Birds and All Nature Vol VII, No. 1, January 1900

BIRDS AND THE WEATHER

BIRDS are dependent on the elements as well as is man, and in the want of materials and the requirements in nest-building the birds are comparable to the lords of creation.

It is not a rare thing for a pair of robins to be badly handicapped in nesting-time by a lack of rain, for in May, and even in the showery month of April, there is occasionally a dry run of weather lasting for more than a week.

I have seen a pair of robins start a nest, and the dry weather would come on and stop operations, and the disconsolate pair would wait for the rain so that they could make mortar for their nest. Robins must have mud to use in the construction of their little home, and all the dry materials will avail them nothing unless there is a good stock of mortar on hand to cement the grass, rags, and other materials together.

On one occasion we supplied a pair of redbreasts with plenty of mortar by letting the hydrant run on the ground. The delighted robins immediately accepted the situation and gathered materials for the partially finished home, which was quickly completed and the four beautiful eggs deposited. We broke the law by letting the water run, but then we can excuse ourselves in behalf of the faithful birds by saying that "necessity knows no law."

The eave-swallows also require mortar for the construction of their nests, and they select quarters not very far removed from lakes, ponds, or streams. There is a neighborhood where the swallows used to build in great numbers, and the barns were well patronized by these little insect-feeders, rows of the gourd-shaped nests being seen beneath the eaves.

At last the pond in the section was drained, and all the swallows deserted that neighborhood. There are very few birds which are not more or less affected by civilization, and a study of this subject is most interesting.

Years ago the chimney swifts were in the habit of building their stick nests in the hollows of big trees, and even at the present day we may find nests in these old-time situations. As time passed the swifts found that the chimneys of men's houses offered better situations for nests, and so the reasoning birds adopted our city and village chimneys to the abandonment of the primitive habit of nesting in hollow trees. —Humane Alliance.

STRANGE ILLUMINATIONS

BIRDS THAT CARRY LIGHTS

P. W. H

"LIGHTNING BUGS" and other insects that carry lights are familiar in many parts of the country, but who ever heard of birds that carry lights? A strange story is told of the heron's powder patch which makes a two-candle light, which discloses a new idea in bird lore. A belated sportsman returning from a day's sport found himself late in the evening on the edge of a flat or marsh which bordered the path. The moon had not risen, and the darkness was so intense that he was obliged to move slowly and carefully. As he walked along, gun on shoulder, he thought he saw a number of lights, some moving, others stationary. As they were in the river bed, he knew that they could not be lanterns, and for some time he was puzzled; but, being of an inquisitive mind, he walked down to the water to investigate.

As the stream was a slow-running, shallow one, he had no difficulty in wading in, and soon convinced himself that the lights were not carried by men, and were either ignes fatui or from some cause unknown. To settle the apparent mystery he crept as close as he could, took careful aim and fired. At the discharge the lights disappeared, but, keeping his eye on the spot where they had been, he walked quickly to it and found, to his amazement, a night heron, upon whose breast gleamed the mysterious light.

"The sportsman told me of this incident," says a friend who knew him well, "and, while I had often heard of the light on the heron's breast, I never before could find anyone who had personally witnessed the phenomenon, consequently I propounded numerous questions. The observer saw the light distinctly; first at a distance of at least fifty yards, or one hundred and fifty feet. There were three lights upon each bird – one upon each side between the hips and tail, and one upon the breast.

"He saw the lights of at least four individuals, and was so interested that he observed them all carefully and, as to their intensity, stated to me that each light was the equivalent of two candles, so that when he aimed he could see the gun-sight against it.

"As to whether the bird had control of the light, he believed he did, as he saw the lights open and shut several times as he crawled toward the birds and he stopped when the light disappeared and crept on when it came again. The light did not endure long after the bird was shot, fading away almost immediately. In color the light was white and reminded the sportsman of phosphorescent wood.

"Stories of luminous birds have been related by sportsmen occasionally, but, so far as I know, exact facts and data have never before been obtained on this most interesting and somewhat sensational subject. A friend in Florida told we that he had distinctly seen a light moving about in a flock of cranes at night and became satisfied that the light was the breast of the bird. Another friend informed me that on entering a heron rookery at night he had distinctly observed lights moving about among the birds."

That herons have a peculiar possible light-producing apparatus is well known. These are called powder-down patches, and can be found by turning up the long feathers on the heron's breast, where will be found a patch of yellow, greasy material that sometimes drops off or fills the feathers in the form of a yellow powder. This powder is produced by the evident decomposition of the small feathers, producing just such a substance as one might expect would become phosphorescent, as there is little doubt that it does.

The cranes and herons are not the only birds having these oily lamps, if so we may term them. A Madagascar bird, called kirumbo, has a large patch on each side of the rump. The bitterns have two pairs of patches; the true herons three, while the curious boat-bills have eight, which, if at times all luminous, would give the bird a most conspicuous, not to say spectral appearance at night.

