Maeterlinck speaks of "the hidden genius +of the hive issuing its commands," or recognizes +the existence among the bees of spiritual communications +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> +that go beyond a mere "yes" or "no," he +is true to his own conception.</p> + +<p>The division of labor among hive bees is of course +spontaneous, like all their other economies—not a +matter of thought, but of instinct.</p> + +<p>Maeterlinck and other students of the honey bee +make the mistake of humanizing the bee, thus +making them communicate with one another as we +communicate. Bees have a language, they say; +they tell one another this and that; if one finds +honey or good pasturage, she tells her sisters, and +so on. This is all wide of the mark. There is +nothing analogous to verbal communication among +the insects. The unity of the swarm, or the Spirit +of the Hive, does it all. Bees communicate and +coöperate with one another as the cells of the body +communicate and coöperate in building up the +various organs. The spirit of the body coördinates +all the different organs and tissues, making a unit +of the body.</p> + +<p>If some outside creature, such as a mouse or a +snail, penetrates into the hive, and dies there, the +bees encase it in wax, or bury it where it lies, so +that it cannot contaminate the hive, and a foreign +object in the body, such as a bullet in the lungs, +or in the muscles, becomes encysted in an analogous +manner, and is thus rendered harmless.</p> + +<p>Kill a bee in or near the hive and the smell of +its crushed body will infuriate the other bees. But +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> +crush a bee in the fields or by the bee-hunter's box +which is swarming with bees, and the units from +the same hive heed it not.</p> + +<p>Bees have no fear. They have no love or attachment +for one another as animals have. If one of +their number is wounded or disabled, they ruthlessly +expel it from the hive. In fact, they belong +to another world of beings that is absolutely +oblivious of the world of which we form a part. +They murder or expel the drones, after they have +done their work of fertilizing the queen, in the most +cruel and summary manner. Their apparent attachment +to the queen, and their loyalty to her, +are not personal. They do not love her. It is +the Spirit of the Hive, or the cult of the swarm +solicitous about itself. There are no brothers, sisters, +fathers, mothers, among the bees; there are +only co-workers, working not for the present, but +for the future. When we enter the kingdom of the +bee, we must leave all our human standards behind. +These little people have no red blood, no organs +of sense, as we have; they breathe and hear through +their legs, their antennæ.</p> + +<p>The drones do not know the queen as such in +the hive. Their instincts lead them to search for +her in the air during her nuptial flight, and they +know her only there. The drones have thirteen +thousand eyes, while the workers have only six +thousand. This double measure of the power of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> +vision is evidently to make sure that the males +discover the queen in her course through the air.</p> + +<p>The guards that take their stand at the gate, +the bees that become fans at the entrance to ventilate +the hive, the nurses, the bees that bring the +bee-bread, the bees that pack it into the cells, the +bees that go forth to find a home for the new swarm, +the sweepers and cleaners of the hive, the workers +that bring propolis to seal up the cracks and crevices—all +act in obedience to the voiceless Spirit of +the Hive.</p> + +<p>After we have discounted Maeterlinck so far as +the facts will bear us out in doing, it remains to +be said that he is the philosopher of the insect +world. If Fabre is the Homer, as he himself has +said, Maeterlinck is the Plato of that realm. How +wisely he speaks of the insect world in his latest +volume, "Mountain Paths":</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The insect does not belong to our world. The other +animals, the plants even, notwithstanding their dumb +life and the great secrets which they cherish, do not seem +wholly foreign to us. In spite of all, we feel a certain +earthly brotherhood with them. They often surprise +and amaze our intelligence, but do not utterly upset it. +There is something, on the other hand, about the insect +that does not belong to the habits, the ethics, the psychology +of our globe. One would be inclined to say that +the insect comes from another planet, more monstrous, +more energetic, more insane, more atrocious, more +infernal than our own. One would think that it was +born of some comet that had lost its course and died +demented in space.</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span>Speaking of the intelligence of bees reminds me +of a well-known woodsman and camp-fire man who +recently extolled in print the intelligence of hornets, +saying that they have the ability to differentiate +friends from foes. "They know us and we talk to +them and they are made to feel as welcome as any +of our guests." "When a stranger visits the camp, +they attract the attention of one they know <i>who +recognizes their signal by thought or gesture and leaves +immediately, returning only when the stranger has +departed</i>." (The italics are mine.) He says the +same hornets apparently come to them year after +year, greeting them on their arrival, and, should +they be accompanied by strangers, they treat them +with the same deference as "when they visit us +after we have been in camp some time."</p> + +<p>Did one ever hear before of such well-bred and +well-mannered bees? What would Maeterlinck +say to all that? Its absurdity becomes apparent +when we remember that hornets live but a single +season, that none of them lives over the winter, +save the queen, and that she never leaves the nest +in summer after she has got her family of workers +around her.</p> + + +<div class="center2">III. ODD OR EVEN</div> + +<p>One of our seven wise men once said to me, "Have +you observed that in the inorganic world things go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> +by even numbers, and in the organic world by +odd?" I immediately went down to the edge of +a bushy and swampy meadow below our camp and +brought him a four-petaled flower of galium, and +a plant-stalk with four leaves in a whorl. In +another locality I might have brought him dwarf +cornel, or the houstonia, or wood-sorrel, or the +evening-primrose. Yet even numbers are certainly +more suggestive of mechanics than of life, while +odd numbers seem to go more with the freedom +and irregularity of growing things.</p> + +<p>One may make pretty positive assertions about +non-living things. Crystals, so far as I know, are +all even-sided, some are six and some eight-sided; +snowflakes are of an infinite variety of pattern, but +the number six rules them. In the world of living +things we cannot be so sure of ourselves. Life +introduces something indeterminate and incommensurable. +It makes use of both odd and even, +though undoubtedly odd numbers generally prevail. +Leaves that are in lobes usually have three or five +lobes. But the stems of the mints are four-square, +and the cells of the honey bee are six-sided. We +have five fingers and five toes, though only four +limbs. Locomotion is mechanical and even numbers +serve better than odd. Hence the six-legged +insects. In the inorganic world things attain a +stable equilibrium, but in the living world the +equilibrium is never stable. Things are not stereo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span>typed, +hence the danger of dogmatizing about living +things. Growing Nature will not be driven into +a corner.</p> + +<p>Well may Emerson ask—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why Nature loves the number five,</span> +<span class="i0">And why the star form she repeats?</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The number five rules in all the largest floral +families, as in the crowfoot family, the rose family +(which embraces all our fruit trees), the geranium +family, the flax family, the campanula family, the +convolvulus family, the nightshade family. Then +there is a large number of flowers the parts of +which go in threes, one of the best known of which +is the trillium. In animal life the starfish is the +only form I recall based on the number five.</p> + + +<div class="center2">IV. WHY AND HOW</div> + +<p>One may always expect in living nature variations +and modifications. It is useless to ask why. +Nature is silent when interrogated in this way. +Ask her how, and you get some results. If we +ask, for instance, why the sting of the honey bee +is barbed, and those of the hornet and wasp and +bumble-bee, and of other wild bees, are smooth +like a needle, so that they can sting and sting again, +and live to sting another day, while the honey bee +stings once at the cost of its life; or why only one +species of fish can fly; or why one kind of eel has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> +a powerful electric battery; or why the porcupine +has an armor of quills while his brother rodent the +woodchuck has only fur and hair, and so on—we +make no addition to our knowledge.</p> + +<p>But if we ask, for instance, how so timid and +defenseless an animal as the rabbit manages to survive +and multiply, we extend our knowledge of +natural history. The rabbit prospers by reason of +its wakefulness—by never closing its eyes—and by +its speed; also by making its home where it can +command all approaches, and so flee in any direction. +Or if we ask how our ruffed grouse survives +and prospers in a climate where its cousin the +quail perishes, we learn that it eats the buds of +certain trees, while the quail is a ground-feeder +and is often cut off by a deep fall of snow.</p> + +<p>If we ask why the chipmunk hibernates, we get +no answer; but if we ask how he does it, we find +out that he stores up food in his den, hence must +take a lunch between his naps. The woodchuck +hibernates, also, but he stores up fuel in the shape +of fat in his own body. The porcupine is above +ground and active all winter. He survives by +gnawing the bark of certain trees, probably the +hemlock. We have two species of native mice that +look much alike, the white-footed mouse and the +jumping, or kangaroo, mouse. The white-foot is +active the season through, over and under the snow; +the jumper hibernates all winter, and apparently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> +accomplishes the feat by the power he has of barely +keeping the spark of life burning. His fires are +banked, so to speak; his temperature is very low, +and he breathes only at long intervals.</p> + +<p>If, then, we ask with Emerson, "<i>why</i> Nature loves +the number five," and "<i>why</i> the star form she repeats," +we shall be put to it for an answer. We can +only say that with living things odd numbers are +more likely to prevail, and with non-living, even +numbers.</p> + +<p>Some seeds have wings and some have not. To +ask why, is a blind question, but if we ask <i>how</i> the +wingless seeds get sown, we may add to our knowledge.</p> + +<p>In our own practical lives, in which experimentation +plays such a part, we are often compelled +to ask why this result and not that, why this +thing behaves this way and that thing that way. +We are looking for reasons or causes. The farmer +asks why his planting in this field was a failure, +while it was a success in the next field, and so on. +An analysis of his soil or of his fertilizer and culture +will give him the answer.</p> + + +<div class="center2">V. AN INSOLUBLE PROBLEM</div> + +<p>That Darwin was a great natural philosopher and +a good and wise man admits of no question, but +to us, at this distance, it seems strange enough that +he should have thought that he had hit upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> +key to the origin of species in the slow and insensible +changes which he fancied species underwent during +the course of the geologic ages, and should thus +have used the phrase as the title of his book. Had +he called his work the "Variability of Species," or +the "Modification of Species," it would not have +been such a misnomer. Sudden mutations give us +new varieties, but not new species. In fact, of the +origin of species we know absolutely nothing, no +more than we do about the origin of life itself.</p> + +<p>Of the development of species we know some of +the factors that play a part, as the influence of +environment, the struggle for existence, and the +competitions of life. But do we not have to assume +an inherent tendency to development, an original +impulse as the key to evolution? Accidental conditions +and circumstances modify, but do not originate +species. The fortuitous plays a part in retarding +or hastening a species, and in its extinction, but +not in its origin. The record of the rocks reveals +to us the relation of species, and their succession +in geologic time, but gives no hint of their origin.</p> + +<p>Agassiz believed that every species of animal and +plant was the result of a direct and separate act of +the Creator. But the naturalist sees the creative +energy immanent in matter. Does not one have +to believe in something like this to account for the +world as we see it? And to account for us also?—a +universal mind or intelligence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,</span> +<span class="i0">And the round ocean and the living air,</span> +<span class="i0">And the blue sky, and in the mind of man.