THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

ROUND THE YEAR

ROUND THE YEAR

A SERIES OF

SHORT NATURE-STUDIES

BY

PROFESSOR L. C. MIALL, F.R.S.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS CHIEFLY BY A. K. HAMMOND, F.L.S.

llontion
MAC MILL AN AND CO., LIMITED

NEW YORK : THE MACMII.LAN COMPANY
1898

RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED.

LONDON AND BUNGAY.

First Edition
Reprinted,

PREFACE

I HAVE given the title of " Round the Year " to a
series of sketches suggested by the natural events of
the year 1895. The principles of selection have been
simple : I have written upon things which happened
to interest me at the time, which seemed to admit of
popular treatment, and which had not been fully
discussed, so far as I knew, in elementary books.
Another naturalist would have made a different
choice ; all the naturalists in the world could not
exhaust the subject.

The readers whom I hope to find are observers
(especially young observers) of out-of-door nature,
teachers of elementary science, and all who care
for Live Natural History.

L. C. M.

LEEDS, June, 1896.

8GG905

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE

"MAN SIEHT NUR WAS MAN WEISS " . . .1

INSECTS AND PLANTS IN MID-WINTER 3

WHITE OF SELBORNE 8

SNOW-FLAKES . . ...... II

BURIED IN THE SNOW . . 25

BIRDS IN MID-WINTER . . . 26

THE DEPTH TO WHICH THE GROUND FREEZES 28

THE GREAT FROST OF 1895 30

UNDER THE CRAGS . . 32

PHI AND THETA . ... 38

WHICH ARE THE WETTEST MONTHS ? 47

ANIMALS WITH AND WITHOUT COMBS 49

THE MOON 54

SPRING CROCUSES 64

CATKINS 73

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE) 89

THE CORN-RIGS OF BEAMSLEY FELL . . 103

via

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE

THE CUCKOO .... IO7

BUDS 121

THE BOTANY OF A RAILWAY-STATION 137

SUMMER TWILIGHT 140

MIDSUMMER BLOOMS 142

HAY-TIME 143

THE HISTORY OF THE CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES .... 158

CABBAGES AND TURNIPS 183

DUCKWEED 192

ROUTINE 199

WEEDS 2OO

MOORLAND PLANTS ... 2o8

THE LOVE OF MOUNTAINS 229

THE REVERSED SPIRAL 236

GOSSAMER 240

FLOWER-HAUNTING INSECTS 248

TENNYSON AS A NATURALIST 252

THE STRUCTURE OF A FEATHER 259

THE FALL OF THE LEAF 270

AUTUMN WINDS AND WINTER FLOODS 278

THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR . . 288

ROUND THE YEAR

"MAN SIEHT NUR WAS MAN WEISS."

Jan. 4, 1895. — As I light my lamp, and sit down to
write, a cold north-east wind is whistling round the
house. Thin snow whitens the hills, except where
the woods and hedges stand out as black patches and
lines. The river Wharfe and the little brooks which
flow down from the moors are edged with ice. The
sun has just set. To-day the moon completes her
first quarter, and is now high in the clear sky. Mars
is faintly shining in the south, not far from the moon,
and in the east I see Jupiter. In another hour
Jupiter will be brilliant indeed.

The earth seems still, and cold, and dead. Yet
there are living things hidden everywhere around.
This morning my boys found a live caterpillar of the
Yellow Underwing, lying helpless on the snow, driven
out, perhaps, from its underground retreat by the cold.
The experienced collector can find plenty of pupae,
even in the depth of winter. They are hidden away
beneath wall -copings, on palisades, beneath loose
bark, in moss, or underground. A keen eye is wanted
to distinguish them, for their colouring is strongly

2 ROUND THE YEAR

imitative, and their retreats carefully chosen. Nor
will keen eyes suffice unless there is knowledge also.
" Man sieht nur was man weiss" says Goethe, and
the insect-hunter verifies the saying. The trained
naturalist goes about in the winter, and sees living
things everywhere. The eager, but uninstructed
naturalist can hardly find anything.

Many years ago I got a practical lesson on this
subject. I was visiting at a country house in Craven,
and the lady of the house showed me her beautiful
fernery with some pride. " I am anxious to get the
Adder's tongue fern," she said, " but I have hunted
for it in vain." I knew that there were some likely
meadows at no great distance, and proposed a walk.
We went two or three miles, and by groping among
the mowing grass soon found ten or twenty plants.
The only difficulty was to distinguish the leaf of the
Adder's tongue from the rather similar leaves of
Hawkweed and Daisy. The plants were packed up,
and we walked back. In every field, now that our
eyes were opened, we saw the Adder's tongue, and
said with some amusement : " If we had only looked
as we walked along, we might have saved ourselves
the trouble of a long walk." At last we entered
the grounds again, and on the lawn, five yards from
the front door, there was as much Adder's tongue as
could be desired.

Moonwort is another little fern, which is reputed
rare. In Yorkshire it grows abundantly on certain
stony pastures, often at a considerable height, and
would be considered no uncommon plant, if it were
only easy to distinguish.

INSECTS AND PLANTS IN MID-WINTER 3

INSECTS AND PLANTS IN MID-WINTER.

Yesterday I walked to Barden Tower to find some
Simulium larvae These little black creatures, from
one-eighth to half an inch long, cluster on leaves of
water-cress and brooklime in a clear and rapid stream,
which flows down from the moors to the Wharfe.
The manoeuvres of this larva have been a favourite
study of mine. I have watched it clinging to smooth

FIG. i, — Group of larva; of Simulium attached to a Atone.

leaves or stones, in spite of the full force of a moun-
tain current. It keeps its hold by means of a sucker
armed with a circle of hooks at the tail-end of its
body, or by a somewhat similar sucker just behind
the head. If compelled to let go by threatening
danger, it disappears from view in a moment, but the
attentive observer can by and by see it wavering in
the clear torrent, and then slowly travelling back, not
by swimming, but by hauling itself in along a thread,

B 2

4 ROUND THE YEAR

one of a number of threads which are stretched from
leaf to leaf like those of a Spider, a Geometer, or a
Tortrix larva. All this I have described in detail in
my Natural History of Aquatic Insects. A few days
ago a brother-naturalist, a most careful observer of
Insects, wrote to express his complete disbelief in the
suckers of the Simulium larva. The hooks and threads
were there, but no suckers were required or supplied.
In some disquiet, for my description was already in
type, I set off to procure a few fresh larvae, and repeat
my former observations. It was a clear frosty morn-
ing, but the Meteorological Office promised us a gale,
so I took my waterproof. The road through Bolton
Woods was frozen hard, and made an excellent slide
in level places where the rain-water had turned to ice.
Before noon the sky was overcast, and a south-west
wind blowing, with plenty of warm rain. However I
reached the brook, and got as many larvae as I
wanted. They were motionless, though clinging as
firmly as ever to their leaves. It was not till they
had been half an hour in my warm study that they
revived and crept about Then I picked them up,
one by one, with a camel-hair pencil, and put them
into a clean saucer full of water. They adhered in a
moment, and crept about like Leeches, applying the
fore and hind sucker alternately to the smooth porce-
lain. Time after time I repeated the trial, and it
never failed. At last I transferred a larva to a clean
slip of glass, and held it under the full stream from a
tap. It was not dislodged, and then I was persuaded
that the suckers were real, and not imaginary.

Cold seems to have benumbed even the hardy

INSECTS AND PLANTS IN MID-WINTER 5

Simulium larvae. Insects of all kinds which pass the
winter as larva, pupa, or imago are nearly always
motionless in very cold weather. Yet not quite
always. I have seen (and many other naturalists
have seen the same) the great Water-beetle, Dytiscus,
swimming about beneath the ice on which I was
skating. How do the motionless pupae, sticking to

FIG. 2.— Cc

st of hooks at tail-end of Simulium lar

the bark of a tree or to a gate-post, escape being
frozen ?

Gilbert White, in his account of the great frost of
1776, says that, a thaw set in on the ist of February,
" and on the 3rd swarms of little insects were frisking
and sporting in a court-yard at South Lambeth, as if
they had felt no frost. Why the juices in the small
bodies and smaller limbs of such minute beings are

6 ROUND THE YEAR

not frozen is a matter of curious enquiry." I suspect
that his little Insects were Diptera, such as Psychoda
and Trichocera hiemalis, which had escaped the ex-
treme cold by sheltering as pupae in decaying vegetable
matter, and only emerged as flies when more genial
conditions had returned.

It is surprising how great a severity of cold can be
endured by living plants and animals. Siberian
Larches endure a mean January temperature of
— 45° C., falling to a minimum of —60°, and rising
to a maximum of only —28°. Plants have been
known to survive after being covered for four years
by the advance of a glacier, and abundant vegetation
surrounds, and in places overspreads, the great glaciers
of Alaska.1

Evergreen leaves are probably protected to some
extent by unfreezable contents (essential oils, resin,
turpentine, benzine, carotin, etc.). The fluids of wood
are contained in capillary tubes, and it is well known
that under such conditions even pure water will only
freeze at a temperature below o° C. In the same way
the very minuteness of certain Insects may be a means
of safety in severe cold. We know little of the fluids
of plants in the depth of winter, but it is probable that
they are then both more scanty and more concentrated
than at other times.

Animals can be, to all appearance, frozen hard, and
yet revive. Ross found in the Arctic regions pupae
of Colias, which were hard and brittle, but afterwards
yielded Butterflies. Pierret observed the same thing

1 On the endurance of cold by plants see Seward's Fossil
Plants as Tests of Climate, ch. iii.

INSECTS AND PLANTS IN MID-WINTER 7

in the Lime Hawk-moth, Lacordaire in Leucania,
Xambeu in the Goat Moth. More than two hundred
years ago Lister had noted that caterpillars and pupae,
though frozen till they became brittle and tinkled
against glass, were capable of reviving completely.
It has even been found possible to freeze a Frog to a
rigid body without destroying life, but the trial rarely
succeeds. In all these cases it is probable that a part
only of the contained water turns to ice. Complete
freezing would remove water from the albumens and
other organic compounds of the body, and would be
certainly fatal. An extremely low temperature \vould
be necessary. Ten hours' exposure to — 16° C. was
required to solidify the contents of a Fowl's egg,
which were even then, in all probability, only partially
frozen.1 During the freezing of many solutions
and mixtures partial solidification sets in first, and the
fluid residuum becomes more and more difficult to
freeze, as solidification proceeds.

Even when we are aware of the difficulty of freezing
an animal completely, we cannot but wonder that
Mammals, Birds, Insects, and many other living crea-
tures should survive the winter cold of the far north.
I would not undertake to explain how animals which
are unable to replenish their store of energy can
endure for months together a temperature at which
mercury freezes.

The thawing of frozen tissues is in most cases even
more dangerous than the freezing itself. Diffusion-
currents break up the microscopic structures, and
change the composition of the fluids. In the same
1 Kochs, Biol. Centralblatt, 1892, 1895.

8 ROUND THE YEAR

way the mere immersion of pieces of living tissue in
pure water quickly renders them unfit for microscopic
investigation. The quicker the process of thawing the
greater the risk. Hence the well-known rule of treating
frost-bites by rubbing with snow in the open air has
theory as well as experience to support it. The noon-
day sun of winter is more deadly to plants and certain
peculiarly exposed animals than the midnight frost
itself.

WHITE OF SELBORNE.

Gilbert White's name brings up the most delightful
recollections. I can, after forty or four hundred
readings, take up the Natural History of Selborne
again, and brighten with it that last hour of the day
when work is put aside, and the house is still. What
is it which gives this unfailing charm to the memoranda
of the quiet old curate of Selborne ? First of all,
he had a considerable knowledge of his subject, which
is a condition not to be dispensed with. Then he was
a keen observer and a diligent recorder. How much
he rescued from forgetfulness by that habit of noting
things down at the time ! " Half a word fixed upon
or near the spot is worth a cart-load of recollection,"
says the poet Gray, who was naturalist and antiquary
as well as poet. White loves circumstance, and one
is, at first sight, inclined to think that he is interesting
merely because he gives you all the particulars. Try
your own hand at writing about nature, and see
whether you get a lively narrative by setting down all
the facts, great and small ! Voltaire says : — " le secret

WHITE OF SELBORNE 9

d'ennuyer est celui de tout dire." White's method is
to select and to select carefully the particulars which
have human interest ; all the rest he leaves out. He
displays the skill of the old-fashioned letter-writer,
and selects from the particulars of which his memory
is full as carefully as Madame de Sevigne. White
never forgets that his birds and insects are, or lately
were alive. Too many naturalists write about them
as they might write of Skiddaw or Stonehenge, being,
it would seem, chiefly solicitous to note where they
are to be found. But White thinks of their hardships
and expedients. His moderation and good sense are
shown by his keeping well within his own range.
Others might, like Buffon, develop their theories of the
earth in magnificent rhetoric, but White is content to
" stoop to what he understands." Few naturalists of
the last century require so little correction or
explanation in the present day.

The frosty weather has sent me once more to read
White's account of the snow-storms and frosts of
1768, 17/6 and 1784. How different is he from the
mechanical narrator, to whom all facts are equally
interesting ! White thinks about everything that he
notes down. Observe his reflections upon the effect
of intermittent cold upon trees, and shrubs, and bees ;
upon the endurance of cold by small Insects ; upon
the occurrence of great cold on low ground when it is
warmer at places a few hundred feet higher. Notice
too, the practical turn of his mind. He bids the
planter shake off the snow daily, so as to lessen the
damage due to repeated melting and freezing of the
snow upon the shrubs. He notes the shrubs which

io ROUND THE YEAR

suffered most from frost, in order that his friends may
learn to plant only such as can stand severe cold.
This is of a piece with his constant interest in house-
hold matters, the making of rushlights, the small, long,
shining fly which lays its eggs in bacon, the holes
gnawed by crickets in stockings and aprons hung to
the fire, and the like.

White foretold one of the chief applications of
Zoology to the practical affairs of mankind in the
following passage : — " A full history of noxious insects
hurtful in the field, suggesting all the known and
likely means of destroying them, would be a most
useful and important work. A knowledge of the
properties, economy, propagation, and in short of the
life and conversation of these animals, is a necessary
step to lead us to some method of preventing their
depredations."