Some years ago a party of explorers entered a large cave on the island of Trinidad that had hitherto been considered inaccessible. To their astonishment they found it filled with birds which darted about in the dark in such numbers that they struck the explorers and rendered their passage not only disagreeable, but dangerous. The birds proved to be night hawks, known as oil birds, and in great demand for the oil they contain, and it is barely possible that these birds are also light-givers. The powder-down patches of the oil bird are upon each side of the rump.

As to the use of such lights to a bird there has been much conjecture; but it is thought that it may be a lure to attract fishes. It is well known that fishes and various marine animals are attracted by light, and a heron standing motionless in the water, the light from its breast, if equal to two candles, would be plainly seen for a considerable distance by various kinds of fishes, which would undoubtedly approach within reach of the eagle eye and sharp bill of the heron and so fall victims to their curiosity. If this is a true solving of the mystery it is one of the most remarkable provisions of nature.

There is hardly a group of animals that does not include some light-givers of great beauty; but it is not generally known that some of the higher animals also produce light at times. Renninger, the naturalist, whose studies and observations of Paraguay are well known, tells a most remarkable story of his experience with the monkey known as Nyctipithithecus trivigatus. He was in complete darkness when he observed the phenomenon, which was a phosphorescent light gleaming from the eyes of the animal; not the light which appears in the eye of the cat, but shafts of phosphorescent light which were not only distinctly visible, but illumined objects a distance of six inches from the animal's eyes.

The subject is an interesting one and research among the various phenomena disclosed by naturalists may discover many other animals capable of strange illuminations.

THE PINK HOUSE IN THE APPLE TREE

NELLY HART WOODWORTH

NOT the least interesting of my summer neighbors is a Quaker family named Chebec, the least fly-catchers.

They are little people, else they would not be least fly-catchers, plainly dressed, with olive shoulder-capes lined with yellow, wings finely barred with black and white and heads dark and mousy. The large eyes, circled with white, are as full of expression as a thrush's.

What is lacking in song is made up in an energy decidedly muscular, the originality of the note chebec, uttered with a jerk of the head or a launch into the air after some passing insect, never being confused with other bird voices.

It is not Chebec himself that commands my special admiration, but "Petite," his winsome little lady, with her rare gentleness and confidence. Our intimacy began when she was living on a long maple branch that nearly touched my chamber window, and she was dancing attendance upon four pure-white eggs when I became conscious of her neighborly intentions. She soon settled down into the most demure little matron, a regular stay-at-home, really grudging the time necessary for taking her meals. Later, when I "peeked in" at the nestlings, Petite only hugged them closer, nor did she leave until my hand was laid on her shoulder. We were soon fast friends. The most tempting morsels the neighborhood afforded were brought to her door, and, though she was unwearied in the family service, my efforts were gratefully received, even anticipated. The following spring her choice of residence was a bough that hung over the door, coming to the end of the branch whenever I appeared in an effort to express her approval. For, you see, I had given her a quantity of strings and lace and cotton for her nest, and she was truly grateful!

Excess of splendor is always perilous. The work of art was no sooner completed than Robin Redbreast grew envious, rushed over and pulled out the finest strings, leaving the nest in so shaky a condition that the wind soon finished it.

Petite's feelings were deeply injured – she could not be induced to rebuild near her malicious neighbor.

To help her forget her troubles I gave her some yellow ravelings, much handsomer than those Robin had stolen.

Thoroughly consoled, she worked as fast as she possibly could until the last ray of light had faded. Knowing that Robin's impudence had delayed her spring's work, I did my best to supply her needs.

Altogether her patience was extreme. Occasionally she hinted gently that her time was precious or that I was keeping her waiting, as she hovered about my face or rested briefly upon my shoe, keeping a sharp lookout meanwhile upon the cloth I was raveling.

How she scampered off when it was ready, snatching it from my hand before it reached the ground!

The next day saw the new house completed – no ordinary affair, but a magnificent dwelling, yellow from foundation to rafter, with a long, fantastic fringe of the same floating from its rim and waving gracefully in every breeze.

Petite now became my attentive companion in my garden work, talking in subdued tones from the nearest branch as if she felt the seriousness of the occasion, circling in the air and alighting on the same bough in pretended alarm when I tried to touch her soft, delicate feathers.

May 3d of this present year she called softly from the orchard that she had arrived. For a few days she had little to say, wearied with the long journey and being broken of her rest, as must have been the case. She was not quite herself, either – really put on airs and kept at a distance; but when she began to think of housekeeping she was the same trusting darling that won my heart and gave me willing hands in her service.

We talked matters over on the piazza while she fluttered about my head, touched my hat with dainty feet, or poised before me to say in her own pretty way that it was quite time to be thinking of sitting. "What do you propose to do for me this year? How much help can I rely upon from you?" she asked as plainly as if she spoke English.