</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Agassiz was too direct and literal; he referred to +the Infinite Mystery in terms of our own wills and +acts. When we think of a Creator and the thing +created as two, we are in trouble at once. They +are one, as fire and light are one, as soul and body +are one. Darwin said he could not look upon the +world as the result of chance, and yet his theory +of the origin of species ushers us into a chance +world. But when he said, speaking of the infinite +variety of living forms about us, that they "have +all been produced by laws acting around us," he +spoke as a great philosopher. These laws are +not fortuitous, or the result of the blind grouping +of irrational forces.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VI. A LIVE WORLD</div> + +<p>It was "the divine Kepler," as Professor Shaler +calls him, who looked upon the earth as animated +in the fashion of an animal. "To him this world +is so endowed with activities that it is to be accounted +alive." But his critics looked upon this +fancy of Kepler's as proof of a disordered mind.</p> + +<p>Now I read in a work of George Darwin's (son +of the great naturalist) on the tides that the earth +in many ways behaves more like a living organism<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> +than like a rigid insensate sphere. Its surface +throbs and palpitates and quivers and yields to +pressure as only living organisms do. The tides can +hardly be regarded as evidences of its breathing, as +Kepler thought they could, but they are proof of +how closely it is held in the clasp of the heavenly +forces. It is like an apple on the vast sidereal tree, +that has mellowed and ripened with age. Our moon +is no doubt as dead as matter can be. It is hard to +fancy its surface yielding to our tread as does that +of the earth. Then we know that the absence of +air and water on it is proof that it cannot be +endowed with what we call life. George Darwin +tells us that when we walk on the ground we warp +and bend the surface very much as we might bend +or dent the epidermis of a colossal pachyderm. +He and his brother devised an instrument by which +the slight fluctuations of the ground, as we move +over it, could be measured. The instrument was +so delicate that it revealed the difference of effect +produced by the same pressure at seven feet and +at six feet from the instrument! More than that, +the instrument revealed the throbbing and agitations +which the ground is undergoing at all times. +They found that minute earthquakes, or microseisms, +as the Italians call them, are occurring constantly.</p> + +<p>Another instrument has been invented called the +microphone, which translates this earth's move<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span>ments +into sound—its tremors and agitations become +audible. This microphone, when placed in a +cave twenty feet below the surface, and carefully +protected by means of a carpet from any accidental +disturbance in its immediate vicinity, revealed +what is called "natural telluric phenomena; such as +roarings, explosions, occurring isolated or in volleys, +and metallic or bell-like sounds." "The noises +sometimes become intolerably loud," especially on +one occasion in the middle of the night, half an +hour before a sensible earthquake.</p> + +<p>Our apparently impassive and slumbering old +planet evidently has dreams we know little of.</p> + +<p>From Professor Shaler's "Nature and Man in +America" I get an impression which again deepens +my feeling of something half human about +our lucky planet, at least something progressive +and unequal, like life itself. Shaler finds that +organic development in the Northern Hemisphere +is more advanced, by a whole geologic period, than +in the Southern, with Europe at the head and +Australia the greatest laggard. The animal life +of Australia is much like that of Europe in +the Jurassic period, while both Asia and Africa +possess forms, such as elephants, and tigers, and +lions, which abounded in Europe in Tertiary times. +Hence the Northern Hemisphere is more like the +head of the beast, and the Southern more like the +viscera. The Northern races easily dominate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> +the Southern. The flowering of civilization is in +the North. It is very certain that man originated +north of the equator. I think that one need not +expect that the achievements of man in Australia, +or in South America, will rival the achievements +of man nearer the magnetic pole of the earth.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VII. DARWINISM AND THE WAR</div> + +<p>That Darwinism was indirectly one of the causes +of the World War seems to me quite obvious. +Unwittingly the great and gentle naturalist has +more to answer for than he ever dreamed of. His +biological doctrine of the struggle for existence, +natural selection, and the survival of the fittest, +fairly intoxicated the Germans from the first. +These theories fell in well with their militarism +and their natural cruelty and greediness. Their +philosophers took them up eagerly. Weissmann +fairly made a god of natural selection, as did other +German thinkers. And when they were ready for +war, the Germans at once applied the law of the +jungle to human affairs. The great law of evolution, +the triumph of the strong, the supremacy of +the fit, became the foundation of their political +and national ideals. They looked for no higher +proof of the divinity of this law, as applied to +races and nations, than the fact that the organic +world had reached its present stage of development +through the operation of this law. Darwin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> +had given currency to these ideas. He had +denied that there was any inherent tendency to +development, affirming that we lived in a world of +chance, and that power comes only to him who exerts +power—half truths, all of them.</p> + +<p>The Germans as a people have never been born +again into the light of our higher civilization. +They are morally blind and politically treacherous. +Their biological condition is that of the lower +orders, and the Darwinian law of progress came +to them as an inspiration. Darwin's mind, in its +absence of the higher vision, was akin to a German +mind. In his plodding patience, his devotion to details, +and in many other ways, his mind was German. +But in his candor, his truthfulness, his humility, +his simplicity, he was anything but German. +Undoubtedly his teachings bore fruit of a political +and semi-political character in the Teutonic mind. +The Teutons incorporated the law of the jungle +in their ethical code. Had not they the same +right to expansion and to the usurpation of the +territory and to the treasures of their neighbors +that every weed in the fields and even the vermin +of the soil and the air have? If they had the +sanction of natural law, that was enough; they +were quite oblivious to the fact that with man's +moral nature had come in a new biological law +which Darwin was not called upon to reckon with, +but which has tremendous authority and survival<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> +value—the law of right, justice, mercy, honor, love.</p> + +<p>We do not look for the Golden Rule among +swine and cattle, or among wolves and sharks; +we look for it among men; we look for honor, for +heroism, for self-sacrifice, among men. None of +these things are involved in the Darwinian hypothesis. +There is no such thing as right or +wrong in the orders below man. These are purely +human distinctions. It is not wrong for the wolf +to eat the lamb, or the lamb to eat the grass, but +an aggressive war is wrong to the depths of the +farthest star. Germany's assault upon the peace +and prosperity of the world was a crime against +the very heavens.</p> + +<p>Darwin occupied himself only with the natural +evolution of organic forms, and not with the +evolution of human communities. He treated +man as an animal, and fitted him into the zoölogical +scheme. He removed him from the realm +of the miraculous into the plane of the natural. +For all purposes of biological discussion, man is +an animal, but that is not saying he is only an +animal, and still under the law of animal evolution. +The European man is supposed to have +passed the stage of savagery, in which the only +rule of right is the rule of might. To have made +Darwinism an excuse for a war of aggression is +to have debased a sound natural philosophy to a +selfish and ignoble end.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span>Germany lifted the law to the human realm and +staked her all upon it, and failed. The moral +sense of the world—the sense of justice, of fair +play—was against her, and inevitably she went +down. Her leaders were morally blind. When +the rest of the world talked of moral standards, +the German leaders said, "We think you are fools." +But these standards brought England into the +war—the sacredness of treaties. They brought the +United States in. We saw a common enemy in +Germany, an enemy of mankind. We sent millions +of men to France for an ideal—for justice +and fair play. To see our standards of right and +justice ignored and trampled upon in this way +was intolerable. The thought of the world being +swayed by Prussianism was unbearable. I said +to myself from the first, "The Allies have got to +win; there is no alternative." And what astonishes +me is that certain prominent Englishmen, +such as Lord Morley, and others, did not see +it. Would they have sat still and watched Germany +destroy France and plant herself upon the Channel +and make ready to destroy England? The very +framework of our moral civilization would have +been destroyed. Darwin little dreamed to what his +natural selection theory was to lead.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VIII. THE ROBIN</div> + +<p>Of all our birds the robin has life in the fullest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> +measure, or best stands the Darwinian test of the +fittest to survive. His versatility, adaptiveness, +and fecundity are remarkable. While not an +omnivorous feeder, he yet has a very wide range +among fruits and insects. From cherries to currants +and strawberries he ranges freely, while he +is the only thrush that makes angle-worms one +of his dietetic staples and looks upon a fat grub +as a rare tidbit. Then his nesting-habits are the +most diverse of all. Now he is a tree-builder in +the fork of a trunk or on a horizontal branch, +then a builder in vines or rosebushes around your +porch, then on some coign of vantage about +your house or barn, or under the shed, or under a +bridge, or in the stone wall, or on the ground above +a hedge. I have known him to go into a well and +build there on a projecting stone. He even nests +beyond the Arctic Circle, and it is said he never +sings sweeter than when singing during those +long Arctic days.</p> + +<p>He brings off his first brood in May, and the +second in June, and if a dry season does not +seriously curtail his food-supply, a third one in +September. He is a hustler in every sense of the +word—a typical American in his enterprise and +versatility. His voice is the first I hear in the +morning, and the last at night. Little wonder +that there are twenty robins to one bluebird, or +wood thrush, or catbird. The song sparrow is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> +probably our next most successful bird, but she +is far behind the robin. We could never have +a plague of song sparrows or bluebirds, but since +the robins are now protected in the South as well +as in the North, we are exposed to the danger of a +plague of robins. Since they may no longer have +robin pot-pies in Mississippi, the time is near at +hand when we may no longer have cherry-pies +in New York or New England. Yet who does not +cherish a deep love for the robin? He is a plebeian +bird, but he adds a touch to life in the +country that one would not like to miss.</p> + +<p>The robin is neither a walker nor a hopper; +he is doomed always to be a runner. Go slow he +cannot; his engine is always "in high"—it starts +"in high" and stops "in high."</p> + + +<div class="center2">IX. THE WEASEL</div> + +<p>In wild life the race is not always to the swift, +nor the battle to the strong. For instance, the +weasel catches the rabbit and the red squirrel, +both of which are much more fleet of foot than +is he. The red squirrel can fairly fly through the +tops of the trees, where the weasel would be entirely +out of its element, and the rabbit can easily +leave him behind, and yet the weasel captures +and sucks the blood of both. Recently, when the +ground was covered with our first snow, some men +at work in a field near me heard a rabbit cry on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> +slope below them. Their dog rushed down and +found a weasel holding a rabbit, which it released +on the approach of the dog and took to the cover +of a near-by stone wall. The whole story was +written there on the snow. The bloodsucker had +pursued the rabbit, pulling out tufts of fur for +many yards and then had pulled it down.</p> + +<p>Two neighbors of mine were hunting in the woods +when they came upon a weasel chasing a red squirrel +around the trunk of a big oak; round and round +they went in a fury of flight and pursuit. The +men stood and looked on. It soon became apparent +that the weasel was going to get the squirrel, so +they watched their chance and shot the bloodsucker. +Why the squirrel did not take to the tree-tops, +where the weasel probably would not have +followed him, and thus make his escape—who +knows? One of my neighbors, however, says he +has seen where a weasel went up a tree and took a +gray squirrel out of its nest and dropped it on the +snow, then dragged it to cover and left it dead. +The weasel seems to inspire such terror in its victim +that it becomes fairly paralyzed and falls an +easy prey. Those cruel, blazing, beadlike eyes, +that gliding snakelike form, that fearless, fatelike +pursuit and tenacity of purpose, all put a spell upon +the pursued that soon renders it helpless. A weasel +once pursued a hen to my very feet and seized it +and would not let it go until I put my foot upon it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> +and gripped it by the back of the neck with my +hand. Its methods are a kind of <i>Schrecklichkeit</i> in +the animal world. It is the incarnation of the +devil among our lesser animals.