A little elementary Physics, so cheap nowadays,
would have greatly mended some of White's explana-
tions. He thinks that thaws often originate under
ground, from warm vapours that arise. He remarks
truly enough that " when a thermometer hangs abroad
in a frosty night, the intervention of a cloud shall
immediately raise the mercury ten degrees ; and a
clear sky shall again compel it to descend to its former
gauge." But this leads him to conclude that "cold often
seems to descend from above." Nor could he interpret
his own observation of unusual cold in low-lying and
sheltered spots. It is easy now to point out that in
perfectly still weather the air which is chilled, and
therefore of greater density, will collect in hollows.
Promising boys in an elementary school are taught

SNOW-FLAKES n

many things which the observant and well-read Gilbert
White never came to know.

Would that we had a constant succession of natural-
ists of White's sort ! Natural History is being choked
by unassimilated facts, mechanically compiled by men
who have apparently ceased to think about Nature
Hence a profuse and growing literature of the most
melancholy description, dry, marrowless, useless. We
record and record till our catalogues grow too volu-
minous for storage, and too stodgy for the toughest
appetite. Why do we go on printing this stuff? Be-
cause a considerable section of the public believes in
Natural History, and is willing to pay for much that
it never reads. When the purchaser is not a reader,
the quality of the writing may sink to any level
whatever.

SNOW-FLAKES.

Jan. 6. — Snow is falling thick this morning. I
have been out of doors to look at the snow-flakes.
All that is required is a plate to catch the snow, and
a pocket-lens. The plate must not be above the
freezing-point. A sheet of coloured paper often does
as well or even better. This morning the snow-
crystals \vere not first-rate. They were large and ir-
regular, several cohering together and blurring one
another's outlines. This is usually the case when the
air is close to freezing-point and somewhat moist. If
my first inspection had been quite satisfactory, I should
have brought out a microscope, and allowing time for
cooling, should have examined the crystals more
carefully, as I have done many times before.

12 ROUND THE YEAR

In the northern countries of Europe at least the
crystalline form of snow must have been observed
very long ago, but nothing was said about it in books
till the 1 2th century, when Albertus Magnus remarked
that snow-flakes had the form of a star. Olaus

FIG. 3.— Snow-crystals, photographed by Dr. R. Neuhauss. From Prof. G.
Hellmann's Schneekrystalle.

Magnus, in his History of the Northern Nations
(T555) figures snow-flakes, but so wretchedly that he
(or his engraver) had hardly recognised that they are
always angular, much less that the angles are constant.
Kepler in 1611 noted that snow-flakes are six-rayed,

SNOW-FLAKES 13

and asked why. Cur autem sexangula? His most
hopeful suggestion was that chemists should find out
whether snow contained salts, and if so, what they
were. Descartes, to whom Meteorology and Optics
owe the first good explanation of the rainbow, figures
rather conventionally, several kinds of snow-stars,
which he observed at Amsterdam in February 1635.
The six-rayed star, branched and unbranched, the
rosette, the six-rayed star with intermediate rays, and
the pair of lamellar crystals joined by a prismatic rod
are all shown, and if we make some allowance for the
small size of the figures and the rudeness of the en-
graving, we may say that nothing is shown which does
not occur in nature. Robert Hooke in his Micro-
graphia (1665) gave many fairly good figures, and first
noticed that in branched snow-stars " the branchings
from each side of the stems were parallel to the next
stem on that side," an immediate consequence from
the fact that the secondary branches, in this case of
60°, make the same angle with the primary axes, as
these make with each other. Rosetti of Leghorn in
1 68 1 first observed the extremely minute cavities
(" capillary cavities " or " air-spaces " of modern writers)
to be found in snow-flakes. Scoresby in 1820 pub-
lished an elaborate account of the form of the snow-
flakes of the Arctic regions, figuring 96 forms, and
classifying them under five principal heads. The figures
were completed symmetrically, and the dimensions
given. Glaisherin 1855 published 150 figures of snow-
crystals, all completed symmetrically. Scoresby's
and Glaisher's figures have been copied in many
common text-books. The next step was to photo-

I4 ROUND THE YEAR

graph snow-crystals, and this has been done with
great success by Neuhauss and Nordenskiold.1 It is
obvious that photographs record many particulars
which cannot be accurately recorded by drawings,
made from objects so fugitive as snow-flakes. They
also preserve many departures from symmetry which
have been neglected in the drawings made by hand.

The large flakes, with a diameter of half or three-
quarters of an inch, are not themselves snow-crystals,
but aggregations of such, sometimes very loosely
attached. A diameter of a fifth of an inch is very
large for a snow-crystal, and the average diameter of
snow-stars, the commonest form, is only about one-
tenth of an inch (2.35 mm.) Other snow-crystals are
yet smaller. Keen sight or the help of a lens is
therefore necessary to make out the exact shape of a
snow-crystal, and all the finer details require the
microscope.

When we examine a snow-crystal carefully, we soon
learn one fact respecting it, viz., that it is six-rayed.
The crystal forms along three lines or axes lying in
one plane, which cross each other at equal angles.
Six lines proceeding from a common point at equal
angles will, of course, be 60° apart. There is a fourth
axis to the snow-crystal, which we do not recognise at
first. This represents the thickness of the crystal,
and takes a direction at right angles to the plane
in which the other (lateral} axes lie, passing through

1 Neuhauss's figures are reproduced in Hellmann's Schnee-
krystalle, a useful and interesting book, which has furnished the
materials for this historical sketch. A number of Nordenskiold's
figures are reproduced in facsimile in Nature, October 19, 1893.

SNOW-FLAKES

their place of intersection. The fourth axis is usually
so short that the crystal has hardly an appreciable
thickness ; but it may be long. Some snow-crystals
take the form of double stars separated by a
prismatic rod longer than the diameter of the stars.
Here the prismatic rod lies along the fourth axis,
which is often called tins, principal axis.

If we mark points on the three lateral axes,
equidistant from their intersection, and join these one
to another by straight
lines, we shall get a
regular hexagon, whose
angles are, of course,

8 X QO° O / T^ • N

— |r 120 (Fig. 4.)

Hexagonal plates often
enter into snow-crystals,
forming the centre, or
tipping the rays ; some
crystals are nothing but
hexagonal plates.

Solid water in all its

forms is essentially similar to the snow-crystal. During
a thaw six-sided prisms sometimes stand out from
the surface of the melting ice. The spicules which
shoot across the surface of freezing water make
angles of 60°. Hoar-frost, when studied with a lens,
is seen to be built up of six-sided crystals.

If we take any two adjacent triangles in Fig. 4 and
join them, they will form a four-sided rhomb. Three
such rhombs make up the hexagon. Rhombohedrons
are often seen to form the side branches of a principal

FIG. 4. — A regular hexagon in a circle,
with three axes crossing at angles
of 60°.

16 ROUND THE YEAR

ray, and we could easily build up certain forms of
snow-stars entirely out of rhombs. (Fig. 5.) I do
not, however, know that snow-crystals are actually
so formed throughout, though some show lines of
union which point to such an arrangement. I have
seen crystals with the centre, others with the rays
thus divided. It is uncommon to find the centre
built up apparently of rhombs. Far more frequently
it consists of a tabular hexagon, often with long rays

FIG. 5. — Snow-star, subdivided into rhombs.

proceeding from its angles, and with ribs or raised
lines taking the same direction.

Snow-crystals are very seldom quite regular.
Perfect regularity would mean that the air was still,
of uniform temperature, and uniformly supplied with
moisture. There may, however, be a near approach
to such conditions, as the great regularity of some
few crystals shows. The fall of crystals through

SNOW-FLAKES 17

great distances tends to impair their form. They are
apt to stick together and to form flakes, or to gather
moisture on one side more than on another. When
the air is quite still and very cold, a thin mist near
the ground sometimes turns to snow. This is the
" diamond dust snow " of the Arctic regions, and it is
believed to consist of very small and unusually
perfect crystals.

We cannot follow by the eye, even when aided by
the microscope, all the details of the growth of a
snow-crystal. But we can draw or photograph, and
try to interpret what we have seen.

The finest particles of liquid water, condensed from
water-vapour, attach themselves to solid bodies, as if
attracted by them. They seem to be easily attracted
through small distances by spicules of ice, and in
solidifying they commonly place themselves regularly
with respect to particles which have previously
crystallised.

Suppose that we have to begin with a single
needle of ice, and that the moisture suffices to form
more needles. They will shoot out from the sides of
the first at angles of 60°, forming a six-rayed star.
The angles are often filled up by the shooting across
of fresh needles, which make the same angle of 60°
with the primary rays, and thus a regular hexagon is
formed. It is not uncommon to find among snow-
crystals very perfect and simple hexagons. If they
grow, they will probably send out rays from their
corners. Why from the corners rather than from
their flat sides ? Because the corners project farther
into the field, and are more exposed to the contact

C

i8 ROUND THE YEAR

of floating particles. Let us suppose that each
corner has gathered its quota of particles, and
that these have arranged themselves regularly
along rays pointing towards the centre of the
hexagon, and making angles of 60° with one
another. When the rays have pushed out a good
way from the centre they will attract very feebly
some of the floating particles which lie between them.
Secondary rays will then dart out into the midst of
the particles from the primary rays, making the same
angles as before. By a repetition of the process we
may get a star of any degree of complexity, and if
the particles of moisture are uniformly distributed, its
symmetry will be perfect. But if there is more
moisture or greater cold in one part than in
another, perfect symmetry will be lost. The branch-
ing rays will shoot, but nearly always at constant
angles, into the patches of moisture and avoid dry
places, just as the growing branches of a tree push
into the sunshine and avoid the shade. Sometimes,
however, the original direction of the rays is not quite
accurately preserved. Crystal joins to crystal, not in
straight lines, but with slight deviations. This is not
the case, so far as I know, with snow-crystals, but it
is common in hoar-frost and on the frosted pane.
The neighbourhood of a solid body may possibly set
up these disturbances.

When we have got a central hexagon with rays
attached to its angles — a common, but by no means
inevitable form, there is often a change in the angle
of attachment of the secondary rays. One of the
sides of the hexagon passes from one primary ray to

SNOW-FLAKES 19

another in such a direction as to give an angle of 60°
on its inner side (nearest to the centre) and an angle
of 120° on its outer side. But at
a distance from the centre of the
crystal, we more commonly find
the angle of 120° inside, and the
angle of 60° outside. The angles
which the more distant secondary
rays make are in such cases sup-
plementary to those of the more
central secondary rays. But the
angle of 60° is still there, though FIG. e. -Angles of !»'

and 6o'J. The second-

itS place may be Changed. ary axes are turned in-

J wards near the point of

We may say that near the point intersection, and om-

wards at a greater

of intersection of the primaries distance.
the secondary rays are turned as
nearly towards the centre as their angle of 60° allows,
while at a greater distance they are turned away from
the centre. Why is this? The first arrangement is the
most compact, the other the least compact possible.
Near the centre there is at first an excess of moisture,
and here the rays will be crowded, often forming a
solid mass ; all turn towards the centre. As the rays
shoot further and further out the moisture becomes
less plentiful ; it was presumably less plentiful from
the first, and the growth of the crystal has further
diminished it. Now the new rays will take that
arrangement which spaces them most widely ; they
will all tuvnfrojn the centre.

It is a good plan to draw all snow-crystals that are
observed. A pair of compasses and a ruler are
wanted. If you wish to draw a regular hexagon,

C 2

20 ROUND THE YEAR

notice that the radius of the circle which bounds the
hexagon is exactly the length of one of the sides. It
is convenient to have ready a card cut to the figure of
a rhomb, with angles of 60° and 120°. These can be
got from the hexagon. Lines drawn from the angles
to the centre meet at 60°, and each angle of the
hexagon is 120°. As a rule, half of one ray of the
crystal is enough to show the crystalline form, and it
is generally best to draw no more.

So far we have neglected the thickness of the
crystals, and have tieated them as flat. But snow-
crystals are of three dimensions, and the third
dimension is often too large to be neglected. We
saw that the angles of the flat figure projected farther
from the centre than the rest, and generally gathered
more floating particles to themselves. It is the same
with the edges and solid angles of the crystal of
three dimensions. Suppose a great number of small
spheres to cohere into a crystalline form, which for
the sake of simplicity we will suppose to be cubical
On one of the flat faces each particle will be half
immersed and half exposed. The particles along an
edge will be one-quarter immersed and three-quarters
exposed The particle at a solid angle will be one-
eighth immersed and seven-eighths exposed. The
greater the exposure the greater the possibility of
attracting floating particles, and this helps us to
understand how edges grow faster than flat faces,
and solid angles faster than edges.1 But exceptions
to the rule are not uncommon, especially in very
small crystals.

1 Sollas, Nature, Dec. 29, 1892.

SNOW-FLAKES 21

Hoar-frost often gives us good examples of the
tendency of crystals to grow out from their points
and edges. When the air is still, very cold, and laden
with moisture, a white crystalline growth forms on
trees, bushes and grass. If we examine it with a

FIG. 7. — Hollow hexagonal "hopper-crystals" of ice, from Surtshellir Cavern,
Iceland. From Grossmann and Lomas, Nature, Oct. 18, 1894.

lens we shall see many needles, growing at the
point. We shall also find hexagonal " hopper-
crystals," that is hollow pyramids, attached by the apex
and with the cavity turned towards the sky. These
are due to more rapid growth of the edges of the
crystal. Air-currents and other disturbing causes

ROUND THE YEAR

affect the regularity of the crystalline masses, and the
freaks of hoar-frost are many.

Many snow-crystals exhibit under the microscope

FIG. 8. — Natural hoar-frost, Christmas, 1892 ( n,f, natural size, the rest enlarged).
From Grossmann and Lomas, Nature, Oct. 18, 1894.

cavities containing air, or water, or both. These
cavities are sometimes of very regular form, spheres,
or elongated tubes pointed at each end. In other
cases three sides of the hexagon exhibit one
pattern (a. Fig. 9) and alternate with three sides of
different pattern (£.)'. The similar crystals of hoar-
frost have never been found to contain such cavities.