"Ah, Petite," I answered, "you must not demand too much. It is quite time the sweet peas were planted!" But words were useless; she coaxed, enticed, pleaded, until mine was a full and unconditioned surrender. "You deserve it, Petite, for your perseverance! You shall have the finest house that was ever seen in this section," I said, and with that promise we parted.

I found a quantity of jeweler's cotton, pink as a rosebud, soft and fluffy and light enough to satisfy the most fastidious bird architect. Small pieces were placed upon lawn and tree trunks, where Petite soon spied them; her first impulse was one of approval.

Not meaning to be rash in her judgment, her head was cocked cunningly on one side as she poised, eyeing them closely, until I feared that, dissatisfied, she would accuse me of breaking my promise.

When she seized one, cautiously, in her beak and sailed away with it trailing after her in the air my fears were over. As no harm attended its transfer to the orchard, where it was adjusted to her taste, her admiring mate left his fly-catching to help in the work, the cotton disappearing so rapidly there were signs of a corner in the market.

The nest, strengthened with a few strings, grew rapidly toward completion. To all appearance its unique beauty was a matter of congratulation, the builders regarding it from all sides with intense satisfaction.

THE QUINCE

(Cydonia vulgaris, Pers., or Pyrus Cydonia, L..)

BY DR. ALBERT SCHNEIDER,

Northwestern University School of Pharmacy

 
Of ripened quinces such the mellow hue.
 

– Congreve Translation, of Ovid's Art of Love.

THE quince is the pear-like fruit of a bush or small tree resembling the pear tree. The branches are spreading and of a grayish green or brownish green color. The leaves are simple, entire, ovate, with short petioles and distinct stipules. The lower surface of leaves and stipules as well as the young twigs and the sepals are densely covered with hair-cells producing a woolly appearance. The flowers develop in May and June and are usually solitary upon terminal branches. Calyx green with five foliaceous, serrate, reflexed lobes. Corolla of five separate ovate, rather large, pink petals. Stamens yellow, numerous (20); five styles and a five-celled ovary. The matured fruit is a pome. That is, the greater bulk consists of the thickened calyx enclosing the ovary. The form, size and color of the ripe fruit are shown in the illustration. Each cell of the ovary bears from six to fifteen seeds which resemble apple seeds very closely as to form and color.

The name Cydonia is derived from the name of the Greek city Cydon, now Canea, of Crete. The Cydonian apple of the Greeks was emblematic of fortune, love and fertility, and was dedicated to the goddess Aphrodite (Venus). It is a question whether Crete was the original home of the quince. Some authorities maintain that it found its way into Greece from upper Asia, Persia, or India. Wherever its first home may have been this plant was known in Greece 700 years B. C. From Greece the tree was introduced into Italy and Spain, from which countries it finally spread over central Europe. Charlemagne, Karl der Grosse – 812, was largely instrumental in spreading the quince in Germany.

The ancient Greeks made extensive medicinal use of the fruit. On account of its astringency it has been used in dysentery, hemorrhage, and other conditions requiring an astringent substance. At present it is little used, the seeds excepted.

The pulp is fibrous and tough; it is not edible in the raw state on account of its acrid, astringent taste. As a whole it is a discouraging and disagreeable fruit in spite of its beautiful yellow color and pleasantly aromatic odor. Mixed with apples it makes excellent pies and tarts. A marmalade is made from the pulp, also a delicious jelly. It is stated that the word marmalade is derived from marmelo, the Portuguese name for quince.

The seeds are extensively used on account of the mucilage of the outer surface (epidermal cells). A decoction commonly known as mucilage of quince seed is much used as a demulcent in certain diseases – in erysipelas, inflammatory conditions of the eyes and in other affections where mucilaginous applications are found useful. The Mohammedans of India value the seeds very highly as a restorative and demulcent tonic. European physicians have used them with much success in dysentery. The mucilage is also one of the substances used by hair-dressers under the name of bandoline.

Chemically the mucilage is simply a modification of cellulose. Pereira considered it a special chemical substance which he designated cydonin. The seed, about 20 per cent. of which is mucilage, will make a sticky emulsion with forty times its weight of water. As to its physical properties it closely resembles gum arabic and agar. There are, however, simple tests by means of which it is possible to distinguish them. The seeds rubbed or crushed emit an odor resembling almonds, due to the presence of hydrocyanic acid.

Most of the quince seed of the market comes from southern Russia, southern France and the Cape of Good Hope. It is cultivated in various temperate and subtropical countries.

The quince must not be confounded with the Indian "bael" fruit which is known in India as the Bengal quince. The Chinese quince is a species of pear. The Japanese quince is also a species of pear resembling the Chinese quince. It is a great garden favorite on account of its large scarlet or crimson flowers. The fruit, which is not edible in the raw state, resembles a small apple and is sometimes used for making a jelly. The Portugal quince differs from the ordinary variety by its more delicate coloring. It is, however, less productive than the common varieties.