</p> + + +<div class="center2">X. MISINTERPRETING NATURE</div> + +<p>We are bound to misinterpret Nature if we start +with the assumption that her methods are at all +like our methods. We pick out our favorites +among plants and animals, those that best suit our +purposes. If we want wool from the sheep, we +select the best-fleeced animals to breed from. If +we want mutton, we act accordingly. If we want +cows for quantity of milk, irrespective of quality, +we select with that end in view; if we want butter-fat, +we breed for that end, and so on. With our +fruits and grains and vegetables we follow the same +course. We go straight to our object with as little +waste and delay as possible.</p> + +<p>Not so with Nature. She is only solicitous of +those qualities in her fruits and grains which best +enable them to survive. In like manner she subordinates +her wool and fur and milk to the same +general purpose. Her one end is to increase and +multiply. In a herd of wild cattle there will be no +great milchers. In a band of mountain sheep there +will be no prize fleeces. The wild fowl do not lay +eggs for market.</p> + +<p>Those powers and qualities are dominant in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> +wild creatures that are necessary for the survival +of the species—strength, speed, sharpness of eye +and ear, keenness of scent; all wait upon their survival +value.</p> + +<p>Our hawks could not survive without wing-power +or great speed, but the crow survives without this +power, because he is an omnivorous feeder and can +thrive where the hawk would starve, and also +because no bird of prey wants him, and, more than +that, because he is dependent upon nothing that +requires speed to secure. He is cunning and suspicious +for reasons that are not obvious. The fox +in this country requires both speed and cunning, +but in South America Darwin saw a fox so indifferent +and unafraid that he walked up to it and killed +it with his geologist's hammer. Has it no enemies +in that country?</p> + +<p>Nature's course is always a roundabout one. +Our petty economies are no concern of hers. Man +wants specific results at once. Nature works +slowly to general results. Her army is drilled only +in battle. Her tools grow sharper in the using. +The strength of her species is the strength of the +obstacles they overcome. We misinterpret Darwin +when we assume that Nature selects as man selects. +Nature selects solely upon the principle of power of +survival. Man selects upon the principle of utility. +He wants some particular good—a race-horse, a +draft-horse—better quality or greater quantity of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> +this or that. Nature aims to fill the world with her +progeny. Only power to win in the competition of +life counts with her. As I have so often said, she +plays one hand against the other. The stakes are +hers whichever wins. Wheat and tares are all one +to her. She pits one species of plant or animal +against another—heads I win, tails you lose. Some +plants spread both by seed and runners, this +doubles their chances; they are kept in check +because certain localities are unfavorable to them. +I know a section of the country where a species +of mint has completely usurped the pastures. It +makes good bee pasturage, but poor cattle pasturage. +Quack grass will run out other grass +because it travels under ground in the root as well +as above ground in the seed.</p> + + +<div class="center2">XI. NATURAL SCULPTURE</div> + +<p>We may say that all the forms in the non-living +world come by chance, or by the action of the undirected +irrational physical forces, mechanical or +mechanico-chemical. There are not two kinds of +forces shaping the earth's surface, but the same +forces are doing two kinds of work, piling up and +pulling down—aggregating and accumulating, and +separating and disintegrating.</p> + +<p>It is to me an interesting fact that the striking +and beautiful forms in inorganic nature are not as +a rule the result of a building-up process, but of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> +pulling-down or degradation process. A natural +bridge, an obelisk, caves, canals, the profile in the +rocks, the architectural and monumental rock +forms, such as those in the Grand Cañon and in +the Garden of the Gods, are all the result of erosion. +Water and other aerial forces are the builders +and sculptors, and the nature and structure of +the material determine the form. It is as if these +striking forms were inherent in the rocks, waiting +for the erosive forces to liberate them. The stratified +rocks out of which they are carved were not +laid down in forms that appeal to us, but layer upon +layer, like the leaves of a book; neither has the +crumpling and deformation of the earth's crust +piled them up and folded them in a manner artistic +and suggestive. Yet behold what the invisible +workmen have carved out of them in the Grand +Cañon! It looks as though titanic architects and +sculptors had been busy here for ages. But only +little grains of sand and a vast multitude of little +drops of water, active through geologic ages, were +the agents that wrought this stupendous spectacle. +If the river could have builded something equally +grand and beautiful with the material it took out +of this chasm! But it could not—poetry at one +end of the series and dull prose at the other. The +deposition took the form of broad, featureless, +uninteresting plains—material for a new series of +stratified rocks, out of which other future Grand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> +Cañons may be carved. Thus the gods of erosion +are the artists, while the builders of the mountains +are only ordinary workmen.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span></p> + +<div class="center">XI</div> + +<div class="center">RUMINATIONS</div> + +<div class="center">I. MAN A PART OF NATURE</div> + + +<p>This bit of nature which I call myself, and which +I habitually think of as entirely apart from the +nature by which I am surrounded, going its own +way, crossing or defeating or using the forces of +the nature external to it, is yet as strictly a part of +the total energy we call nature as is each wave in +the ocean, no matter how high it raises its crest, a +part of the ocean. Our wills, our activities, go but +a little way in separating us from the totality of +things. Outside of the very limited sphere of what +we call our spontaneous activities, we too are things +and are shaped and ruled by forces that we know +not of.</p> + +<p>It is only in action, or in the act of living, that +we view ourselves as distinct from nature. When +we think, we see that we are a part of the world in +which we live, as much so as the trees and the other +animals are a part. Intellect unites what life separates. +Our whole civilization is the separating of +one thing from another and classifying and organizing +them. We work ourselves away from rude +Nature while we are absolutely dependent upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> +her for health and strength. We cease to be savages +while we strive to retain the savage health and +virility. We improve Nature while we make war +upon her. We improve her for our own purposes. +All the forces we use—wind, water, gravity, electricity—are +still those of rude Nature. Is it not +by gravity that the water rises to the top stories of +our houses? Is it not by gravity that the aeroplane +soars to the clouds? When the mammoth guns +hurl a ton of iron twenty miles they pit the greater +weight against the lesser. The lighter projectile +goes, and the heavier gun stays. So the athlete +hurls the hammer because he greatly outweighs it.</p> + + +<div class="center2">II. MARCUS AURELIUS ON DEATH</div> + +<p>Marcus Aurelius speaks of death as "nothing +else than a dissolution of the elements of which +every human being is composed." May we say it is +like a redistribution of the type after the page is +printed? The type is unchanged, only the order of +arrangement is broken up. In the death of the +body the component elements—water, lime, iron, +phosphorus, magnesia, and so on—remain the +same, but their organization is changed. Is that +all? Is this a true analogy? The meaning of the +printed page, the idea embodied, is the main matter. +Can this idea be said to exist independent of the +type? Only in the mind that reads the page, and +then not permanently. Then it is only an arrange<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span>ment +of molecules of matter in the brain, which is +certainly only temporary. On the printed page it +is a certain combination of white and black that +moves the cells of the brain through the eye to +create the idea. So the conception in our minds +of our neighbor or friend—his character, his personality—exists +after he is dead, but when our own +brain ceases to function, where is it then?</p> + +<p>We rather resent being summed up in this way +in terms of physics, or even of psychology. Can +you reconstruct the flower or the fruit from its +ashes? Physics and biochemistry and psychology +describe all men in the same terms; our component +parts are all the same; but character, personality, +mentality—do not these escape your analysis? and +are they not also real?</p> + + +<div class="center2">III. THE INTERPRETER OF NATURE</div> + +<p>Emerson quotes Bacon as saying that man is the +minister and interpreter of Nature. But man has +been very slow to see that he is a part of that same +Nature of which he is the minister and interpreter. +His interpretation is not complete until he has +learned to interpret himself also. This he has done +all unconsciously through his art, his literature, his +religion, his philosophy. Painting interprets one +phase of him, music another, poetry another, sculpture +another, his civic orders another, his creeds and +beliefs and superstitions another, so that at this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> +day and age of the world he has been pretty well +interpreted. But the final interpretation is as far +off as ever, because the condition of man is not +static, but dynamic. He is forever born anew into +the world and experiences new wonder, new joy, +new loves, new enthusiasms. Nature is infinite, +and the soul of man is infinite, and the action and +reaction between the two which gives us our culture +and our civilization can never cease. When +man thinks he is interpreting Nature, he is really +interpreting himself—reading his own heart and +mind through the forms and movements that surround +him. In his art and his literature he bodies +forth his own ideals; in his religion he gives the +measure of his awe and reverence and his aspirations +toward the perfect good; in his science he +illustrates his capacity for logical order and for +weighing evidence. There is no astronomy to the +night prowler, there is no geology to the woodchuck +or the ground mole, there is no biology to the dog +or to the wolf, there is no botany to the cows and +the sheep. All these sciences are creations of the +mind of man; they are the order and the logic which +he reads into Nature. Nature interprets man to +himself. Her beauty, her sublimity, her harmony, +her terror, are names which he gives to the emotions +he experiences in her presence. The midnight +skies sound the depths of his capacity for the +emotion of grandeur and immensity, the summer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> +landscape reveals to him his susceptibility to +beauty.</p> + +<p>It is considered sound rhetoric to speak of the +statue as existing in the block of marble before the +sculptor touches it. How easy to fall into such +false analogies! Can we say that the music existed +in the flute or in the violin before the musician +touches them? The statue in the form of an idea +or a conception exists in the mind of the sculptor, +and he fashions the marble accordingly. Does the +book exist in the pot of printer's ink? Living +things exist in the germ, the oak in the acorn, the +chick in the egg, but from the world of dead matter +there is no resurrection or evolution. Life alone +puts a particular stamp upon it. We may say that +the snowflake exists in the cloud vapor because of +the laws of crystallization, but the house does not +exist in a thousand of brick in the same sense. It +exists in the mind of the builder.</p> + +<p>The sculptor does not interpret the marble; he +interprets his own soul through the medium of the +marble—the picture is not in the painter's color +tubes waiting to be developed as the flower is in +the bud; it is in the artist's imagination. The +apple and the peach and the wheat and the corn +exist in the soil potentially; life working through +the laws of physics and chemistry draws their +materials out and builds up the perfect fruit. To +decipher, to interpret, to translate, are terms that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> +apply to human things, and not to universal nature. +We do not interpret the stars when we form the +constellations. The grouping of the stars in the +heavens is accidental—the chair, the dipper, the +harp, the huntsman, are our fabrications. Does +Shelley interpret the skylark, or Wordsworth the +cuckoo, or Bryant the bobolink, or Whitman the +mockingbird and the thrush? Each interprets +his own heart. Each poet's mind is the die or seal +that gives the impression to this wax.