SNOW-FLAKES 23

The star-like crystals are believed to form only in
great cold, as in the upper regions of the air. Tabular
crystals, or flat hexagonal plates, form at higher
temperatures. They are common in the lower layers
of fallen snow, and appear to the eye as minute
lustrous scales. The crystalline form must have
undergone change, for tabular crystals rarely fall
from the sky.

A sufficiently low temperature will produce snow
direct from water-vapour. The story of the Peters-

FIG. 9 —Hexagonal snow-crystal, with star-shaped cavity. The alternate triangular
fields (a, b) differ in pattern. Photographed from nature by Nordenskiold.
Nature, Oct. 19. 1893.

burg ball-room is well known. The hall was crowded
with people and ladies were fainting from heat, when
some one opened a window, and the cold air rushing
in caused snow to fall. Maupertuis observed in
Lapland that the mere opening of a door caused big
snow-flakes to fall in the hut. Cold readily forms

24 ROUND THE YEAR

snow in the vacuum of a water-barometer. Muncke
took an exhausted glass bulb and set it, during frost,
in the open window of a room, which though not
heated, was warmer than the outer air. A little ice
had been allowed to form on one side of the interior
of the bulb, and this was turned towards the room.
Before long the invisible water-particles passed into
vapour, and crossing the bulb formed a loose mass of
perfectly formed crystals on the opposite side.

Snow, as it lies on the ground, contains much air.
Its density is only one -tenth or one-twelfth that of
water. Nordenskiold remarks that even below freez-
ing point snow may contain so much water as to
drip.

In ancient and mediaeval times it was believed that
long-continued and severe cold could squeeze all the
liquidity out of water, and that the permanently solid
rock-crystal was formed upon the Alps in this way.
Rock-crystal is now known to be crystallised silica,
which nearly always takes the form of six-sided
prisms or pyramids.

Why is snow white ? Water, ice, glass and other
transparent bodies are not white. But water is
white when broken into spray or foam. Ice and
glass becomes white when pounded or filled with
small air-bubbles. Leeuwenhoeck, two hundred
years ago, showed that milk owes its whiteness to
minute globules of oil suspended in a watery fluid.
A body is white when it reflects much white light.
Transparent bodies reflect some light from their
surfaces, but allow a great deal to pass through. The
more they are broken up, the more numerous do the

BURIED IN THE SNOW 25

reflecting surfaces become, and the smaller the
quantity of light which is able to pass through.

It will be seen that some progress has been made
since Kepler's time in the scientific study of snow,
but we are still quite unable to answer that question
of his, Cur autem sexangula ? Why are snow-stars
six-pointed ?

BURIED IN THE SNOW.

The large quantity of air entangled in loose snow
helps us to understand how sheep and even human
beings can survive long burial in snow-drifts.
Samuel Bowditch, an old writer in the Philosophical
Transactions, tells the following story : — Joanna
Crippen, of Chardstock, in Dorsetshire, a spinner of
worsted, went home on the 24th of January (1712 ?)
when it was snowing hard. She lost one of her
shoes, and her clothes, which were very poor, were
torn by the brambles. At last she lay down under a
hedge, it being then about six o'clock on Monday
evening. She was not discovered till the following
Sunday afternoon, when a party of searchers found
her buried four feet deep. A man thrust a pole into
the heap when she cried out and begged him not to
push her so hard. When dug out she had no shoes
or stockings on. Her clothes were very scanty. Her
shoulders were covered by an old whittle * in which
she had gnawed a large hole. She had drunk the
snow which melted on her body to quench her thirst.

1 A whittle was a piece of 'white (undyed) cloth, or blanket.

26 ROUND THE YEAR

One of her great toes was mortified (frost-bitten ?), but
she soon recovered, and at the time of writing was
described as 'very hearty.'1 It is well known that
the inmates of dwellings buried deep in snow by
avalanches have survived for several weeks in more
than one case.

BIRDS IN MID-WINTER.

The snow has driven the Red-breasts towards the
habitations of man. Some of them are quite fearless,
and hop about within a few feet of a window at which
faces appear. Others are shy, and keep aloof except
when pressed by hunger. They are solitary birds,
and are never seen in flocks, rarely two together,
except when mating. The old proverb, " One bush
does not lodge two Red-breasts," is very fairly true.
Naturalists have studied with care the limited migra-
tions of the Red-breasts. They travel south in
autumn and return in spring, but in England or
Central Europe, Red-breasts are to be found through-
out the year. Some go and others take their place ;
some arrive and others depart.

A few days ago I heard a Red-breast singing
lustily out of a leafless tree. There is no time of
year when they are silent, but in spring their sweet
and varied, though not powerful song, is drowned in
the chorus of newly-returned songsters. Even in
August, which White calls " the most mute month the
spring, summer, and autumn through," the Red-breast
" tunes his merry note." Black-birds, Sky-larks, and
1 Philosophical Transactions, No. 337, p. 265 (1713).

BIRDS IN MID-WINTER 27

Song-thrushes occasionally sing in the depth of
winter, and the less melodious noise of the Missel-
thrush, the Wren, the Starling, the Hedge Sparrow,
the Chaffinch, the Yellowhammer, the Corn Bunting
and the Tits may be heard both early and late, in
some cases all round the year. I believe that the
Missel-thrush never sings except in winter or early
spring.

We have few birds as yet about our new-built house,
but we shall have more before long. The boys have
thrown out corn, and bread, and sand for the starving
birds Sand is as necessary as food in snowy
weather, for a bird with an empty gizzard cannot
digest its food.1 When our shrubs and trees have
grown there will be better shelter, and that will
greatly increase the number of our visitors

Birds endure great hardships when the ground
is covered with snow for many days together, but I
fancy that they care little for mere cold. Such as are
fond of bathing will bathe in an ice-cold spring on
a frosty morning, and you will rarely find a bird of
any kind seeking shelter from a cutting north-east
wind. Rain is a different thing. Many birds do not
like to get their plumage wet. There is sometimes
talk of birds perishing from cold, but it will generally
be found by close inquiry into the circumstances that
they were short of food and water when they
succumbed.

Grouse were plentiful after the hard winter of 1895,
but in January, 1886, they suffered greatly. Repeated
falls of snow and alternations of frost and thaw
1 The sand should be coarse and sharp.

28 ROUND THE YEAR

covered the ground with a thick and solid frozen
mass. The birds strayed in great numbers into the
valley of the Wharfe, and were found in the culti-
vated fields along the river. Many were said to be
injured by dashing against the telegraph wires.1

THE DEPTH TO WHICH THE GROUND FREEZES.

Jan. 9. — A question came up to-day which I was
unable to answer off-hand. This is our first winter in
a new house, and the domestic management wants to
know whether our water-main, which lies about 2 ft.
6 in. below the surface of the ground, is liable to
freeze. I have never had occasion to consider this
question, and was, at first, unable to give a clear
answer. By and by it occurred to me that the insect
larvae, which winter in the ground, are often found
less than a foot deep. It seems probable, therefore,
that frost does not usually penetrate to the depth of
one foot.

Jan. 11. — Mr. G. J. Symons, F.R.S., who has made
long and careful observations of underground tem-
perature, gives me in a letter received this morning
some interesting particulars. " The earth," he says,
" at one foot below its surface very rarely reaches 32°
F. Here (Camden Square, London) it fell to 32-2°
on Jan. 6 and 7, 1893, and to 32° on Jan. 29, 31, and
Feb. i to 5, 1880. It did not fall to 32° here in 1875,
but it just reached it at the gardens of the Royal
Botanic Society, Regent's Park, on Jan. I, 2, 3 and 4,

1 Zoologist, March, 1886.

DEPTH TO WHICH THE GROUND FREEZES 29

1875. Mains for water supply are usually put 2 ft.
below the surface to avoid all risk, and I remember,
but cannot give details, that in a small Hertfordshire
town an engineer did the economical and put his
pipes at one foot. A big frost came, and every main
was cracked ! '

It is a comfort to know that our water-main is
tolerably safe. As to underground larvae, Mr. Symons
adds : — " I should think that larvae in walls, etc.,
generally get below 32°, but that those that get down
6 in. underground very rarely do so — perhaps one
year in five."

So I wrote on Jan. 11. The next few weeks were
instructive. In the first place the underground
temperatures of the spring of 1895 greatly extended
the maximum depth at which a freezing temperature
was ascertained. The thermometers showed that

Frost penetrated to i ft, at 1 1 stations.

„ „ i ft. 6 in. 3 ,,

„ „ 2 ft. i station.

„ „ 2 ft. 6 in. no station.

While this was the story told by the thermometers,
the water-mains indicated an even greater penetration
of the frost. At Maidenhead, Hatfield and Shrews-
bury the mains froze at 2 ft. 6 in., and at Musselburgh
at over 3 ft. The damage done all over the country
was very great. In Liverpool 27,000 houses were
without water at one time. In Sheffield nearly
170,000 persons were without proper water-supply.
Selkirk reported that so many bursts had occurred
that no attempt would be made to repair, but new

30 ROUND THE YEAR

mains would be laid throughout. From Devonshire
to Inverness the same tale of trouble was heard.1

Mr. Symons explains the discrepancy between the
thermometers and the mains in this way. The frost
never really penetrated the soil to pipes at such
depths as 2 ft. 6 in., but water cooled almost to
freezing-point in uncovered reservoirs was steadily
delivered into the pipes, and chilled the surrounding
soil. This of itself would not have frozen the water
in the mains, but further loss of heat was experienced
by conduction along the shallow service-pipes and
the pipes supplying the hydrants in the streets.
These effected a perfect metallic communication
between the mains and the surface of the ground at a
time when the air for a long time together was little
above zero.

The service-pipes are led off from the top of the
mains. If they could be led off from the sides the
risk of freezing would be appreciably reduced, but
the cost and labour of connection would be materially
increased.

Our mains^ never froze at all, and as the frost of
1895 is believed to be the hardest for eighty years,
we shall face future frosts with a light heart.

THE GREAT FROST OF 1895.

The frost lasted from Dec. 29 to Mar. 5 (nine
and a half weeks), but was broken by a mild interval

1 Symons's Monthly Meteorological Magazine for April, May,
and June, 1895, contains much information respecting the frost
and its effects, of which I have made use here.

THE GREAT FROST OF 1895 31

(Jan. 14-21). For seventy consecutive days (Dec. 26
to Mar. 5) the thermometer fell below freezing-point
during some part of the twenty-four hours. The
mean temperature for the whole period was 27'5°, and
the daily minimum averaged 22°. The greatest ex-
tremity of cold observed in England was — 11° at
Buxton. Northerly winds prevailed during most of
the time, an area of high pressure being pretty constant
in the north, and an area of low pressure in the south
of Europe. The ice on ponds attained a thickness
of over ten inches. On the whole the frost was
considered the most severe since that of I8I4.1

On our commons and moors the Furze was much
injured, and the following summer many dead or
partly dead bushes were seen. In Yorkshire Furze is
near its northern limit ; it gets into the North of
Scotland, but its frequency diminishes greatly. On
the Continent it does not extend north of Denmark.

Fruit-eating Birds, especially the Black-bird, Thrush,
and Linnet, were so reduced in numbers that in the
summer of 1895 little damage was done to fruit,
and nets were laid aside which had previously been
absolutely necessary to protect the fruit-crops.
Mountain Ash berries, in places where the trees are
ordinarily cleared by the birds every autumn, remained
unmolested in singular profusion.

Even in the sea the effects of the long and severe
cold were felt. Oysters and Mussels suffered much
from hard frosts at low tides. Whelks and Scallops
were killed in great numbers. Fishes and other
marine animals were thrown up on the shore, dead or
1 Bayard and Marriott, Roy. Met. Soc., 1895.

32 ROUND THE YEAR

helpless. In the following season it was observed by
the French fishermen that nearly all the large Shrimps
had been killed, and that only young and small ones
could be fished. The mortality extended to consider-
able depths (15-25 metres). It was observed that
animals which are usually found only in water of fair
depth came close to shore during the frost.1

There is a general impression that injurious insects
are kept in check by severe winters, but I know of no
direct and extensive evidence in support of the view.
The hard winter of 1894-5 was followed by a season
in which insects, whether injurious or not, showed no
diminution of numbers.2

UNDER THE CRAGS.

I have so much dry information to pour out that I
will venture to waste a page or two upon my own
surroundings. The chapter will be short, and will
contain little useful matter.

We live on a steep slope which runs down from
Rumbalds Moor to the Wharfe. Here the river flows
from west to east, and we are on the southern bank,
facing due north. The skyline behind the house is
rugged with cliffs and fallen blocks of sandstone,
among which are the locally famous Cow and Calf.
Below these is a fringe of moor, overgrown with
heather, crowberry and moss. Then comes a narrow
strip of pasture, on the low side of which is our
garden fence. Below us is a rolling mass of grassy

1 Fauvel Comptes Rendus, CXXI. pp. 427-429 (1895).

2 Miss Ormerod's Report on Injurious Insects for 1895.

UNDER THE CRAGS 33

hillocks, which rest upon a gentle slope. Across the
river is a great hillside, six miles long as seen from
our windows, which culminates to the west in
Beamsley Beacon ; the higher parts are heathery, the
lower slopes covered with wood and pasture.

The two sides of the valley might be called Security
and Desolation. The opposite slope is stable, and
will never move unless all Yorkshire is shaken. Our
side is wild and rugged, because of great landslips.
We have the better prospects and the more picturesque
rocks, but the other side gets the best of the sunshine.
In December the sun never shines upon our house for
two full hours in the day.

From the Cow and Calf to a line well below our
house the whole hillside has slipped. The form of
the ground tells the tale. The great sandstone cliffs
have been cracked through, and the insufficiently
supported edge has fallen in wild ruin, pushing before
it great mounds of shale and clay. Near the line of
fracture great fissures run through the sandstone, as
if more would fall some day. The Calf is on the
slipped ground, the Cow is part of the cliff which has
stood firm. A quarter of a mile to the west of us
the fallen rocks are piled into a long and steep ridge.
Between them and the clifts from which they have
broken away lies a considerable hollow, called the
Rocky Valley. Eastwards the slip increases in
volume, and covers almost all the hillside as seen
from the river.

What brought down this great sheet of rocks and
earth, which measures more than a square mile in
extent? One usual condition of a landslip is con-

D

34 ROUND THE YEAR

spicuous here — a steep slope of comparatively soft
rock (shale) surmounted by a thick bed of hard rock
(sandstone). If the strata were to dip ever so little
outwards, towards the river, the fall would be hastened.
I cannot say that there is any marked outward dip
here, for the sandstone is irregularly bedded and
shaken, so that no good observation can be made, but
there is a marked dip towards the head of the valley.
Did the river ever wash the base of the slope and so
undermine the cliffs ? I think that this was not the
cause. Below the hummocks of slipped shale and
clay comes a gentle slope, which has never been
disturbed or cut into by the river. It is worth notice
that the whole landslip is full of water. Springs
break out all over its surface, and the rough pastures
are never dry.

No history, no tradition of the great slip is pre-
served ; it may have taken place, for all that we know,
many thousand years ago, before England was peopled
at all. The great lapse of time during which the sur-
face has remained unchanged is our chief reason for
living tranquilly on the scene of so great ruin.

Near to the Cow and Calf are sandstone quarries,
chiefly interesting for the planing and scratching of
ice upon the bared surfaces of the rock. Some of
these ice-planes, as well as the big " day-stones "
which lie around, bear the rude sculptures known as
cup-and-ring marks. When and why they were made
no one knows, though antiquarian conjecture is profuse.
Flint chips and stone tools are occasionally picked up,
while circles and cairns are plentiful on the moor, the
relics of tribes whose name has perished.

UNDER THE CRAIGS

36 ROUND THE YEAR

The allurements of the spot are pure and bracing
air, wide prospects, and constant incitements to
exercise. The naturalist finds a profusion of flowers
and streams swarming with aquatic insects. Mr.
McLachlan l witnessed an extraordinary spectacle in
our valley in the end of September, 1873. All the
way from Ilkley to Bolton Abbey (about seven miles)
the valley swarmed with a rather uncommon Caddis
fly (Halesus auricollis]. When a branch was shaken
the air became alive with the flies, and they covered
the grass. I think I have never found any stream
quite so full of aquatic insects as Beamsley Beck,
which empties itself into the Wharfe close to Bolton
Bridge.

We have hill and valley ; moor, woodland, meadow
and pasture ; endless streams and fountains. Few
places in England offer more variety, and the
naturalist's great danger is that of distraction. Every
day there is some new thing to note, and he is apt to
become hasty and desultory.

On this bleak slope, which faces due north, and is
open to every wind which has north in it, we can grow
few plants to advantage. When I was putting in trees
and shrubs I ventured to aspire to Apple trees.
" Apples ? " said the nurseryman. " Yes, you might get
blossoms in a good season, and of course there would be
the leaves to look at." I climbed down, and contented
myself with Gooseberries and Black Currants. Our
Cabbages and Lettuces are a success, and the rockery
is gay with Alpines, but we attempt nothing that fears
the wind.

1 Entotn. Month. Mag., Vol. X. p. 140 (1873).

UNDER THE CRAGS 37

How is it that the Sycamore endures our wintry
gales so bravely? There are many well grown
Sycamores around, both young and old, with shapely
heads, and no swerving to one side. Elms, oaks and
ashes all bend away from the west. If we were to
judge from the Sycamores alone, we should be inclined
to say that the wind never raged along this hill-side.
The Sycamore is a true Alpine tree, ascending to
over 5,000 feet in Switzerland and other mountainous
countries.

The place is at its best on a fine summer evening.
The sun then sets behind Barden Moor, and his rays
are reflected to us from a sickle-shaped bend of the
river. The low, square church-tower is bathed in
ruddy light. On such an evening it is delightful to
sit upon our terrace and watch the colours on the
hills change and fade, till the long ridges of moorland
stand out black against the still luminous sky.

Some faint historic flavour clings to Denton, a little
village across the river, for it was one of the homes of
the Fairfaxes. Sir Thomas Fairfax chanced to be
born here in 1612, his father then usually dwelling in
a house which still stands in the adjoining valley of
the Washburn. The old hall came into the hands of
a family of Leeds clothiers, who rebuilt it in 1760. The
present Denton Hall is handsome and well-placed,
but has no historical associations. Middleton Hall
is a manor-house of a kind not uncommon in York-
shire. Though not remarkable in itself, it is fortunate
in its commanding position, in the woods which form
a background to it, and in the sloping lawns which
stretch from its door to the Wharfe. Not in sight,

38 ROUND THE YEAR

but continually in our thoughts, is something better
than Denton or Middleton. Beyond the shoulder of
Beamsley Fell is Bolton Abbey, the pride of Wharfe-
dale, and it gives a vague charm to the westward
prospect to know that the river which shines in our
valley at sundown has flowed beneath Barden Tower
and through Bolton Woods.

PHI AND THETA.

We keep a dog and a cat. The dog is a fox-
terrier, the cat an Angora, but neither is well-bred. A
really valuable animal runs too great risk of being
stolen, and we prefer pets who give us no anxiety.
The money value of our animals is negligible, but they
are very dear to us.

Fi is a natural abbreviation of Fido, and Fi (spelt
Phi) suggests Theta to any one who has been through
the elements of trigonometry. It was a professor of
mathematics who suggested Theta as a good name for
the companion of Phi.

Phi and Theta are very good friends. They will
lie down together, and keep one another warm. It is
true that when Phi is boisterous, Theta will jump upon
a chair or work-table, and if seriously alarmed will
spit and strike. She will now and then provoke the
dog out of mere caprice. When Phi is trotting past
bent upon business of his own, she has been seen to
put out a paw and scratch him. But such interruptions
of amity are rare.

When Theta first arrived, a mere kitten, and found

PHI AND THETA 39

herself alone among strangers, and in the presence of
a rather terrible dog, she summoned up her courage
and stood bravely on the defensive. Nature has taught
the cat how to make up for small size and weakness,
by pluck and nimbleness. In those early days Phi
learned that a cat's claws are sharp and a dog's nose
tender.

In presence of a dangerous animal the cat arches
her back and erects her tail. This increases her
apparent size, and is calculated to strike terror into the
enemy. It is curious that the cat assumes very nearly
the same attitude when she comes into the room, or
sees the family enter. Now her object is to attract
attention, and with this end in view, she rubs herself
against your legs or your chair, and purrs. The
similarity of the attitude assumed under such ex-
tremely different circumstances may be explained by
supposing that apparent increase of size is useful,
either to inspire terror or to attract friendly notice.
It seems to me a little discordant with Darwin's
Principle of Antithesis, which is, that gestures
appropriate to a strongly marked state of mind will
be reversed when the state of mind is reversed, and
this whether the reversed gestures are serviceable or
not.1

Where is Angora, and what is the history of the
Angora cat ? It is a proof of a want of curiosity about
certain kinds of facts that very few people can ever
tell where Angora is, though the name is so familiar.
Put the question in your own family-circle, and see
how many know. Angora is in the central highlands
1 Expression of the Emotions, Ch. II.

40 ROUND THE YEAR

of Asia Minor, and has been a place of note for 2,000
years. Under the name of Ancyra it was the capital
of the Roman province of Galatia. Not only. the cats,
but the goats and dogs of Angora have thick, long,
and silky hair. This is attributed to the action of the
climate, which is very cold in winter and hot in
summer, and we are told that all these animals lose
much of their beauty when taken away from their
native country.

I am fond of a cat, and I admire her yet more than
I love her. The cat has a beauty which comes of
perfect adaptation to a life of emergencies. She
is light, swift, adroit, quick to perceive, quick to act.
She is most at home on trees, where her wild pro-
genitors sought their prey. The stealthy and self-
effacing movement by which a cat in pursu t of a bird
creeps along a bough reminds us of a tree-snake.
The peculiar iris of a cat, which can change the pupil
from a vertical slit to a circle, is excellently suited to
an animal which has continually to pass from the
shade of dense foliage into full sunlight, and back
again into shade. The presence of mind of the cat is
marvellous. I have seen a cat chased by two dogs
into a corner of a yard with high walls, but the
cat escaped unharmed by a gymnastic feat which
involved running for several feet up a vertical wall,
turning in the air, alighting on the back of one of the
dogs, and springing thence to the top of a gate.

Perhaps no animal surpasses the cat, and few rival
her in the power of alighting on her feet when
accidentally falling. The mechanics of this wonderful
accomplishment, which must often preserve the cat's

PHI AND THETA 41

life, have been elucidated by the instantaneous and
successive photographs of Marey.1 One serious
difficulty in the way of any explanation consists in
the circumstance that a fulcrum, or point of resist-
ance, is required for any movement of rotation, and it
is not easy to see what fulcrum the falling cat can
employ. It had been previously conjectured that the
cat, at the moment of letting go its hold, might use
the supporting object as a fulcrum in order to rotate
its body as required. This was never a very likely
explanation, considering that the cat is usually dis-
lodged by surprise, and that the rotation caused by a
sudden shove-off would be pretty sure to continue too
long or not long enough. A second hypothesis
attributed the turning of the body of the cat to
the resistance of the air, but this is disposed of, like
the first, by examination of the photographs. The
cat, while falling, brings the feet round towards the
ground, first the fore feet, and then the hind feet.
This is accomplished by the twisting of the body. In
order to twist, one end of the body must be fixed, or
at least retarded in its revolution. When suddenly
let go, the cat gathers up her fore legs, pressing them
against her neck, and as near as possible to the axis of
the body. In this position their moment of inertia is
a minimum, that is, they are as free as possible to
rotate. But the hind legs are extended, so as to make
their moment of inertia a maximum, that is, to oppose
the strongest possible resistance to rotation. The
hind legs become for an instant a fulcrum, or

1 Comptes Rendus, CIX., p. 714 (1894). The figures are
reproduced in Nature, Nov. 22, 1894.

42 ROUND THE YEAR

relatively fixed point against which the fore legs can
act. Then the fore legs are extended and the hind
legs gathered up close to the body, when the inertia of
the fore legs furnishes a fulcrum for the rotation of
the hind ones. The cat can right herself, and alight
on her feet in a very short space. A cat, let go back
downwards, with only six inches of clear space
beneath her, alighted on her feet. Those who are
inclined to repeat the experiment may be warned
that the cat dislikes the operation extremely, and
that repeated trials are apt to cause vomiting.

A cat will show something which looks like affec-
tion. But I fear she is utterly selfish at heart, even
when she is happy, even when she affects to love you.
Theta is quite demonstrative before meals, and bids
you notice how much she enjoys your company.
But when the meat is carried out, Theta follows it to
the kitchen. She never tries to ingratiate herself
when she has been fed within an hour or two.
Chamfort detects selfishness in her very gestures, —
" II ne vous caresse pas ; il se caresse sur vous."

I have set down my general impression of cat
nature. But I make haste to add that not every cat
is hopelessly selfish. The kindness of the mistress
now and then meets with an affectionate return, and
the maternal instinct has been known to incline the
cat to love an animal of a different species. Mr.
Hammond, to whom the readers of my books owe so
many excellent figures, tells me that a puppy was
brought into his house just at the time when the cat
had been robbed of her kittens. She bestowed upon
him some of her maternal regard, and to this day will

PHI AND THETA 43

carry about a piece of meat, lay it before him, and
gladly see him devour it. Several times she has
brought him live mice, in the vain hope that he too
would become a mouser.

The dog is simple-minded and has little artifice.
Phi will leave his dinner to follow my youngest boy,
who delights to race him over the moors. When the
snow lay on the hills the boy had his sledge out, and
Phi would scamper by his side and bite his feet in
full career. He was glad to ride by his master's side
down the slopes. Even when put on the sledge by
himself, he submitted and shot down the hill-side
without flinching, though his attitude was dejected,
and he wore an anxious air. I fancy he enjoyed it as
little as a man subject to sea-sickness enjoys a sail
with a fresh breeze, but he never shirked. If you
make a companion of your dog, he will share all
risks with you.

The dog attends to what you say ; the cat does
not, unless indeed she grows in time to understand a
particular word as a call to meat. The dog has the
idea of conversation, though articulate speech has
been denied him. It is well for us and for him that
he cannot speak, for I am certain that he would say
the same thing over and over again to our utter
weariness. Since he cannot speak, he looks at us,
and there is great expression in a dog's look, which
we should fail to appreciate if he were able to
accompany it by foolish speeches.

Society has made the disposition of the dog, want
of society the disposition of the cat. The wild dog
hunts in packs, and that means combination, some

44 ROUND THE YEAR

degree of fellow-feeling, some degree of self-sacrifice.
But the cat is solitary, goes her own way in silence,
and seeks her prey unaided. The short-lived but
intense love of the mother-cat for her young ones is
the only generous sentiment in cat-life.

How curious that an animal so selfish, so cruel, so
fond of concealment and loneliness, should have ever
established itself in the dwellings of man ! Other
carnivores of like tastes have done the same thing. The
white-breasted Martin has been supposed to have been
the common domestic vermin-killer of the ancients.
The Genet is still domesticated here and there on the
shores of the Mediterranean, and makes a tolerable
cat.1 Love of mice, it would appear, may in these
animals overpower the fear of man. But I suspect
that these cats, feline, musteline, or viverrine, were
first brought into the house as helpless kittens, and
had no choice in the matter. Their usefulness and
cleanliness made them agreeable inmates, and the
cat for her part came to value shelter, warmth, and
food. But she is not truly of the human family ; she
is a wild animal, which pays us the compliment of
residence with us. Her attachment is to the house

1 Rolleston, "Domestic Cats, Ancient and Modern," Journal
of Anatomy, Vol. II. p. 57. Rolleston and Hehn believe that
no domestic cat was known to the Greeks and Romans. Some
of the Greek vases in the British Museum, especially F 207,
F 126, and £171, show cat-like animals which appear to be tame
and companionable. The spotted cat led in a string (E 172) is
perhaps a Leopard or Panther, which was familiar to the Greeks,
as a well-known passage of the Iliad shows (XXI. 572-8). The
domestication of the cat in Egypt must surely have led to its
occasional introduction into Greece and Italy.