</p> + +<p>All the so-called laws of Nature are of our own +creation. Out of an unfailing sequence of events +we frame laws—the law of gravity, of chemical +affinity, of magnetism, of electricity—and refer to +them as if they had an objective reality, when they +are only concepts in our own minds. Nature has +no statute books and no legislators, though we +habitually think of her processes under these symbols. +Human laws can be annulled, but Nature's +laws cannot. Her ways are irrevocable, though +theology revokes or suspends them in its own +behalf. It was Joshua's mind that stopped while +he conquered his enemies, and not the sun.</p> + +<p>The winds and the tides do not heed our prayers; +fire and flood, famine and pestilence, are deaf to our +appeals. One of the cardinal doctrines of Emerson +was that all true prayers are self-answered—the +spirit which the act of prayer begets in the suppliant +is the answer. A heartfelt prayer for faith<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> +or courage or humility is already answered in the +attitude of soul that devoutly asks it. We know +that the official prayers in the churches for victory +to the armies in the field are of no avail—and how +absurd to expect them to be—but who shall say that +the prayer of the soldier on the eve of battle may +not steady his hand and clinch his courage? But +the prayer for rain or for heat or cold, or for the +stay of an epidemic, or for any material good, is +as vain as to reach one's hands for the moon.</p> + + +<div class="center2">IV. ORIGINAL SOURCES</div> + +<p>The writers who go directly to life and Nature for +their material are, in every age, few compared with +the great number that go to the libraries and +lecture-halls, and sustain only a second-hand relation +to the primary sources of inspiration. They +cannot go directly to the fountain-head, but depend +upon those who can and do. They are like +those forms of vegetation, the mushrooms, that +have no chlorophyll, and hence cannot get their +food from the primary sources, the carbonic acid +in the air; they must draw it from the remains of +plants that did get it at first-hand from Nature. +Chlorophyll is the miracle-worker of the vegetable +world; it makes the solar power available for life. +It is in direct and original relation to the sun. It +also makes animal life possible. The plant can go +to inorganic nature and through its chlorophyll can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> +draw the sustenance from it. We must go to the +plant, or to the animal that went to the plant, for +our sustenance.</p> + +<p>The secondary men go to books and creeds and +institutions for their religion, but the original men, +having the divine chlorophyll, go to Nature herself. +The stars in their courses teach them. The earth +inspires them.</p> + + +<div class="center2">V. THE COSMIC HARMONY</div> + +<p>The order and the harmony of the Cosmos is not +like that which man produces or aims to produce +in his work—the order and harmony that will give +him the best and the quickest results; but it is an +astronomic order and harmony which flows inevitably +from the circular movements and circular +forms to which the Cosmos tends. Revolution and +evolution are the two feet upon which creation goes. +All natural forms strive for the spherical. The +waves on the beach curve and roll and make the +pebbles round. From the drops of rain and dew to +the mighty celestial orbs one law prevails. Nature +works to no special ends; she works to all ends; and +her harmony results from her universality. The +comets are apparently celestial outlaws, but they +all have their periodic movements, and make their +rounds on time. Collisions in the abysses of space, +which undoubtedly take place, look like disharmonies +and failures of order, as they undoubtedly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> +are. What else can we call them? When a new +star suddenly appears in the heavens, or an old one +blazes up, and from a star of the tenth magnitude +becomes one of the first, and then slowly grows +dim again, there has been a celestial catastrophe, +an astronomic accident on a cosmic scale. Had +such things occurred frequently enough, would not +the whole solar system have been finally wrecked, +or could it even have begun? For the disharmonies +in Nature we must look to the world of the +living things, but even here the defeats and failures +are the exception—else there would be no living +world. Organic evolution reaches its goal despite +the delays and suffering and its devious course. +The inland stream finds its way to the sea at last, +though its course double and redouble upon itself +scores of times, and it travels ten miles to advance +one. A drought that destroys animal and vegetable +life, or a flood that sweeps it away, or a +thunderbolt that shatters a living tree, are all disharmonies +of Nature. In fact, one may say that +disease, pestilence, famine, tornadoes, wars, and +all forms of what we call evil are disharmonies, because +their tendency is to defeat the orderly development +of life.</p> + +<p>The disharmonies in Nature in both the living +and the non-living worlds tend to correct themselves. +When Nature cannot make both ends meet, +she diminishes her girth. If there is not food enough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> +for her creatures, she lessens the number of mouths +to be fed. A surplus of food, on the other hand, +tends to multiply the mouths.</p> + +<p>Man often introduces an element of disorder into +Nature. His work in deforesting the land brings +on floods and the opposite conditions of drought. +He destroys the natural checks and compensations.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VI. COSMIC RHYTHMS</div> + +<p>The swells that beat upon the shores of the ocean +are not merely the result of a local agitation of the +waters. The pulse of the earth is in them. The +pulse of the sun and the moon is in them. They +are more cosmic than terrestrial. The earth wears +her seas like a loose garment which the sun and +moon constantly pluck at and shift from side to +side. Only the ocean feels the tidal impulse, the +heavenly influences. The great inland bodies of +water are unresponsive to them—they are too small +for the meshes of the solar and lunar net. Is it not +equally true that only great souls are moved by the +great fundamental questions of life? What a +puzzle the tides must have been to early man! +What proof they afford of the cosmic forces that +play upon us at all times and hold us in their net! +Without the proof they afford, we should not know +how we are tied to the solar system. The lazy, +reluctant waters—how they follow the sun and +moon, "with fluid step," as Whitman says, "round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> +the world"! The land feels the pull also and +would follow if it could. But the mobile clouds +go their way, and the aerial ocean makes no sign. +The pull of the sun and the moon is upon you and +me also, but we are all unconscious of it. We are +bodies too slight to affect the beam of the huge scale.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VII. THE BEGINNINGS OF LIFE</div> + +<p>It is remarkable, I think, that Professor Osborn, +in his "Origin and Evolution of Life," makes no +account of the micro-organisms or unicellular lives +that are older than the continents, older than the +Cambrian rocks, and that have survived unchanged +even to our times. I saw in the Grand Cañon of +the Colorado where they were laid down horizontally +on the old Azoic or original rocks, as if by the +hand of a mason building the foundation of a +superstructure. All the vast series of limestone +rocks are made up from the skeletons of minute +living bodies. Other strata of rocks are made up +of the skeletons of diatoms. Some of our polishing +powders are made from these rocks. Formed of +pure silex, these rocks are made up of the skeletons +of organisms of many exquisite forms, <i>Foraminiferæ</i>. +The Pyramids are said to be built of rocks +formed by these organisms. "No single group of +the animal kingdom," says Mr. W. B. Carpenter, +"has contributed, or is at present contributing, so +largely as has the <i>Foraminiferæ</i> to the formation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> +of the earth's crust." In the face of these facts, +how unsatisfactory seem Professor Osborn's statements +that life probably originated on the continents, +either in the moist crevices of rocks or soils, +in the fresh waters of continental pools, or in the +slightly saline waters of the "bordering primordial +seas." This last suggestion comes nearer the +mark. There is no variation during geologic time +of these primordial living organisms. All conceivable +changes of environment have passed over +them, but they change not. Bacteria struggle +together, one form devouring another form. Unicellular +life long precedes multicellular. Biologists +usually begin with the latter; the former are fixed; +with the latter begins development or evolution, +and the peopling of the world with myriads of +animal forms.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VIII. SPENDTHRIFT NATURE</div> + +<p>Emerson says, "Nature is a spendthrift, but takes +the shortest way to her ends." She is like ourselves, +she is ourselves written large—written in +animal, in tree, in fruit, in flower. She is lavish of +that of which she has the most. She is lavish of +her leaves, but less so of her flowers, still less of +her fruit, and less yet of her germinal parts. The +production of seed is a costly process to the plant. +Many trees yield fruit only every other year.</p> + +<p>I say that Nature is a spendthrift only of what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> +she has the most. Behold the clouds of pollen from +the blooming pines and from the grasses in the +meadow. She is less parsimonious with her +winged seeds, such as of the maple and the elm, than +with her heavy nuts—butternuts, hickory-nuts, +acorns, beechnuts, and so on. All these depend +upon the agency of the birds and squirrels to scatter +them. She offers them the wage of the sweet +kernel, and knows that they will scatter more than +they eat. To all creatures that will sow the seeds +of her berries she offers the delectable pulp: "Do +this chore for me, and you will find the service its +own reward." All the wild fruits of the fields and +woods hold seeds that must be distributed by animal +agency. Even the fiery arum or Indian +turnip, tempts some birds to feast upon its red +berries, and thus scatter the undigested seeds. +The mice and the squirrels doubtless give them a +wide berth, but in the crop of the fowl the seeds +have the sting taken out of them. You cannot +poison a hen with strychnine.</p> + +<p>We ourselves are covetous of those things of +which we have but few, extravagant with those of +which we have an abundance. When the Western +farmer burns corn in place of coal, be assured he +sees his own account in it. We husband our white +pine, and are free with our hemlock; we are stingy +with our hickory, and open-handed with our beech +and chestnut.</p> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span></p> + +<div class="center">XII</div> + +<div class="center">NEW GLEANINGS IN FIELD AND WOOD</div> + + +<p>As I saunter through the fields and woods I discover +new acts in Nature's drama. They are, +however, the old acts, played again and again, +which have hitherto escaped my notice, so absorbed +have I been in the rise and fall of the curtain, +and in the entrances and exits of the more +familiar players. I count myself fortunate if, during +each season, I detect a few new acts on the vast +stage; and as long as I live I expect to cogitate and +speculate on the old acts, and keep up my interest +in the whole performance.</p> + + +<div class="center2">I. SUNRISE</div> + +<p>The most impressive moment of the day here in +the Catskills is the rising of the sun. From my +cot on the porch I see the first flash of his coming. +Before that I see his rays glint here and there +through the forest trees which give a mane to the +mountain crest. The dawn comes very gently. +I am usually watching for it. As I gaze I gradually +become conscious of a faint luminousness in the +eastern sky. This slowly increases and changes to +a deep saffron, and then in eight or ten minutes +that fades into a light bluish tinge—the gold turns<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> +to silver. After some minutes the sky, just at the +point where the sun is to appear, begins to glow +again, as if the silver were getting warm; a minute +or two more and the brow of the great god is above +the horizon line. His mere brow, as I try to fix +my eye upon it, fairly smites me blind. The brow +is magnified by the eye into the whole face. One +realizes in these few seconds how rapidly the old +earth turns on its axis. You witness the miracle +of the transition of the dawn into day. The day +is born in a twinkling. Is it Browning who uses the +word "boil" to describe this moment?—"Day boils +at last." Gilder, I think, speaks of it as a scimitar +flashing on the brim of the world. At any rate, +I watch for it each morning as if I were seeing it +for the first time. It is the critical moment of the +day. You actually see the earth turning. Later +in the day one does not note in the same way the +sun climbing the heavens. The setting sun does +not impress one, because it is usually enveloped in +vapors. His day's work is done and he goes to his +rest veiled and subdued. He is new in the morning +and old at his going down. His gilding of the clouds +at sunset is a token of a fair day on the morrow; +his touching them with fire in the morning is a +token of wind or storm. So much we make of +these things, yet the sun knows them not. They +are local and only earth phenomena, yet the benefaction +of the sun is as if it shone for us alone. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> +is as great as if this were the case, and yet the +fraction of his light and heat that actually falls +upon this mote of a world adrift in sidereal space +is so infinitely small that it could hardly be computed +by numbers. In our religion we appropriate +God to ourselves in the same way, but he knows +us not in this private and particular way, though +we are all sharers in the Universal Beneficence.