PHI AND THETA 45

and not to us. The cat never longs to talk to us.
So little altered is the cat by long domestication that
she can manage perfectly well by herself, procuring
her own food and bringing up her young in the
woods. I have examined a dead cat which had
lurked in a copse for about a year, without ever
approaching a dwelling. At last it took to felony,
stole chickens, and had to be shot It was sleek and
well-nourished, more muscular than common.

The history of our breed of domestic cats is
obscure. Naturalists are agreed that it is not identi-
cal with the wild cat of Northern Europe. Cuvier
could discover no anatomical difference between
mummied Egyptian cats and our tame cats, but in
this family the specific distinctions are sometimes
very slight. Cats have been domesticated in India
from remote times. The first mention of the cat in
English literature that I have been able to discover is
in Piers Ploughman : —

" There was no ratton of the rout, for all the reame of France,
That durste bind the bell about the catte's neck." x

It has been said that the cat, like sugar and many
other useful articles, was first brought to Western
Europe in the ships of returning Crusaders. There
are, however, indications that some domestic cat,
whether of eastern or native origin, was familiar in
these islands before the Crusades. The code of
Howell dda, published with a translation by the

1 The Gesta Romanorum, which Oesterley supposes to have
been written in England towards the end of the thirteenth
century, and therefore about a hundred years before Langland,
mentions the same fable.

-

46 ROUND THE YEAR

Record Commissioners, dates from the early part of
the tenth century. Some, if not all, of the following
extracts, probably belong to that time : —

" The worth of a cat and her qualities, this is.
i. The worth of a kitten, from the night it is kittened
until it shall open its eyes, is a legal penny. 2. And
from that time, until it shall kill mice, two legal
pence 3. And after it shall kill mice, four legal
pence ; and so it always remains. 4. Her qualities
are to see, to hear, to kill mice, to have her claws
entire, to rear and not to devour her kittens ; and if
she be bought, and be deficient in any one of those
qualities, let one-third of her worth be returned."

The worth of a cat was, according to an old Welsh
law, to be estimated thus : the cat was to be held
by the end of the tail, with her nose touching an even
floor. Wheat was then to be poured over her, until the
end of her tail was hidden. " And afterwards this
was altered, and there was fixed upon her four legal
pence."

" Three animals which reach their worth at a year :
a sheep, a cat, and a cur."

" This is the complement of a lawful hamlet :
nine buildings, and one plough, and one kiln, and
one churn, and one cat, and one cock, and one bull,
and one herdman."

" Whoever shall sell a cat, is to answer for her not
going a-caterwauling every moon ; and that she have
ears, eyes, teeth and nails ; and being a good
mouser." l

1 Ancient Laws and Institutes of Wales, pp. 136, 283, 426,
495, 743-

WHICH ARE THE WETTEST MONTHS ? 47

Cormac's Irish Glossary of the tenth century,
says that poets eat the flesh of the pig, dog, and cat.

The English law, until a quite recent date, treated
cats and dogs as wild animals incapable of being
stolen. Evtn now there are slight differences in the
eye of the law between a cat or a dog and a horse or a
cow. It is not a felony to steal a dog for the first time,
and accordingly the thief is often indicted for steal-
ing the dog's collar, as that entails a more severe
punishment.

The status of the dog in some eastern countries
suggests that he first entered dwellings for refuse and
scraps, that he was a thief and a parasite long before
he became the companion of man. But the social
qualities of the dog originated still earlier, and
were developed by life in the pack. If this is true of
the dog, it ought to be true of the wolf too. Perhaps
the wolf has social possibilities, and might be made
into a delightful companion if only we could get over
the awkwardness of the first approaches.

WHICH ARE THE WETTEST MONTHS?

The old name, " February fill-dyke," seems to
point to long experience of February as a particularly
wet month. On questioning my friends as to their
impressions, I am told that the winter months are
considered decidedly the wettest, late spring and
early summer the driest. But we need not trust to
impressions^* let us compare our impressions with the
rain-gauge. Messrs. Richardson and Co. of York

48 ROUND THE YEAR

give us the figures for central Yorkshire in their
handbook on Artificial Fertilisers. They have taken
the average monthly rainfall for forty-six years (1849
to 1894), and have arranged the months in order of
dryness, allowing for the varying number of days in
the month. " This brings out the interesting fact that
in this district the first four months of the year differ
but little in their rainfall, and are the driest of the
twelve ; that the amount of the rainfall rises steadily
through May and June to July, which has usually a
much larger rainfall than any earlier month. After
this the record declines evenly through August and
September, only to rise again in October, which
shares with July the joint distinction of being the
wettest of the twelve ; the comparatively dry months
of November and December leading up to the still
drier months of the opening year."

The next thing is to find out whether the distribu-
tion of the rain according to season is the same in
other parts of the country. Mr. R. H. Scott l gives
the monthly rainfall for London. March is the driest
month, October the wettest, a secondary maximum
occurring in July. The seasonal distribution in
London is therefore much the same as at York.
But when we examine the records of the western
counties we find a difference. The maximum for the
year comes later, in November, and the spring is not
so dry as in the eastern counties.

Are our beliefs as to the wetness of winter and the
dryness of summer mere mistakes ? Not at all ! We
judge by the state of the ground, not by the amount
1 Elementary Meteorologv^ Fig. 38.

ANIMALS WITH AND WITHOUT COMBS 49

of rainfall. In the cold season the evaporation is
greatly less than in summer. Hence though less rain
falls in December and January than in July and
August, it fills the dykes much more effectually. The
ground is wetter, the springs and rivers fuller in
average winter than in average summer weather.

ANIMALS WITH AND WITHOUT COMBS.

I sit by the fire and lazily watch Theta cleaning and
smoothing her fur. She not only washes, but combs
her fur with her tongue. We have all allowed some
pet Cat to lick our hands, and know very well that
she has a rough tongue. Cuvier tells us that the
Lion's tongue is so rough that it can be used to rasp
the flesh from the bones, and it has been said that the
Cat's tongue is used in the same way. In the case of
the Lion, the horny, recurved, claw-like papillae are
nearly a quarter of an inch long, but I doubt whether
the Cat's tongue is an efficient rasp. What then is the
use of the horny papillae which the Cat too possesses ?
I think that they are chiefly serviceable as a comb, and
that it is because the Cat bears fur, and not because
she devours flesh that she has a prickly tongue ? Are
then all fur-bearing animals provided with a prickly
tongue ? By no means. There are other ways in
which fur can be kept sleek besides combing. The
Rabbit, for instance, washes his face like a Cat, but
there are no prickles on his tongue. How he keeps
his fur in good^rder I do not know. The Fur-seals
would, I imagine, find it an unpleasant task to lick

E

50 ROUND THE YEAR

their vast bodies all dripping with salt water. But
the long, coarse and deep-rooted bristles which lie in
the fur keep it from getting matted or ruffled. Some
animals can use their claws as combs ; in others the
pile of the fur is too short to need combing at all.

The Cat does her licking by preference after a meal,
probably because the saliva flows most freely at that
time. Then she likes to go to sleep. The three
actions of feeding, licking and sleeping have become
associated, not only in the Cat's memory, but very likely
(so uniform is the practice) in the nervous mechanism
of her body. Some men associate feeding, smoking
and sleeping, but this is merely the habit of an
individual, and not ingrained in the physical organi-
sation of the race. There are men who eat without
wanting either to smoke or sleep, and many women put
knitting in the place of smoking. But every Cat that
I have known loves to lick after eating, and to sleep
after licking.

Many Birds possess a useful comb in the claw of
the middle toe of the foot, this has been noticed in
Owls, Night-jars, Herons, Bitterns, Cormorants,
Gannets, etc. It has been explained as a means of
holding the prey securely. Gilbert White probably
set this notion afoot. In his forty-seventh letter he
says of the Goatsucker or Nightjar : — " I saw it dis-
tinctly more than once put out its short leg while on
the wing, and by a bend of the head deliver somewhat
into its mouth. If it takes any part of its prey in its
foot, as I have now the greatest reason to suppose it
does these chafers, I no longer wonder at the use of
its middle toe, which is curiously furnished with a

ANIMALS WITH AND WITHOUT COMBS

serrated claw." Mr. E. B. Titchener1 holds that this
explanation, cannot be right, first, because the serration
is small in extent ; and secondly, because
it is at the side and not on the under
surface of the claw. The Goatsucker is
said to clean its mouth-bristles with its
middle toe, but the mouth-bristles and
the comb do not always co-exist in the
same species. A young Heron was kept
under observation to see how it em-
ployed its claws. Its food, whether living
or dead, and whether taken from water
or from the ground, was never touched
at all by the feet. The only use to which
the serrated claw was put was that of

scratching the cheeks and throat. In
this action, which occurred most fre-
quently after a meal, the other two
front toes were curved down, so as to
leave the middle claw free. Mr. H. R.
Davies 2 confirms Mr. Titchener's view
by some fresh observations. A Cor-
morant was found to have the fissures
between the teeth of its serrated claw
choked with fragments of down, cor-
responding with that on the body of
the same Bird. Minute fragments of
feather were afterwards found in the
claw of a Barn Owl. The comb is
sometimes replaced by a curved blade with teeth,
which runs al&ng the inner side of the claw. Such
1 Nature, Dec. 4, 1890. 2 Nature, Feb. 19, 1891.

E 2

5? ROUND THE YEAR

a blade is found in Guillemots, Razor-bills, \Vild
Duck, Teal, Gulls, Oyster-catchers, Golden Plovers,
Starlings, Fieldfares, Redwings, Larks and many
others. In Divers, Partridges and Pheasants the
claw is flattened so that its inner edge forms a
scraper. Where a comb is required the inner

X150

FIG. 13. — Fore-leg of Bee with tibial comb ; the comb more highly magnified ; three
teeth of the comb.

edge of this blade becomes divided into teeth.
Young Nightjars have only the blade, but old ones
have a well-developed comb. Mr. Titchener x
adds that Audubon once shot a Frigate-bird, and
found the comb crammed with the Insects which
occur on the head and especially about the ears
1 Nature, Feb. 19, 1891

ANIMALS WITH AND WITHOUT COMBS

53

of the Bird. Hudson1 is quoted for the observation
that Herons are remarkably free from vermin, while
the Roseate Spoonbill is infested by them ; both have
the serrated claw. The Herons (captive ?) were
always in a miserable condition ; the Spoonbills
plump and healthy.

The Honey-bee has a comb in the
fore-leg, lying in the angle between
the tibia and tarsus, which is used
to cleanse the antennae from dust or
pollen. Many Beetles, belonging to
the section Geodephaga, have a comb
of like structure and use, which forms
a deep notch, protected by a spine, at
the lower end of the fore tibia.

The mouth, whether armed with a
comb or not, is often used to keep
the body trim and clean. Cock-
roaches draw their long antennae from
time to time through the mouth.
Simulium larvae cleanse their fan-like
brushes in the same way. The larva
of the Gnat may be seen busily at
work clearing its body of attached
Infusoria, and devouring all that it can reach.

There are some animals, such as bivalve Mollusks
which have no effective means of removing foreign
bodies from their skin. They sometimes find it the
simplest plan to coat the irritating object with
nacreous shell, as the pearl-forming Hyria does with
the images thrust under its mantle by the crafty
1 Argentine Ornithology, Vol. II.

FIG. 14.— Part of

fore-leg of Aepus,
a marine Beetle,
with comb upon
the tibia.

54 ROUND THE YEAR

Chinese. How it must plague the Pond-mussel to be
overrun, as it almost always is, with Water-mites, and
yet be unable even to scratch itself! The Pinna
harbours a small crab, the Pea-crab, within its shell,
and must, one would think, wince at times as the hard,
pointed legs press against its unprotected flesh.1 But
use is everything. Dogs are said to turn melancholy
if they are kept absolutely clear of Fleas, and perhaps
the Mollusks, whose sedentary life in a dark shell
must be dulness itself, find their parasites a source of
mild excitement.

THE MOON.

Townsfolk do not care very much about the Moon,
nor observe her very carefully. Now and then they
admire the slender crescent in the western sky, or the
full Moon flooding the landscape with her cold light,
but the Moon is of little practical use to people who
live in well-lit streets. It is quite different in the
country, where there are no gas-lamps. If there is a
Moon, we travel comfortably along, with light enough
to steer our course ; if there is none, we are liable to
step off the foot-path into a puddle, or to walk into a
bush. Country people often arrange their meetings
so as to walk home by moonlight, and not on nights
when there is no Moon.

Even if the sky is hidden by clouds, the Moon,
especially when half or more than half-full, can send
a faint, diffused light through the clouds. It is seldom

1 Another species of the Pea-crab is not uncommon within
the valves of the edible Mussel.

THE MOON 55

quite dark, dark as a pocket, except when the Moon
is below the horizon and the stars are clouded.

It makes a great practical difference to us whether
the Moon rises early or late. If she does not appear
till we have got home and gone to bed, she might as
well never appear at all. Any observant person
living in the country will soon find out that two or
three days after new Moon, she is to be seen in the
evening, being then near to setting ; that the full
Moon rises about sunset and shines throughout the
night, setting at sunrise ; and that the waning Moon
rises later and later every night until she rises in the
early morning, setting a little before sunset. We
commonly see the Moon at night, whenever the sky
is clear and the Moon from three to twenty days old.
After that we see little of her at night until after the
new Moon. But even at times when we do not see
the Moon between sunset and midnight, we can often
see her in the day-time. In the earlier, part of her last
quarter, the Moon rises in the morning and sets in
the afternoon. The Moon in her first quarter
generally rises in the afternoon, and sets early in the
evening. At these times we may expect to see the
day-Moon, if we look out for her.

I shall take the liberty of explaining many things
which everybody is supposed to know, but I think I
need not explain the causes of new and full Moon.
Taking so much for granted, I will mention a fact
which, as I find by experience, is not known to all
intelligent and well-read people. We can tell by
looking at tne moon whether she is waxing or

56 ROUND THE YEAR

waning. If she is waxing, the illuminated edge is
to our right hand ; if she is waning, it is to our left
hand. The reason of this is easily seen if we pass a
ball round the head in a room lit by a lamp or a
single window. If the ball is made to circle with
clock-hands, the dark side will travel foremost, and
will lie to the right hand, while the ball recedes from
the light. During this part of its course the ball
will appear more and more illuminated as it moves.
When the ball approaches the light, the bright side
will travel foremost, and will lie to the right hand.
If we reverse the direction of the ball, the phases
will succeed one another as they do in the Moon.
It is evident from this that the Moon circles against
clock-hands.

The bright side of the Moon is always turned
towards the sun, whether the sun is visible to us
or not. Hence we should expect that, if the Moon
is less than full, a line joining the centre of the Moon
and the centre of her illuminated edge would always
point towards the sun, while the cusps or horns of the
Moon in her first or last quarters would point away
from the sun. But if we come to watch the Moon
we shall find that the position of her cusps is often
different from what we had expected. For instance,
the sun may be well below the horizon, yet the cusps
may be turned a little downwards, and the centre
of the bright edge a little upwards. Some fanciful
people have even supposed that the position of the
Moon's cusps varies according to the weather which
we are going to have ! With or without reason

THE MOON 57

persons of strong imagination are always hoping to
find some connection between the Moon and the
weather.1

The rule which governs the position of the Moon's
cusps and bright edge is easily stated, though it is
not so easily explained. Imagine a great circle drawn
across the star-sphere, passing through the centres of
both sun and Moon. That circle will nearly coincide
with the zodiac, and it may be taken as the edge of
a circular plane in which the earth lies. The centre
of the bright edge of the Moon and the centre of
the line joining her cusps will be found always to
lie in that great circle ; the bright edge being turned
towards the sun.

When the Moon is almost new, she presents a bright
crescent, enclosing a faintly illuminated surface, which
we call the new Moon in the arms of the old. The
light thus faintly reflected cannot come direct from
the sun, nor is the Moon self-luminous ; it is reflected
from the earth. At new Moon the Moon is between
the sun ajid the earth, and the earth appears full to
the Moon, reflecting its maximum of sunlight upon
the Moon. At half-moon the " earth-shine " is much
fainter, for then only half the earth's disc, as seen
from the Moon, is illuminated.

What is the apparent size of the Moon ? Very
nearly the same as the apparent size of the sun. At
eclipses of the sun, we see that the Moon very nearly

1 In some p^s of the country the belief is that when the
Moon holds the mouth of her cup uppermost it will be fine, but
that it will rain if the cup seems to be turned upside down.

58 ROUND THE YEAR

or quite covers the sun's disc. We cannot give the
apparent diameter of the Moon in any measure
except angular measure. It is about |°. 720 such
Moons would make a belt going all round the horizon.
360 such Moons would make an arch passing through
the zenith from horizon to horizon.

There is no comparison between the light of the
sun and that of the Moon. If every part of the sky
were as bright as a full Moon we should not receive
as much light as in full day -light. Wollaston esti-
mated that the sun gives out 800,000 times as much
light as the full moon.

The path of the Moon among the constellations
can be observed by any one who will take a little
trouble. Her motion is sufficiently rapid to cause
her place to change visibly in a few hours. How
rapid is it? The Moon completes the circle of the
heavens in 27^ days. She therefore travels about
13° daily on an average, and a little more than
her own diameter in an hour. The shifting of
the Moon from night to night can be followed
in clear weather by making a plan of the con-
stellations near her path, and noting upon it the
place of the Moon every evening.

By carefully noting the Moon's path among the
stars, it has been found out : —

1. That she keeps very near the zodiac, never
departing much more than 5° from the ecliptic, or
apparent path of the sun.

2. That she does not take exactly the same path
every time, and does not end exactly where she

THE MOON 59

began. It takes i8| years before she travels over the
same path a second time.

3. That she travels in the same direction as the
sun and the chief planets. That direction is against
clock hands, contrary to the direction of rotation of
the star-sphere.

4. That she completes her circle of the heavens in
27 days, 8 hours, or 2J\ days.

Since the Moon completes her round in 27^ days,
it would seem to follow that we shall have a new
Moon every 27^ days. But this is not the case.
We have a new Moon only when the Moon is as
near as possible to the sun, on the same meridian
as the sun, and it takes more than 27^ days to
bring her round to that point. For during all the
time that the Moon is travelling round the ecliptic, the
sun is travelling too, and in the same direction, though
much slower. When the Moon has completed her
circle, she has still to go over the distance travelled
by the sun since the last new Moon. How much is
that ? The sun (apparently) travels round the heavens
in a year. He will, therefore, travel fff° or about a
degree a day. That is about 28° in 28 days. At
the Moon's average rate of 12^° per day, it will take
her a little over two days to travel those 28°, and to
overtake the sun, after she has completed her revolu-
tion round the earth. Hence the interval between
one new Moqj£ and the next is 2Q\ days, while the
revolution of the Moon round the earth occupies only
2/1 days.

What is the figure of the Moon's path in space ?
If we could look at the Moon from a very great

60 ROUND THE YEAR

distance, much greater than the diameter of the
earth's orbit, and if our point of view were in the line
joining the North and South Pole of the heavens, the
Moon might be seen to circle round the earth, while
both would circle round the sun. By careful obser-
vation of the place of the Moon in the background of
stars her path in space could be mapped with any
degree of precision that might be desired.

We should find if the trial could be made that the
path of the Moon in space is so nearly identical with
the earth's orbit that very close observation would be
required to distinguish them. In its course round
the sun the Moon would make thirteen very gentle
undulations, curving outwards from the earth's orbit
for a very trifling distance thirteen times, and curving
a little within it as often. But it would require a
very large sheet of paper and very careful drawing to
make the difference apparent, for the deviation from
the earth's orbit would not at most exceed about J per
cent, that is £ in. in 100 inches. (8 ft, 4 inches.)

The times of rising and setting of the Moon are
influenced by the same causes which affect the times
of rising and setting of the sun, but not quite in the
same way. The Moon travels nearly along the zodiac.
The new Moon must rise and set nearly at the same
time as the sun, because she is near to him. The full
Moon will rise at about the same time that the sun
sets, and set at about the time that he rises, because
she is then opposite to him in the zodiac. Therefore
in winter, when the sun rises late and sets early, the
new Moon will do the same, but the full Moon will
rise early and set late. In summer the case will be

THE MOON 6 1

just reversed. The new Moon is longer above the
horizon in summer than in winter ; the full Moon is
longer above the horizon in winter than in summer.

The Moon's face exhibits a pattern which is always
much the same, for the Moon turns the same face
towards the earth. There is, however, a belt about
the Moon, occupying about one-fifth of her surface,
which is sometimes visible from the earth and some-
times not. The pattern on the Moon was formerly
supposed to be due to continents and seas, but
telescopic examination shows that the Moon has
no water on her surface. More than this, she has
either no atmosphere at all, or an atmosphere very
much less dense than that of the Earth. When she
passes between us and a star, the star disappears
suddenly, instead of being lost in haze. No clouds
are even seen to hide the pattern of the Moon's
surface.

The telescope reveals the cause of the peculiar
markings. Lord Rosse's great telescope magnifies
6,000 diameters, and should have the effect, apart
from disturbing causes, of showing us the Moon at a
distance of only thirty-nine miles. But no telescope
is optically perfect, and the earth's atmosphere greatly
interferes with clear vision. We do not get nearly so
good a view of the Moon as the magnifying power of
the largest telescopes would lead us to expect. The
patches and dots upon the Moon are resolved by a
good telescope into crater-like mountains, casting
very sharp shadows. Some of these craters are very
large. Tycho has a diameter of more than fifty miles,
and covers an area almost as large as the West Riding

62 ROUND THE YEAR

of Yorkshire. They are commonly believed to be
true volcanic craters, but some of them are unlike
any terrestrial craters. There are deep circular
depressions, ringed about by steep walls, plains ringed
in the same way, craters with central elevations, and
circles of craters, as well as small craters of the usual
terrestrial form.

The fact that the Moon turns always the same face
towards the earth implies that during every revolution
round the earth she rotates upon her own axis. If a
man walks round a tree, always keeping his face
towards it, he will face all quarters of the sky in turn,
that is, he will rotate. He will rotate in the same
direction as that in which he walks round the tree.
Thus the Moon rotates once in 27^ of our days, and
rotates against clock-hands.

If we could stand on the surface of the Moon, we
should see great and small craters, some towering
into the sky, others low on the horizon. The distant
ones would be clear and sharp, for there are no
clouds or haze. We should see no streams or pools,
no long, narrow, branching valleys, and probably
no water-worn rocks or rounded pebbles. Some
observers, however, think that they can detect upon
the Moon traces of the former action of water and
even of moving ice.

Let us suppose ourselves planted on that side of
the Moon which is turned towards the earth, and that
the sun shines upon us. The irregular surface of the
ground is lit by a fierce light, and all objects cast
deeper shadows than are ever seen on earth. Though
it is day, the sky is black and the stars shine with

THE MOON 63

intense brilliancy. The tender blue of the earthly
sky has vanished ; it was entirely due to water-
vapour, and there is no water here. The sun is too
dazzling to behold, and his heat so scorching that no
human being could endure it unscreened. He seems of
immense size, for around his disc is a glory of extra-
ordinary brightness and great extent, which flashes
like an aurora borealis. The earth hangs in the
sky as a vast disc which goes through its phases
and appears dark, partly dark, or wholly bright at
different times. She is thirteen times as large as the
full Moon seen from the earth, and is almost a
fixed object in the lunar heavens. Her edge is fringed
with a narrowr luminous cloud. The day with its
insupportably bright sunlight lasts 27^ earth-days ;
the year is about as long as an earth-year. Day and
night are nearly equal throughout the year, but the
height of the noon-day sun varies according to
latitude and season, just as it does upon earth.

It is a help toward understanding eclipses and other
lunar phenomena to form a true mental picture of
the sun, moon, and earth. Let the earth be a large
marble, one inch in diameter ; then the Moon will be
a small pea at a distance of 2\ feet, and the sun a
9 foot globe at a distance of 320 yards. A hollow
globe as big as the sun, with the earth in the centre,
would give ample room for the Moon to revolve at
her usual distance.

If the position of the sun, earth and Moon with
respect to one another are noted at a particular date,
it will be found that in about eighteen years they will
again occupy very nearly the same position. Accord-

64 ROUND THE YEAR

ingly eclipses, both of the sun and Moon may be
expected to recur after this interval of time. But
the correspondence is never quite exact, and the rule
is an imperfect one. In old times, before the motions
of the Moon were thoroughly understood, there was
no better way of predicting eclipses than this, and it
was found to work tolerably well.

SPRING CROCUSES.

The Snowdrop heads the procession of spring
flowers. Then comes the Crocus, and a little later,
the Hyacinth. The Narcissi follow, and keep us gay
till early summer, when the gardener has neither
space nor leisure for all the things that are ready to
come into bloom at once.

What tempts the Crocus to flower so early, before
the snow has quite gone, and when night-frosts may
be expected for two months yet? It must be an
advantage to the plant that its flowers appear before
the grass begins to grow, and its attractiveness to the
Insects which emerge so early will be unusually strong.
The autumn-flowering Crocuses enjoy a like advan-
tage. Both find it hard to bring their wares to
market, and there are few customers ; but then there
is little or no competition among the dealers.

Can we be sure that the Crocus is insect-fertilised ?
Its bright colours and large size testify to its need of
attracting the notice of animals, and the slender tube
of the flower is filled to the brim with honey. Hermann
M tiller can tell you what Insects fertilise the purple

SPRING CROCUSES 65

Spring Crocus (C. verniis]. He has seen a common
night-moth (Plusia gamma} and the Painted Lady
Butterfly and the Humble-bee visiting the flowers.
The anthers open first and shed their pollen ; after-
wards the stigmas ripen and expand. If good-sized
Insects are attracted to the flowers, it is well, for then
the pollen will be laid upon the stigmas of another
plant ; but failing this, the stigmas curve downwards
upon the anthers, and get dusted ; fertilised, but not
cross-fertilised.

Our common yellow spring Crocus is C. aureus, a
native of Turkey, Greece and Asia Minor. It is
known by its short and little-branched stigmas, and its
suddenly diverging anthers. Crocus vernus, the
purple or white spring Crocus of the gardens, is a
native of the Alps. Its stigmas are of a deep orange
colour, and contrast strongly with the rest of the
flower.

The seeds of the Crocus ripen at midsummer, and
should be sown at once if it is intended to raise bulbs
from them. The plant raised from seed is not ready
to flower for two or three /years. Nearly all our
Crocus bulbs are grown in Holland and Lincoln-
shire.

Plants which bloom very early or very late in the
year, do so at the expense of food laid up in the
previous summer. Hence they are often bulbous,
containing much starch or sugar in the coats of the
bulb, which are either future leaves, or the bases of
old ones. Sometimes they have tuberous roots, like
Cyclamen, or a perennial, woody stem, like the
Mezereon. Annual plants, with thin, fibrous roots

F

66

ROUND THE YEAR

and little wood, can hardly flower except in seasons
when the bright sun makes food-formation easy.

Let us take an ungerminated bulb of last year's
growth, and examine it. It has a circular scar at its
base, round which the roots spring, when there are

FIG. 15. — A crocus corm. a, the base ; 6. side view ; c, section, showing two
shoots ; d, starch gianules. a — <, are of the natural size ; d is magnified.

any. Above this, the bulb is covered by an outer
tunic, consisting of a membrane stiffened by many
prominent, vertical fibres, with frequent junctions.
When such a membrane shrivels or rots in the earth,
it becomes reduced to a network with a ragged fringe,

SPRING CROCUSES 67

such as we have now before us. It is firmly attached
to the circular scar, but free above. Now and then
the outer tunic is double, those of two seasons per-
sisting together.