</p> + + +<div class="center2">II. NATURE'S METHODS</div> + +<p>Nature baffles us by methods so unlike our own. +Man improves upon his inventions, he makes them +better and better and discards the old. The first +airplane flew a few miles with its pilot; now the +airplane flies hundreds of miles and carries tons of +weight. Nature has progressed steadily from lower +to higher forms, but she keeps all her lower forms; +her first rude sketches are as precious to her as the +perfected models. There is no vacancy at the +bottom of her series, as there is in the case of man. +I am aware that we falsify her methods in contrasting +them with those of man in any respect. She +has no method in our sense of the term. She is +action, and not thought, growth and not construction, +is internal and not external. To try to +explain her in terms of our own methods is like +trying to describe the sphere in terms of angles +and right lines.</p> + +<p>The origin of species is as dark a problem as is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> +the origin of the secondary rocks. What factors +or forces entered into the production of the vast +variety of stratified rocks, differing as widely from +the original Adam rock, the granite, as the races +of men differ from one another? There is just as +much room for natural selection to work in one +case as in the other. We find where two kinds of +rock touch, one overlying the other, and absolute +difference in texture and color, and no union between +them. How account for their juxtaposition? +Rock begat rock, undoubtedly, and the aerial forces +played the chief part, but the origin of each kind +is hidden in the abyss of geologic time, as is that +of the animal species.</p> + +<p>The position of the camel with reference to the +giraffe in Africa is analogous to that, say, of the +Catskill conglomerate to the laminated sandstone +that lies beneath it. They are kindred; one graduates +into the other. Whence the long neck and +high withers of the giraffe? The need of high feeding, +say the selectionists, but other browsing animals +must have felt the same need. Our moose is +strictly a browsing animal, and, while his neck and +shoulders are high, and his lips long, they do not +approach those of the giraffe. The ostrich has a +long neck also, but it is a low feeder, mainly from +the ground.</p> + +<p>We can only account for man and other higher +forms of life surviving in the highway of the physi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span>cal +forces on the ground that the wheels and tramping +hoofs missed them much oftener than they hit +them. They learned instinctively to avoid these +destructive forces. Animal life was developed +amid these dangers. The physical forces go their +way as indifferent to life as is your automobile to +the worms and beetles in the road. Pain and suffering +are nothing to the Eternal; the only thing +that concerns It is the survival of the fit, no matter +how many fall or are crushed by the way; to It +men are as cheap as fleas; and they have slaughtered +one another in Europe of late without help or +hindrance from the Eternal, as do the tribes of +hostile ants. The wars of the microbes and the +wars of men are all of a piece in the total scheme +of things. The survivors owe their power of survival +to the forces that sought their destruction; +they are strong by what they have overcome; they +graduated in that school. Hence it is that we can +say that evil is for us as much as it is against us. +Pain and suffering are guardian angels; they teach +us what to shun.</p> + +<p>How puzzling and contradictory Nature often is! +How impossible, for instance, to reduce her use of +horns to a single rule. In the deer and elk tribe +the antlers seem purely secondary sexual characteristics. +They are dropped as the season wanes; +but the antelopes do not drop their horns, and in +Africa they are singularly ornamental. But with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> +our common sheep the horns are sexual manifestations; +yet the old ram does not shed his horns. +Nature will not be consistent.</p> + +<p>Back in geologic time we had a ruminant with +four horns, two on the nose and two on the crown, +and they were real, permanent, bony growths.</p> + +<p>What a powerful right fore limb Nature has given +to the shovel-footed mole, while the chipmunk, +who also burrows in the ground, has no special tool +to aid him in building his mound of earth; he is +compelled to use his soft, tender little nose as a +pusher. When the soil which his feet have loosened +has accumulated at the entrance to his hole, he +shoves it back with his nose.</p> + +<p>Even to some of her thistles Nature is partial. +The Canada thistle sows its seeds upon the wind +like the common native thistle; then in addition +it sends a big root underground parallel with its +surface, and just beyond the reach of the plough, +which sends up shoots every six or seven inches, so +that, like some other noxious weeds, it carries on +its conquests like a powerful besieging army, +both below ground and above.</p> + +<p>A bachelor of laws in Michigan writes me in a +rather peremptory manner, demanding an answer +by return mail as to why robins are evenly distributed +over the country instead of collected in +large numbers in one locality; and if they breed +in the South; and he insists that my answer be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> +explicit, and not the mere statement "that it is +natural law." I wonder that he did not put a +special-delivery stamp on his letter. He is +probably wondering why I am so dilatory in answering.</p> + +<p>There seems to be an inherent tendency in +nearly all living things to scatter, to seek new fields. +They are obeying the first command—to increase +and multiply. Then it is also a question of food, +which is limited in every locality. Robins do not +breed in flocks, but in pairs. Every gas is a +vacuum to every other gas; and every locality is +a vacuum to the different species of birds that +breed there. The seed-eaters, the fruit-eaters, the +insect-eaters, and the omnivorous feeders, like the +robin—in other words, the sparrows, the flycatchers, +the warblers—may and do all live together +in harmony in the same narrow area.</p> + +<p>The struggle of which we have heard so much +since Darwin's time is mainly a natural sifting and +distributing process, such as that going on all about +us by the winds and the waters. The seeds carried +by the winds do not thrive unless they chance to +fall on suitable ground. All may be "fit" to survive +and yet fail unless they are also lucky. What +so frail as a spider's web, and yet how the spiders +thrive! Nature gives the weak many advantages.</p> + +<p>There is a slow, bloodless struggle of one species +with another—the fleet with the slow, the cunning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> +with the stupid, the sharp-eyed and sharp-eared +with the dull of eye and ear, the keen of scent with +the blunt of scent—which we call natural competition; +but the slow, the stupid, the dull-eyed, +dull-eared, and dull-scented find their place and +thrive for all that. They are dull and slow because +they do not need to be otherwise; the conditions +of their lives do not require speed and +sharpness. The porcupine has its barbed quills, +the skunk its pungent secretion. All parts of +nature dovetail together. The deer and the +antelope kind have speed and sharp senses because +their enemies have speed and sharp senses. The +small birds are keen-eyed and watchful because +the hawks are so, too. The red squirrel dominates +the gray squirrel, which is above him in size and +strength, and the chipmunk below him, but he +does not exterminate either. The chipmunk +burrows in the ground where the red cannot follow +him, and he lays up a store of nuts and seeds which +the red does not. The weasel easily dominates +the rat, but the rat prospers in spite of cats and +traps and weasels.</p> + +<p>The sifting of species is done largely by environment, +the wet, the cold, the heat—the +fittest, or those best adapted to their environment, +survive. For some obscure reason they have a +fuller measure of life than those who fall by the +way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span></p> + +<div class="center2">III. HEADS AND TAILS</div> + +<p>I have heard a story of a young artist who, after +painting a picture of a horse facing a storm, was +not satisfied with it, and, feeling that something +was wrong, asked Landseer to look at it. Instantly +the great artist said to him, "Turn the +horse around."</p> + +<p>The cow turns her head to the storm, the horse +turns his tail. Why this difference? Because +each adopts the plan best suited to its needs and its +anatomy. How much better suited is the broad, +square head of the cow, with its heavy coating of +hair and its ridge of bone that supports its horns, +to face the storm than is the smooth, more nervous +and sensitive head of the horse! What a contrast +between their noses and their mode of grazing! +The cow has no upper front teeth; she reaps the +grass with the scythe of her tongue, while the horse +bites it off and loves to bite the turf with it. The +lip of the horse is mobile and sensitive. Then the +bovine animals fight with their heads, and the +equine with their heels. The horse is a hard and +high kicker, the cow a feeble one in comparison. +The horse will kick with both hind feet, the cow +with only one. In fact, there is not much "kick" +in her kind. The tail of the cow is of less protection +to her than is that of the horse to him. Her great +need of it is to fight flies, and, if attacked in the +rear, it furnishes a good hold for her enemies. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> +her bony stern, with its ridges and depressions and +thin flanks, is less fit in any encounter with storm +or with beast than is her head. On the other hand, +the round, smooth, solid buttocks of the horse, with +their huge masses of muscles, his smooth flanks, +and his tail—an apron of long, straight, strong hair—are +well designed to resist storm and cold. What +animal is it in Job whose neck is clothed with +thunder? With the horse, it is the hips that are so +clothed. His tremendous drive is in his hips.</p> + + +<div class="center2">IV. AN UNSAVORY SUBJECT</div> + +<p>If a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, +I suppose the breath of the obscene fungus by any +other name would smell as rank. The defensive +weapon of our black-and-white wood pussy would +probably not be less offensive if we called him by +that name alone, instead of the common one by +which he is universally known.</p> + +<p>While in southern California last winter I heard +of one that took up his abode in the basement of a +house that stood on the side of a hill in the edge of +the country. It was in a sort of lumber-room where +all sorts of odds and ends had accumulated. On +some shelves was a box of miscellaneous articles, +such as lids to tin cans, bed castors, old toothbrushes, +bits of broken crockery, pieces of wire, +chips of wood, and the dried foot and leg of a hen. +One morning, on opening the door of the basement,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> +the mistress of the house was surprised to see the +whole collection of trash laid out in a line across +the floor. The articles were placed with some degree +of regularity covering a space about fifteen +inches wide and ten feet in length. There were +sixty-one articles in the row.</p> + +<p>Having such an unsavory creature in the basement +of one's house is rather ticklish business; +not so perilous as a stick of dynamite, yet fraught +with unpleasant possibilities. They cleared away +the exhibit and left the door open, hoping their +uninvited guest would take his departure. But he +did not. A few nights later he began another collection, +finding a lot of new material—among other +things a box with old atomizer bulbs, four of which +bulbs he arranged here and there, in the row—a +motley array.</p> + +<p>What is his object? I confess I do not know. +No one has seen him do it, as he works at night, +but there is little doubt that it is his work.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> The +Western skunk is a small creature, not much bigger +than a gray squirrel. He can hide behind a dustpan.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">3</span></a> Later investigations point to this having been the work of a wood +rat instead of a skunk.—C. B.</p></div> + +<p>I wish some one would tell me why this night +prowler so often seems to spray the midnight air +with his essence which leaves no trace by day. He +never taints his own fur with it. In the wilds our +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> +Eastern species is as free from odor as a squirrel or +a woodchuck. Kill or disturb one by day or night +in his haunts, and he leaves an odor on the ground +that lasts for months. While at a friend's house in +the Catskills last August a wood pussy came up +behind the kitchen and dug in the garbage-heap. +We saw him from the window in the early evening, +and we smelled him. For some reason he betrayed +his presence. Late that night I was awakened by a +wave of his pungent odor; it fairly made my nose +smart, yet in the morning no odor could be detected +anywhere about the place. Of course the smell is +much more pronounced in the damp night air +than by day, yet this does not seem an adequate +explanation. Does he signal at night to his fellows +by his odor? He has no voice, so far as I know. I +have never heard him make a vocal sound. When +caught in a trap, or besieged by dogs in a stone +wall, he manifests his displeasure by stamping +his feet. He is the one American who does not +hurry through life. I have no proof that he ever +moves faster than a walk, or that by any sign, he +ever experiences the feeling of fear, so common to +nearly all our smaller animals. His track upon the +snow is that of a creature at peace with all the +world.