If we strip off the outer tunic, we expose a white
mass, not formed of overlapping coats as in a
Hyacinth or Onion bulb, but solid and nearly uniform
in texture. From this, and usually from its top,
spring the shoots, which w7ill rise into the air, bearing
leaves and flowers. There are no roots at present ;
the old roots are withered and the new ones do not
form until the shoots begin to push. Surrounding
the shoots are several other tunics, of the same tex-
ture as the outer one, but of smaller size. They are
like circular capes, laid one above another to protect
the tender shoots. At first, these inner tunics are all
attached at various levels to the white mass, but as
the mass enlarges the lowest tunic becomes detached
and is slipt upwards, leaving a distinct circle on the
surface a little above the basal scar, to show where it
was once attached. The remaining tunics often
remain in place ; if you pull them off they leave
similar circular lines or scars.

Since the chief part of the bulb is not made up of
scales or coats, it is not in technical language a bulb
at all, but a corm. What is the substance of the corm
made of? Pare a slice off, and put it into weak
iodine solution (tincture of iodine diluted swith water).
Blue specks immediately appear on the cut surface,
and before long it turns blue-black all over. Blue
grains wash out into the solution. If these are
examined by the microscope, they are found to be

F 2

68 ROUND THE YEAR

rounded and marked with concentric lines. The
shape, the markings, and the blue colour with iodine
prove that these are grains of starch. In the Crocus
corm many of the grains are compound, consisting of
several which cohere together. A great part of the
corm is composed of cells rilled with starch. There is
also some sugar and a very little albumen. This food
is laid up for the future use of the plant, and may be
employed as human food. In Syria, Crocus corms
are sold in the markets, roasted and eaten.

Now feke a razor or a sharp knife, and slice the
corm through the middle, taking care to cut the
principal shoot symmetrically. We have now cut
through the mass of starchy food, and lying in it, we
see two or three greenish or yellow streaks. These
are bundles of vessels, many of which, if carefully fol-
lowed, will be found to pass into the bases of the leaves
or tunics. The shoot, when cut through, is seen to be
made up of leaves in successive layers. The outer
ones are protective merely, and soon wither ; then
come leaves, which will turn green and form the
assimilating organs. Within these are the flower-
sheath and the flower itself. The yellow petals and
the ovary with its numerous seeds can be made out
in a shoot an inch long, and with the help of a lens,
in still smaller shoots.

All the parts which we call tunics, leaves and
sheath, and not only these, -but the sepals, petals,
stamens and carpels of the flower, are essentially
leaves, various in form and function, but alike in
origin.

If the tunics of the corm are leaves, what is the

SPRING CROCUSES

69

corm itself? It bears roots, and leaves, and flowers.
Clearly it must be the stem, a stem which is very
short, thick and fleshy, but as much a stem as a
cabbage-stalk is. You know the prostrate stem of

X24.

FIG. 16.— Shoot of crocus, laid open to show the flower within. Also the pistil
removed from the same flower ; //, protective tunics, three in number ;
Ji, foliage-leaves, turned down, so as not to interfere with the view of the flower ;
/r, flo\\er-sheath or bract ; /s, sheaths of other flowers;;*, petals; a, anthers
of the stamens ; st, style, with three stigmas ; o, ovary.

an Iris or a Solomon's Seal. Imagine it set upright
and reduced in length to a mere button, from which
leaf after leaf springs. The flowers are borne on
the low, cup-like summit, and there are eyes or buds,
as we shall shortly see.

70 ROUND THE YEAR

I think it likely that remote progenitors of the
Crocus had an upright, fleshy stem, with sheathing
leaves and flowers at the top. The necessity of
storing up a large supply of food for flowering out
of the usual season, seems to have caused the stem
to enlarge in width, and diminish in height, until
it became a sphere, and even a button. The leaf-
bases became crowded together ; the lowest dis-
appeared as foliage-leaves, leaving only a web of
fibres, such as you may see at the base of a palm-
leaf. Such reduced leaves form the tunics or pro-
tective layers. Normal foliage-leaves and flowers
were given off from the summit of the stem as
before. The structure of the Crocus-stem and its
history from year to year are peculiar, yet not so
peculiar but that we can usefully compare it with
plants of a more ordinary kind.

It is well worth while to dissect out all the parts of
a young flowering corm. Take a Crocus in flower,
separate one of the small, new corms from the old
one, and strip off its envelopes one after another.
First come the brown and withered tunics, then a
number of soft, white sheaths (the new tunics). Next
come the foliage-leaves, one enclosing another. Dissect
these carefully away from the corm with needles, and
observe that each has a white, ring-like scale at its
base, which is plainer in the outermost leaf than in
the others. Even the strap-like foliage-leaf seems to
be derived from a sheathing, tubular leaf. Inside the
foliage-leaves come the flowering branches. Each is
apparently enclosed by a single whitish sheath or
bract, but if this is slit open, it will be found to

SPRING CROCUSES 71

be double, a narrow pointed bract springing from
the inside of the outer tubular one. Both are united
to the flower-stalk beneath the ovary.

I will leave you to make out the structure of
the Crocus-flower, which the common manuals of
Botany will help you to do, if you require help
at all. Let us carry the life-history a stage or two
further. After flowering, the foliage-leaves remain
active for several months, and fill the young
corm with food. All parts of the flowers, except
the slowly-ripening ovaries, wither away. By the
end of June or the beginning of July, the seeds
are ripe, the seed vessel raises itself from the ground,
opens its valves, and the seeds are dispersed. Then
the foliage-leaves turn brown, the roots wither, and
the plant enters upon its resting-stage.

There is now no outward sign of change or growth.
Hardly anything is taken in or given out for months
together, and the corm seems dead. Dead it is not,
however, for during this resting-stage, and especially
in the earlier part of it, next year's corm is matured.
This looks like a new plant, budded out from the old
one ; but it is really only the enlarged base of a
branch — the branch upon which the leaves and
flowers of the preceding spring were borne. In
summer the leaves and flowers wither, and the branch
dies down to the enlarged base. This does not wither,
but absorbs the nutritive substance of the old corm.
and at length completely replaces it, being provided
with a new set of tunics, and later on with a new set
of roots.

Other branches may form within the lower leaves,

72 ROUND THE YEAR

and produce new corms. In some species of Crocus
the old corm produces a considerable number of new
ones. If a yellow or blue garden-crocus is planted
just below the surface of the ground, it will divide
into two or three smaller ones, which only attain
their full size after two or more years of growth.

It will clear up your notions about corms and bulbs
to take a kitchen-onion, and slice it through the

FIG. 17. — Bulb of Onion, in section.

middle. Almost the whole bulb is made up of leaf-
bases. In the centre we can make out the unde-
veloped head of flowers. Towards the base is a
fleshy knob from which all the leaves and flowers and
roots spring. This is clearly the greatly reduced
stem. If you suppose that three or four such bulbs
had a large common stem, we should get something
like the corm of the Crocus. Or suppose that a
Crocus corm had only one large shoot, and that the

CATKINS 73

stem dwindled to an insignificant size, we should get
something like the bulb of the Onion.

Lay the cut surface of the Onion-bulb in a saucer
of dilute iodine solution. It does not change colour.
The Onion contains no starch, but plenty of sugar
instead.

CATKINS.1

March 16, 1895. — This is the first entirely pleasant
day of spring. A soft air, a gentle west wind, con-
tinuous though veiled sunshine. The long grass has
been turned grey by the hard winter weather of
January and February, but close to the ground green
tufts are already springing.

Walking this morning in a little copse, I saw
catkins on the Hazel and Alder. The buds of the
Willow are beginning to part, and to show a silvery
gleam from the hairs which clothe their bracts. Snow-
drops (much later than usual) are in flower. The
Crocus, too, is flowering, but only in favoured spots.
The ten weeks' frost has kept them back far beyond
their usual time.

Many seeds dispersed by the gales of winter are
beginning to germinate. The seedlings of the Syca-
more are plentiful, some just pushing out their green
radicles from the scar which marks the former adhe-
sion of the seed-vessel to its fellow, others just
escaped from the seed-vessel, but still enveloped in
the brown seed-coat, others quite free, and beginning

1 The word (German Kdtzchen) means kitten. In some
country places the catkins of the Sallow are called kittens and
catstails.

74 ROUND THE YEAR

to unroll their crumpled seed-leaves. The pink seeds
of the Elm are to be seen here and there, newly dis-
engaged from the winged fruits.1 A few Birch-cones
lie about the roots of the trees from which they fell,
and some still hang on the bough. Some are still
full of winged fruits, but most are empty or nearly
so. The fruits of the Birch are scattered far and
wide over the fields. I found some which were 250
paces from the nearest Birch-tree, and there seems no
reason why they should not travel miles through the
air in a full gale of wind.

My eyes are not so good as they were now that I
am turned fifty, and it is a great help to have quick-
sighted boys as companions of my walks. Years ago
I trained my boys to observe the common sights of
the country, and now I reap the benefit as well as
they. The schoolmaster might heap up natural know-
ledge if he could learn to see with his boys' eyes as
well as his own, for the curious school-boy will work
over the country like a dog, putting his head into
every hole. But too often there is no one to share
the boys' little discoveries, no one to give the gentle
shove that is wanted at a sticking place. The school-
master is of course a learned man, perhaps a divine.
As he strolls along he is thinking of a new theory of
the Absolute, or of a method in Higher Algebra, or
of next Sunday's sermon, or of a disagreeable letter
that came by the morning's post. If the school-
master cannot stoop, or run, or climb, or tell the
notes of the birds, or mark the common flowers (and

1 The seeds are those of the Witch Elm. The Common Elm
never seeds in Britain.

CATKINS 75

many excellent schoolmasters can do none of these
things), it would be well to find an active and obser-
vant deputy to join the rambles of the boys. A
master in sympathy with the boys and with nature
would learn almost as much from the boys as the
boys would learn from him.

If you have boys and girls about you, whether your
own or other people's, take them into the woods and
fields. Try to answer their questions ; try to put
better questions than they can think of. Never mind
the technical names ; leave all your Latin and Greek
at home. One of the best (and hardest) questions is :
— " What is the use of this to the plant or animal ? "
Do not be discouraged if, as will generally happen,
no one can tell. You will grow a little more expert
with practice, but to the last you will find many
simple-looking questions quite insoluble. Never
shrink from saying, " I don't know." These words
are always on the lips of a well-trained and inquisitive
naturalist. It is dismal, though common enough, to
put words in the place of knowledge. " Wo Begriffe
fehlen, da stellt ein Wort zur rechten Zeit sich ein."

But I am running to words myself. Let me take
up some special thing for examination and report. I
will study the Catkins, which will be plentiful for the
next fortnight or three weeks. Alder and Hazel
catkins are already to be seen everywhere, and the
Birch and Willow will be out in a few days.1

1 The descriptions which follow will be found dry and pretty
nearly unintelligible to those who have not the catkins and cones
actually before them. Descriptions cannot stand in place of
the things themselves, but are merely a help to the observer.

76

ROUND THE YEAR

The catkins of the Alder, like most other catkins,
appear before the leaves. The tip of the branch forks
beyond the furthest leaf-bud, and each fork divides in

FIG. i8.-Flowering branch of Alder (Alnusgt
a, a ripe cone.

itkins and cor

two, three or more branches. All the branches of the
same fork carry flowers of the same kind, either male
(stamen-bearing) or female (ovule-bearing). It cannot

CATKINS

77

be decided by mere inspection whether this is a case
of true forking, or whether one branch, that which
bears male flowers, is given off laterally, while the
true termination of the stem bears the female flowers.
The male flowers are borne upon spikes (catkins) two
or even three inches long, which are at first rigid, but
afterwards become flexible and droop ; the spikes of
female flowers (cones) never droop, but tend to become
more erect during and after flowering. The flowering
spikes were all formed last summer, and could be seen
in their unexpanded state at
any time during the winter ;
they are from the first unpro-
tected by envelopes of any
kind.

On one of the drooping
male catkins we see a great
number of scales given off
from a central stem. The
scales are now parting, and
between them the bunches of
stamens can be seen. Cut
off a single scale and ex-
amine it. There is no better
way than to impale it upon

a pin, thrusting the pin into the base of the scale,
which can then be turned any way at pleasure, and
the parts studied with a pocket-lens. We see that the
scale ends in a shield-like expansion of crimson-purple
colour. To its edge are attached two smaller bracts
of the same colour, and in the angles between these
and the central lobe are two more bracts. The up-

FIG. TCI. -Scale of Alder-catkin,
with male flowers. Magnified.

ROUND THE YEAR

turned surface of the scale is bare ; in a ripe catkin it is
dusted with abundance of pollen shed from the flowers
above ; from the side which hangs down the flowers
spring. It is plain that they are well sheltered from
the rain by the over-arching scale.

There are three flowers to every scale. Each is
enclosed in a calyx of four sepals, and opposite each
sepal is a stamen. In the unexpanded catkin the
stamen completely fills the space within the hollow
sepal, but as the flowers ripen the stamen becomes
free, each of its two large
anther-lobes bursts, and the
yellow pollen is shed.

Now let us take one of
the female cones and ex-
amine it closely. The scales
can be parted with needles,
and examined with a lens.
Each scale is hollowed out,
well rounded sides, and
pointed tip. Close to its
base two ovaries can be seen,
each bearing two styles.
The ends of the styles can
often be seen protruding be-
tween the scales ; at the tip of
each is the stigma which has
to catch the grains of pollen.

Two styles indicate two carpels, and microscopic ex-
amination shows that there really are two carpels to
each flower. The ovary is at first two-celled, and
contains two seeds. But only one of these seeds will

FIG. 20.— Two cones of Aide
flower. Magnified.

CATKINS 79

become completely developed ; the other will be
squeezed out of existence by its neighbours, and the
ripe ovary will be one-celled and one-seeded. Behind
each ovary are two minute bracts, lying side by side
against the scale. These can only be made out by
close examination ; they become plainer during the
ripening of the seed.

On the same trees which yield the catkins and
cones, last year's cones, black
and woody, and perhaps the
cones of the year before last,
can be seen on the ends of
some of the branches. When
the cones come to maturity,
their scales part and the
fruits are exposed. By March FIG. 21.— TWO flowers from a

cone of the Alder, showing a
many Of last year S frUltS large outer scale, and two

pairs of smaller bracts, one pair
have been Shaken OUt, but to each flower. Magnified.

plenty can still be found on

the tree. Break a ripe cone across. You will find the
central stalk extremely tough. From it radiate the
woody scales, each bearing a pair of angular fruits
upon its upper surface.