</p> + + +<div class="center2">V. CHANCE IN ANIMAL LIFE</div> + +<p>Chance plays a much larger part in the lives of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> +some animals than of others. The frog and the +toad lay hundreds of eggs, the fishes spawn +thousands, but most birds lay only five or six +eggs.</p> + +<p>A spendthrift with one hand, Nature is often a +miser with the other. She lets loose an army of +worms upon the forests, and then sends an ichneumon-fly +to check them. She wastes no perfume +or color upon the flowers which depend upon the +wind to scatter their pollen. Cross-fertilization is +dear to her, and she invents many ingenious ways +to bring it about, as in certain orchids. She will +rob the bones of the fowl of their lime to perfect the +shell of the egg. She wastes no wit or cunning on +the porcupine or on the skunk, because she has +already endowed each of them with a perfect +means of defense.</p> + +<p>Two things Nature is not chary of—fear and +pain. She heaps the measure here because fear +puts her creatures on the safe side; it saves them +from many real dangers. What dangers have +lurked for man and for most wild things in the +dark! How silly seems the fear of the horse! a +fluttering piece of paper may throw him in a panic. +Pain, too, safeguards us; it shields us against real +dangers. The pains of childbirth are probably no +check upon offspring, because the ecstasy of +procreation, especially on the part of the male, +overcomes all other considerations.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span></p> + + +<div class="center2">VI. MOSQUITOES AND FLEAS</div> + +<p>Mosquitoes for the North and mainly fleas and +ticks for the South—this seems to be Nature's decree, +at least in this country. The mosquitoes of the +Far North pounce upon one suddenly and ferociously, +while our Jersey mosquitoes hesitate and +parley and make exasperating feints and passes. +On the tundra of Alaska, if I stopped for a moment a +swarm of these insects rose out of the grass as if +they had been waiting for me all the years (as they +had) and were so hungry that they could not stand +upon the order of their proceeding, but came headlong.</p> + +<p>In Jamaica the dogs were persecuted almost to +death by the fleas. They were the most sorry, +forlorn, and emaciated dogs I ever saw. Life was +evidently a burden to them. I remember that +Lewis and Clark, in their journey across the continent, +were greatly pestered by fleas. I have +found that our woodchucks, when they "hole up" +in the fall, are full of fleas.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VII. THE CHANGE OF CLIMATE IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA</div> + +<p>I have just been reading, for the third time, +Dana's "Two Years Before the Mast," my sojourn +near San Diego for a few months, where so many of +the scenes and events he describes took place, having +given me a renewed interest in the book.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span></p> + +<p>It is very evident that the climate of southern +California has greatly changed since Dana was here +in the trading ships Pilgrim and Alert, in 1832 and +1833. The change has been from wet to dry. +At that time his ship collected, and others engaged +in the same trade collected, hundreds of thousands +of hides and great quantities of tallow, all from +cattle grown by the missions between San Diego +and Santa Barbara. This fact implies good pasturage. +The cattle grazed on the hills and plains that +are now, during a large part of the year, as dry as +a bone. At present cattle left to their own devices +on this coast would soon starve to death.</p> + +<p>Dana describes violent storms of wind and rain, +mainly from the southeast, which the ship, anchored +a few miles off the coast, or cruising up and +down, experienced at all times of year—one or more +storms each week, often lasting for days. One +December he describes it as raining every hour for +the whole month. The dread of the southeasters +was ever present with the sailors. One of these, +lasting three days, which came out of a cloudless +sky, blew the sails to tatters. Nowadays a southeast +storm of half a day is, according to my experience, +an uncommon occurrence. To-day scarcely +a drop of rain falls here from April till November, +yet Dana describes many heavy rains in August. +At present, in some of the interior valleys, where +they grow alfalfa by means of irrigation, I see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> +herds of well-kept dairy cows. In the season +of rains the grass springs up and for a time cattle +do well, but during the long dry season there is no +pasturage save dry pasturage.</p> + +<p>Although winter is supposed to be the rainy season +here, I have been here during three seasons and +have so far seen only light rains. To-day (December +16th) the earth is like powder as deep down as +you care to dig. Yesterday I saw a man dragging in +grain, and a great cloud of dust streamed out behind +him. Ten or more years ago there was a very heavy +rainfall in this locality that inundated large sections +of the country and destroyed much property, the +dry San Diego River getting out of bounds and +carrying away bridges and floating houses on its +banks. But it has been as dry as a highway ever +since. It is clear that when the big rains do come +they are more sporadic and uncertain than formerly.</p> + + +<div class="center2">VIII. ALL-SEEING NATURE</div> + +<p>Sitting by a flat rock one summer morning, on +my home acres in the Catskills, I noticed that the +wild strawberry-vines sent out their runners over +the rock, the surface of which is on a level with the +turf, just as over the ground. Of course they +could not take root, but they went through all the +motions of taking root; the little clusters of leaves +developed at intervals, the rootlets showed their +points or stood at "attention," and the runners<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> +pushed out two or three feet over the barren surface +and then seemed to hesitate like a traveler in the +desert whose strength begins to fail. The first +knot, or, one might say, the first encampment, was +about one foot from the last one upon the turf, the +next one about eight inches farther in; then the +distance dropped to six inches, then to four. I +think the runner finally gave it up and stopped +reaching out. Each group of leaves apparently +draws its main sustenance from the one next behind +it, and when this one fails to reach the soil it +loses heart and can give little succor to the next in +front. The result is that the stools become smaller +and smaller, and the distances between them less +and less, down the whole line.</p> + +<p>Nature's methods are seen in the little as well +as in the big, and these little purple runners of the +vine pushing out in all directions show the all-round-the-circle +efforts of Nature as clearly as do +the revolving orbs in sidereal space. Her living +impulses go out in all directions. She scatters her +seeds upon the barren as well as upon fertile spots. +She sends rains and dews upon the sea as well as +upon the land. She knows not our parsimony nor +our prudence. We say she is blind, but without +eyes she is all-seeing; only her creatures who live to +particular ends, and are limited to particular +spheres, have need of eyes. Nature has all time +and all space and all ends. Delays and failure she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> +knows not. If the runners of her strawberries do +not reach their goal, the trouble corrects itself; they +finally stop searching for it in that direction, and +the impulse of the plant goes out stronger and fuller +on other sides.</p> + +<p>If the rains were especially designed to replenish +our springs and supply our growing crops, the +clouds might reasonably be expected to limit their +benefactions, as do our sprinkling carts; but the +rains are older than are we and our crops, and it is +we who must adjust ourselves to them, not they +to us.</p> + +<p>The All-Seeing, then, has no need of our specialized +vision. Does the blood need eyes to find its +way to the heart and lungs? Does the wind need +eyes to find the fertile spots upon which to drop +its winged seeds? It drops them upon all spots, and +each kind in due time finds its proper habitat, the +highly specialized, such as those of the marsh plants, +hitting their marks as surely as do others.</p> + +<p>Our two eyes serve us well because our footsteps +are numbered and must go in a particular direction, +but the goal of all-seeing Nature is everywhere, +and she arrives before she starts. She has no +plan and no method, and she is not governed.</p> + +<p>These conceptions express too little, not too +much. Nature's movements are circular; her +definite ends are enclosed in universal ends. The +rains fall because the vapors rise. The rain is no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> +more an end than is the rising vapor. Each is a +part of the great circuit of beneficent and malevolent +forces upon which our life (and all life) depends, +upon which the making of the soil of the +earth and the shaping of the landscape depend; +all vegetable and animal life, all the bloom and +perfume of the world, all the glory of cloud and +sky, all the hazards of flood and storm, all the terror +of torrents and inundations, are in this circuit +of the waters from the sea to the sky, and back +again through the rivers to the sea. In our geologic +time there is, in this circuit of the waters, more that +favors life than hinders it, else, as I so often say, +we should not be here. The enormous destruction +of human life, of all life, which has taken place and +will continue to take place, in this beneficent circuit, +is only an incident in the history of the globe; +the physical forces are neither for nor against it; +they are neutral; life to be here at all has to run +these risks; has to run the gantlet of these forces, +and to get many a lash and gash in the running. +Against the suffering and death incident thereto +there is no insurance save in the wit of man himself. +All this wit has been developed and sharpened +by much waste and suffering. We learn to deal +with difficulties through the discipline of the difficulties +themselves. If man were finally to learn to +control the rains and the floods, it would be through +the experience which they themselves bring him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> +The demons that destroy him are on his side when +he strikes with the strength which they give him. +Gravity, which so often crushes and overthrows +him, is yet the source of all his might. The fire +that consumes his towns and cities is yet the same +fire that warms him and drives his engines across +the continent.</p> + +<p>There is no god that pities us or weeps over our +sufferings, save the god in our own breasts. We +have life on heroic terms. Nature does not baby +us nor withhold from us the bitter cup. We take +our chances with all other forms of life. Our special +good fortune is that we are capable of a higher development, +capable of profiting to a greater extent +by experience, than are the lower forms of life. +And here is the mystery that has no solution: we +came out of the burning nebulæ just as our horse +and dog, but why we are men and they are still +horse and dog we owe to some Power, or, shall +I say, to the chance working of a multitude of +powers, that are beyond our ken. That some +Being willed it, designed it, no; yet it was in some +way provided for in the constitution of the world.</p> + +<div class="center">THE END</div> +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217<br />218<br />219</a></span></p> + +<h3>INDEX</h3> + +<ul class="IX"> +<li> +Agassiz, Louis, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li><li> +Air, light and heavy, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li><li> +Albatross, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li><li> +Animal life, abundance, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li><li> +Antlers, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li><li> +Ants, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li><li> +Army trucks, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li><li> +Arum, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</li><li> +Automobile trip, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>-26.</li><li> + </li><li> +Bacon, Francis, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li><li> +Barton, W. Va., <a href="#Page_119">119</a>.</li><li> +Bee, honey, spirit of the hive, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>-62; +<ul><li> +intelligence, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</li><li> +communication, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</li><li> +their world, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>;</li><li> +sting, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Bee, leaf-cutter, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li><li> +Beech, autumn color, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li><li> +Birds, living with, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>;<ul><li> +flight, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>-38;</li><li> +and cats, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;</li><li> +nesting near houses, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>-59;</li><li> +home sense, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>;</li><li> +nests of most species built by the females, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>;</li><li> +and dead trees, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>;</li><li> +song, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>;</li><li> +at Pine Knot, Va., <a href="#Page_102">102</a>-05;</li><li> +of southern California, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>-32;</li><li> +community of mind in flocks, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Birds' nests, finding, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>-81.</li><li> +Bluebird, endearing qualities, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;<ul><li> +nesting, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>;</li><li> +experience with a pair, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>-48. +</li></ul></li><li> +Bobolink, song flight, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.</li><li> +Bolar Springs, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li><li> +Brain, as organ of the mind, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</li><li> +Buffon, Georges Louis Le Clerc, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li><li> +Bumble-bee, carpenter, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.</li><li> +Bunting, indigo, nesting, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li><li> +Bunting, painted, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li><li> +Butterflies, flight, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>; +flocking, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.</li><li> +Butterfly, monarch, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.</li><li> +Buzzard, turkey, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>-34.</li><li> + </li><li> +Cacti, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>-48.</li><li> +California, southern, observations in, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>-51;<ul><li> +coast, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>;</li><li> +mountains, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>;</li><li> +climate and soil, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>;</li><li> +bird-song, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>;</li><li> +birds, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>-32;</li><li> +change of climate in, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>-12. +</li></ul></li><li> +Cambium layer, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li><li> +Carpenter, W. B., quoted, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</li><li> +Catbird, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;<ul><li> +stealthiness, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li><li> +experience with a pair, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>-66;</li><li> +fondness for butter, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>;</li><li> +theatrical, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li><li> +notes, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Caterpillars, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>-94.</li><li> +Causes, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>-67.</li><li> +Cedar-bird, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li><li> +Chance, in animal life, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li><li> +Cheat River, W. Va., <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li><li> +Chipmunks, two in a den, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;<ul><li> +storing currants, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</li><li> +carrying provender, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Chippie. <i>See</i> Sparrow, chipping.</li><li> +Chlorophyll, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li><li> +Chrysalis, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li><li> +Condor, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li><li> +Connellsville, Pa., <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li><li> +Cormorant, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li><li> +Cosmos, the, order and harmony of, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>-93.</li><li> +Cow, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li><li> +Crow, flight, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;<ul><li> +needs no great wing-power, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span>Crow, fish, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li><li> +Cuckoo, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>;<ul><li> +solemnity, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</li><li> +nesting, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;</li><li> +young, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;</li><li> +nest, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li><li> +food, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Cuckoo, black-billed, notes, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;<ul><li> +nesting-habits, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Cuckoo, yellow-billed, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Dana, Richard Henry, Jr., at San Diego, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.</li><li> +Darwin, Charles, quoted, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>;<ul><li> +his eager study of natural history, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>;</li><li> +observations during the voyage of the Beagle, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>;</li><li> +failure of his theory, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>-69;</li><li> +his mind, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>;</li><li> +treated man as an animal, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Darwin, George Howard, on the tides, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.</li><li> +Darwinism, a cause of the World War, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>-75.</li><li> +Death, an analogy of, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li><li> +Desert, vegetation of the, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>-48.</li><li> +Dove, mourning, <i>or</i> turtle-dove, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Earth, the, quiverings of the surface, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>-71;<ul><li> +the Northern and Southern Hemispheres, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Edison, Thomas A., <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>;<ul><li> +contrasted with Mr. Ford, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>-25. +</li></ul></li><li> +Elm, autumn color, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li><li> +Emerson, Ralph Waldo, quoted, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li><li> +Erosion, as sculpture, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>-83.</li><li> + </li><li> +Fabre, Jean Henri, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;<ul><li> +quoted, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Far-away, the, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li><li> +Fear in animals, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li><li> +Fireflies, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</li><li> +Firestone, H. S., <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.</li><li> +Fish, schools of, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li><li> +Fleas, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li><li> +Flies, intelligence, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li><li> +Foraminiferæ, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</li><li> +Ford, Henry, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>;<ul><li> +contrasted with Mr. Edison, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>-24. +</li></ul></li><li> +Foxes, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.</li><li> +Frog, wood, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Germans, Darwinism, and the World War, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>-75.</li><li> +Giraffe, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li><li> +Girls, two West Virginia, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.</li><li> +Gnatcatcher, blue-gray, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</li><li> +God, man appropriating, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li><li> +Goldfinch, flight, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;<ul><li> +chorus singing, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>-42;</li><li> +notes, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li><li> +notes of young, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</li><li> +nesting, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Grand Cañon, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</li><li> +Grass, the wonder of, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li><li> +Grasshoppers, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.</li><li> +Great Smoky Mts., <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li><li> +Greensborough, Pa., <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.</li><li> +Grosbeak, rose-breasted, nesting, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li><li> +Grouse, ruffed, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li><li> +Gull, herring, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li><li> +Gulls, flight, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Hawk, red-tailed, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.</li><li> +Hawks, flight, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li><li> +Haymaking, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>-76.</li><li> +Hen-hawk, flight, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li><li> +Hornets, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li><li> +Horns, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.</li><li> +Horse, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li><li> +Horseshoe Run, W. Va., <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li><li> +Hummingbird, ruby-throated, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>;<ul><li> +bathing in dew, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;</li><li> +nest, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>;</li><li> +a fairy bird, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Hurley, Edward N., <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li><li> +Huxley, Thomas Henry, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>;<ul><li> +quoted, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> + </li><li> +Ibis, white, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li><li> +Insects, their world, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>-25, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;<ul><li> +senses, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>;</li><li> +reaction to heat,</li><li> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span>cold, and vibrations, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>;</li><li> +antennæ, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>;</li><li> +the ruling sex among, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Interpretation, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>-90.</li><li> +Ironweed, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +James, William, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li><li> +Jay, blue, notes, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li><li> +Joe-Pye-weed, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li><li> +Junco, young, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;<ul><li> +nesting, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>;</li><li> +abundance, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> + </li><li> +Kepler, Johann, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li><li> +Killdeer, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li><li> +Kingbird, flight, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;<ul><li> +and bees, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> + </li><li> +Leaves, autumn, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>-3.</li><li> +Lemmings, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li><li> +Life, origin of, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li><li> +Life, human, analogies, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>-27.</li><li> +Lightning-bugs. <i>See</i> Fireflies.</li><li> +Lowell, James Russell, quoted, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.</li><li> +Lubbock, Sir John, quoted, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +McCarthy, Denis Aloysius, quoted, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li><li> +Maeterlinck, Maurice, quoted, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;<ul><li> +on the bee, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>-63. +</li></ul></li><li> +Man, and Darwinism, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>;<ul><li> +a part of nature, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>-86;</li><li> +interpretation of nature and of himself, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>-90;</li><li> +mystery of his evolution, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Maple, sugar, susceptibility to atmospheric changes, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li><li> +Maples, autumn color, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li><li> +Marcus Aurelius, quoted, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li><li> +Meadowlark, song flight, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li><li> +Measuring-worm, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li><li> +Mice, wild, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>; +barking trees, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</li><li> +Microphone, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.</li><li> +Microseisms, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.</li><li> +Mind, community of, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>-55.</li><li> +Mockingbird, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li><li> +Moose, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li><li> +Mosquitoes, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li><li> +Moth, luna, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li><li> +Mouse, jumping, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.</li><li> +Mouse, white-footed, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li><li> +Mullets, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Natural history about home, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li><li> +Nature, her methods unlike ours, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>-81, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>;<ul><li> +interpreting, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>-90;</li><li> +lavishness and parsimony, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>;</li><li> +puzzling and contradictory, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>;</li><li> +all-seeing, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>-14;</li><li> +her movements circular, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>-16. +</li></ul></li><li> +Nighthawk, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li><li> +Nonpareil, <i>or</i> painted bunting, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li><li> +North Carolina, a countryman of, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</li><li> +Northern Hemisphere, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Oak, autumn color, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li><li> +Odd and even numbers, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>-65.</li><li> +Oriole, Baltimore, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;<ul><li> +nest, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>-52, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Oriole, Bullock's, nest, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li><li> +Oriole, orchard, nest, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li><li> +Osborn, Henry Fairfield, on the origin of life, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li><li> +Ostrich, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li><li> +Owl, screech, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>-47.</li><li> + </li><li> +Pacific Ocean, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li><li> +Pain, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li><li> +Pear-trees, autumn color, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.</li><li> +Pelican, California brown, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li><li> +Pennsylvania, motor trip through, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>-13.</li><li> +Pewee, wood, nest, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>;<ul><li> +its plaint, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Phœbe, flight, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;<ul><li> +nest, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>-54, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Pigeon, wild, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li><li> +Pine Knot, Va., visit to, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>-08.</li><li> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span>Pipit, American, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>;<ul><li> +nest, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Pittsburgh, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li><li> +Plover, killdeer, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li><li> +Porcupine, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Rabbit, its protection, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>;<ul><li> +caught by a weasel, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Rainbow tints, in dew, etc., <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li><li> +Rat, wood, <a href="#Page_207">207</a> <i>note</i>.</li><li> +Reasons, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>-67.</li><li> +Redstart, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li><li> +Road-mending, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li><li> +Robin, young, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>;<ul><li> +nest, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>-55, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>;</li><li> +fear of man, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>;</li><li> +fittest to survive, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>;</li><li> +versatility, 176;</li><li> +a hustler, 176;</li><li> +danger of a plague of robins, 177;</li><li> +a runner, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Rocks, origin of the secondary, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li><li> +Roosevelt, Theodore, visit to Pine Knot, Va., with, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>-08;<ul><li> +knowledge of India, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li><li> +opinion of Taft, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</li><li> +killing a mosquito, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;</li><li> +protection of the President, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;</li><li> +bird-gazing, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;</li><li> +letter from, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> + </li><li> +Salamander, orange-colored, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li><li> +San Diego, Cal., <a href="#Page_210">210</a>-12.</li><li> +Sandstone, in the Catskills, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.</li><li> +Sap, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>-8.</li><li> +Sapsucker, yellow-bellied, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li><li> +Scorpion, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</li><li> +Seals, hair, in California, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>-51.</li><li> +Sex, the ruling, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.</li><li> +Shaler, Nathaniel S., quoted, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>;<ul><li> +on the Northern and Southern Hemispheres, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Shrew, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.</li><li> +Skunk, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>-08.</li><li> +Snakes, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li><li> +Sources, original, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li><li> +South, characteristics of the, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.</li><li> +Southern Hemisphere, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li><li> +Sparrow, story of a nest, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li><li> +Sparrow, chipping <i>or</i> social, nest, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.</li><li> +Sparrow, song, song flight, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;<ul><li> +nesting, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>;</li><li> +singing, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Sparrow, vesper, nesting, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>-84;<ul><li> +its names, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>;</li><li> +appearance and habits, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>;</li><li> +courted by a skylark, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Species, origin of, an insoluble problem, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>-69, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li><li> +Spider, trap-door, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>-43.</li><li> +Spiders, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>;<ul><li> +genius of, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Spider-webs, rainbows in, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li><li> +Squirrel, gray, caught by a weasel, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li><li> +Squirrel, red, chased by a weasel, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li><li> +Strawberry-vines, wild, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>-14.</li><li> +Struggle, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.</li><li> +Sunrise, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li><li> +Survival of the fit, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.</li><li> +Swallow, bank, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.</li><li> +Swallow, barn, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>;<ul><li> +parental anxiety, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;</li><li> +notes, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;</li><li> +pleasing qualities, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Swallow, cliff, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li><li> +Swallow, tree, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.</li><li> +Swallows, feeding, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>;<ul><li> +hibernation, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Swift, chimney, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.</li><li> +Sycamore, autumn color, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Taft, William Howard, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li><li> +Telepathy, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>.</li><li> +Thistle, Canada, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.</li><li> +Thorns, the use of, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>-48.</li><li> +Thrasher, brown, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li><li> +Thrush, Alaska hermit, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li><li> +Thrush, hermit, song, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li><li> +Thrush, olive-backed, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li><li> +Thrush, Wilson's. <i>See</i> Veery.</li><li> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span>Thrush, wood, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>;<ul><li> +manners, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Tides, the, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</li><li> +Titlark. <i>See</i> Pipit.</li><li> +Trees, leaves, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>-3;<ul><li> +mechanism of growth, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>-8;</li><li> +roots and rootlets, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>-6;</li><li> +what man has in common with, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Tree-toad, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.</li><li> +Turnip, Indian, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</li><li> +Turtle-dove. <i>See</i> Dove, mourning.</li><li> + </li><li> +Uniontown, Pa., <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li><li> +Universe. <i>See</i> Cosmos.</li><li> + </li><li> +Van Dyke, John C., on desert plants, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li><li> +Veery, nesting, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li><li> +Vireo, nest, young, and mother, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li><li> +Vireo, red-eyed, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li><li> +Vireo, yellow-throated, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li><li> +Vital principle, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</li><li> + </li><li> +Warbler, Audubon's, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li><li> +Warbler, Canada, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li><li> +Warbler, mourning, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li><li> +Wasp, a solitary, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li><li> +Water-thrush, <i>or</i> water accentor, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.</li><li> +Waxwing, Bohemian, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li><li> +Weasel, catching rabbits and squirrels, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>;<ul><li> +an inspirer of terror, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Weather, prophesying the, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>-22.</li><li> +West Virginia, motor trip through, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>-19.</li><li> +Whitman, Walt, quoted, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li><li> +Wolf Creek, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li><li> +Woodcock, flight song, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li><li> +Woodpecker, yellow-bellied, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li><li> +Woodpeckers, flight, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li><li> +World War, Darwinism a cause of the, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>-75.</li><li> +Wren, Bewick's, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</li><li> +Wren, house, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>;<ul><li> +and nesting-box, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>. +</li></ul></li><li> +Wren, winter, nest, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.</li> +</ul> +<hr /> +<h5> +<b>The Riverside Press</b><br /> +CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS<br /> +U · S · A</h5> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Under the Maples, by John Burroughs + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNDER THE MAPLES *** + +***** This file should be named 30246-h.htm or 30246-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/2/4/30246/ + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Turgut Dincer, Joseph Cooper and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in 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