We saw that the Birch-fruits were winged ; why
are not the Alder-fruits winged too? Does this
invalidate the explanation that the wing is useful in
dispersal ? I think not ; it is only a negative exception.
A wooden leg is used to enable a man to walk when
he has lost his natural leg. If you saw a one-legged
man walking with a pair of crutches, and no wooden
leg at all, would that shake your belief in the motive
for wearing wooden legs ? I shall have something

go ROUND THE YEAR

more to say about the dispersal of Alder-seeds by

^ii catkins and cones are not unlike those of the
/Uder Each scale of the male catkin has four bracts
and three flowers, as in the Alder ; but each scale of

FIG. 22.— Flowering branch of Birch (Bctula alba), with catkins and, one cone.

the female cone has two bracts and three flowers.
There is no calyx in either male or female flower.
In the catkins of the Hazel the pair of bracts
become soldered to the scale. Each scale bears four
1 See page 279.

CATKINS

Si

stamens, which are deeply cleft and apparently
double. The cone of the Hazel consists of a number
of overlapping scales, in the midst of which can be
discovered by careful search
several bracts, each of which
acts as a sheath to two flowers.
Every female flower bears two
carpels, which are indicated by
the two crimson styles, but in
ripening one cell becomes sup-
pressed, and each ripe ovary
encloses, as a rule, only a single
seed. Double-seeded filberts
are not, however, very

un-

FIG. 23. — Scale of Hazel-
catkin, with male flowers.
Magnified. See also p.
290.

common.

The flowers of Hazel first appear, in their unexpanded
state, in autumn ; the catkins pass the winter without
external protection, but the female flowers are
wrapped up within the enve-
loping scales. In March the
styles lengthen, pushing their
way through the apex of the
cone, where their crimson
colour makes them very con-
spicuous. Only a few of the
female flowers persist ; two,
three or four may set their
seeds and produce nuts. The
bracts grow steadily through
the summer, and form envelopes around the nuts, and
these envelopes have the form and often the colour of
leaves. The same thing may be observed in the

G

FIG. 24. — Three pistillate flowers
of Birch, with their enclosing
scales. Magnified.

82 ROUND THE YEAR

Hornbean, where the bracts seem adapted to aid in
the dispersal of the fruit. This cannot be the case
with the heavy nuts of the Hazel, yet the structure is
there though applied to some new use, of which I can
give 'no account The cupule of the Acorn corre-
sponds to the bracts of the Hazel and Hornbean.

I will next describe the flowers of the Willow, the
"palms" of country people, so called, I believe,

FIG. 25.— Young cone of Hazel, after flowering. The flowers are grouped in pairs
and enclosed by bracts, which enlarge after flowering

because they are plentiful in most years on Palm
Sunday.

- Alder, Birch and Hazel bear both catkins and cones
on the same branches, Willow bears them on different
trees. Alder, Birch and Hazel are called monoecious,
Willow dioecious. Both kinds are included under the
term diclinous. I must rebel against these ugly words,
so ill-chosen (though the great Linnaeus is responsible
for the first two) that even when you know their
etymology, you can hardly understand or remember

CATKINS 83

them any the better. Let us try whether we cannot
for our immediate use find something less objection-
able. Unisexual (of one sex) is plainer than diclinous ;

FIG. 26. — i. Catkins of Willow, entire and in longitudinal section ; 2. Staminate
flower of ditto. Magnified.

we may perhaps be allowed to substitute incompletely
unisexual for monoecious, and completely unisexual for
dioecious.

G 2

84 ROUND THE YEAR

Willow trees, as I have said, are wholly male or
wholly female, completely unisexual ; so are Poplars.
Find a male Willow of the Common Sallow kind,
and watch its flowers open from day to day. The
scales of the bud part, and a mass
of silvery hairs shows itself, which
lengthens, turns yellow, and at
length seems to be made up of
stamens and pollen. If you break
such a catkin across, you will find
it made up of a vast multitude of
silky bracts, each of which bears
two stamens. There is a minute
gland to each bract, which exudes
sweet juice, and helps us to under-
stand why the Sallow is attractive
to Insects.

The female flowers are borne
many together on spikes (we can-
not call them cones, though they
answer to the cones of Alder,
Birch and Hazel). Each flower is
ensheathed by a bract, and con-
tains a seed vessel or ovary
mounted on a stalk, and ending
above in a forked style. The
FIG. 27.— Cone of pistillate ovary contains many seeds.

flowers of Willow. * *

In June, look out for the ripe
pods of the female Willow. The halves of the ovary
separate at the top, and gradually curl themselves in
opposite directions, exposing to view a multitude of
silky seeds. I have found it very amusing to pull

CATKINS 85

out a tuft of Willow seeds, and put them in the sun.
They seem as if they were alive, pushing one another
away, and slowly expanding into a great fluffy mass,
which is easily wafted to a distance by a light current
of air. The spreading out of the pinch of hairy seeds is
due to the fact that each seed bears a crown of hairs

FIG. 28. — Pistillate
flower of Willow.
Magnified.

FIG. .29. — Ripe fruit
of Willow, bursting.
Magnified.

which lie close while the seeds are in the pod, but
stand out like rays or spokes as they dry. It is easy
to see the advantage to the Willow of getting its
seeds spread out into a ball so light in proportion to its
surface that any wind of summer can blow it far over
the fields. This is a common contrivance, but almost

86 ROUND THE YEAR

every fresh case has its own peculiar features. The
Poplar, the Bullrush and the Willow-herb (so named
from the shape of the leaves) are curiously like the
Willow in the mode of dispersal of the
seeds.

The catkin is a form of inflorescence
particularly well-suited to wind-fertili-
sation. The pollen-grains are formed in
vast numbers within the crowded flowers
of the long catkins ; they are easily
shaken out of these dangling tassels,
wafted by the wind to great distances,
and lodged on the branching styles of
the female cones. The Willow gets
help from Insects, especially Bees, which
visit its nectar-bearing flowers on bright
days. Willows will set their seeds
though there is no male plant within a
mile.

Why do catkins appear so early, be-
fore the leaves are out? It may be
that the leaves would interfere with the
dispersal of the pollen by wind. They would in-
evitably catch much of the pollen wafted to or from
the tree, so that there is a distinct advantage in
getting the flowers fertilised before the leaves
appear.

The pollen of Willow does not depend upon
wafting by the wind, yet the Willow flowers before
it comes into leaf. Yes, and it secures two consider-
able advantages thereby. Its catkins are far more
conspicuous on bare boughs and the Bees are very

FIG. 30. — Ripe
cone of Birch.

CATKINS

glad to visit its honey-bearing flowers in early spring,
when flowers are so few.

How can we explain the different lengths of the
cones or spikes of female flowers? The Willow pro-
duces very many female flowers, as also does the
Birch ; Alder notably fewer ; Hazel often about eight
only, of which less than half usually ripen. The
difference becomes still more conspicuous if we com-
pare the number of the seeds produced. The Willow
may produce a million (I have not counted them) on
a single spike ; Birch fewer, but still very many ;
Alder perhaps a tenth of the number of the Birch ;
Hazel only two, three or four. The size of the seeds
is naturally in an inverse proportion to the number,
and the quantity of food stored up in the seeds will
vary almost directly with the size. What is the
meaning of these striking differences ? Willow,
Poplar and Birch seeds are
dispersed by the wind ; there-
fore they must be light, and
since many will be lost, it is
desirable that they should be
very numerous. I think that
the seeds of Alder are dis-
persed by running water, for
they spring up along the
banks of rivers and brooks.
Seeds so dispersed need not

be very light, and it is probable that a smaller propor-
tion is wasted than in wind-dispersed seeds. The
Hazel-nut is eatable, and is carried off by Squirrels
or other animals. Here and there one is dropped, or

FIG. 31.- Ripe cone of Birch,
broken across to show the
winged fruits. Magnified.

88 ROUND THE YEAR

buried and forgotten, and this is able to germinate.
A small seed would tempt no animal, but a large seed
protected by a hard shell is worth carrying off, and
yet has a chance of germinating after all.

Why are the pods of the Willow soft and green,
while the cones of the Alder and Birch and the nuts
of the Hazel are woody? Probably because the
minute seeds of the Willow ripen quickly and are
easily dispersed. They require no protection against
the rains and frost of winter, as the slow-maturing
seeds of Alder, Birch and Hazel do.

One question more. Why are trees so often
completely unisexual? WThere many flowers are
borne upon one plant, as is commonly the case with
trees, they would infallibly fertilise one another
continually, if all were perfect. By the complete
separation of the stamens and pistils, self- fertilisation
becomes impossible.

Annual plants are hardly ever completely unisexual.
The transport of the pollen from one plant to another,
whether by Insects or by the wind, is an operation
which might conceivably be hindered in a particular
year by deficiency of a particular species of Insect, by
perfectly still weather, or by long-continued rain.
Such accidents, even though they came round but
once a century, or once in a thousand years, would
greatly reduce the numbers of an annual plant, and
might even exterminate it. But it would signify
little to a tree that the whole crop of seeds should fail
in a particular year.1

1 See Darwin's Cross- and Self-fertilisation of Plants,
Chapter X.

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE) 89

There are other questions about catkins which I do
not propose to my readers because I have found them
so far insoluble. Insoluble questions are plenty as
blackberries ; the art of the investigator of nature is
to put questions which have some chance of getting
answered.

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE).

A few days ago (April 2) I came across a female
Oil-beetle (Meloe) walking on a bank in the sun, and
seeking for a place in which to deposit the multitude
of eggs which distended her enormous abdomen.
She at last chose a grassy place and began to dig.
When she had made a hole large enough to contain
her body, she turned round and pushed her abdomen
into the hole. Here she remained quite still for a
long time, her head being just visible. I marked the
place, came home, and spent an hour or more in
reading Newport's history of the Oil-beetle.1

When I came back the Meloe was gone and the
hole was closed with earth. It was easy to dig out
the cluster of eggs, which were very numerous (New-
port says 3,000-4,000 in the first laying), very minute,
of an orange-yellow colour, adhering together and
lying all one way. Following Newport's example, I
placed the eggs in a box filled with earth, and awaited
the appearance of the larvae, which emerged on May
8th (five weeks). Newport's observations on a
captive Meloe teach us that the abdomen re-fills with

1 Linn. Trans., Vol. XX. pp. 297-357, PI. XIV. (1851) ; Vol.
XXI. pp. 167-183, PI. XX. (1853).

ROUND THE YEAR

eggs after laying, and that four packets may be
deposited in three weeks. After each deposition the
body shrinks and the Insect feeds voraciously.

When the period of hatching is completed the eggs
burst, and countless larvae, minute, six-legged, and of
bright yellow colour, emerge. They possess con-

FIG. 32. — Female Oil-beetle (Meloe proscarabeus). Natural size.

spicuous black eyes, pointed mandibles, and legs
furnished at the extremity with a claw and two
lateral hooks, so that they appear three-parted. The
whole larva is about T\ in. long. After a time it runs
and creeps with great agility by means of its hooked
legs. It can also crawl upon a smooth, vertical sur-
face, such as an upright sheet of glass, by attaching
alternately the front legs and a pair of false feet,
which project from the last segment, and resemble
the claspers of a caterpillar. The body is moved
either forwards or backwards in a looping fashion.

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE)

It is easy enough to go so far, and to obtain small
active larvae from the eggs of Meloe. We should at
first be inclined to suspect that these larvae would
seek their food in the ground, grow big, pupate, and
change to perfect Beetles. But this does not happen.
If the larva; are imprisoned, even though they may
be supplied with food of any imaginable description,
they soon perish. If they are kept warm and
exposed to light, they run about busily, seeking to
escape ; if they are kept in the
dark, they remain still. In
either case, they perish in two
or three weeks.

It had been noticed before
Newport's time that such
larvae were occasionally to be
found clustered on grass, or on
the flowers of Buttercup and
Dandelion. The same or very
similar larvae had been found
clinging to the hairs of various
Bees and Flies, and Latreille
had thought it probable that
they attached themselves to
flower-visiting Bees, and were
conveyed to the nest, which at
this time of the year is being
stored with pollen and honey.

Newport placed a burrowing Bee in a bottle which con-
tained a brood of these larvae. They instantly seized
any part of the Bee which came within reach, leg, wing,
or hairs, and mounted in crowds upon the body, causing

FIG. w— First larva of Oil-

beetle, magnified.

Newport

After

92 ROUND THE YEAR

the greatest uneasiness to the Bee, which struggled
in vain to detach them. Newport remarks that all the
Hymenoptera on which Meloe larvae have been found
burrow in the ground, and all the Flies on which they
have been taken are, like Volucella, parasitic in the
nests of such Hymenoptera. The statement is too
sweeping, for Meloe larvae have been known to attach
themselves in mistake or despair to other flying
Insects, as will appear later. Newport himself gives
us one instance. Having secured three or four hun-
dred Meloe larvae in a bottle, he put with them several
living Weevils and a single Malachius (a small flower-
haunting Beetle). The Weevils were not disturbed,
but the larvae instantly attached themselves to the
Malachius in such numbers as to cover it and deprive
it of the power of moving ; most of them clung on for
many hours.

Newport found pupae and advanced larvae of one
species of Meloe among the nests of a particular
burrowing Bee (Anthophora), and now the case
seemed to be pretty complete. It remained to see the
young larva brought to the nest, and to watch its
operations on arrival. He took with him in June
fresh-hatched larvae of Meloe proscarabceus (the
commonest species) and M. violaceus, and placed
them in the nests of Anthophora retusa, each cell of
which then contained a Bee-maggot and a supply of
pollen-paste, its proper food. At first he thought
that the experiment was succeeding, for one of the
larvae seemed to attack the Bee-maggot with its
mandibles. But nothing further happened. He left
the intruders in the nest and went away. Next day

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE) 93

the Bee-larvae with their stores of food were still there,
but the Meloe-larvae had gone.

Thus baffled, Newport called to mind that it was
jHeloe cicatricosus which he had found in Anthophora
nests, and that he had experimented with the larvae of
two other species. He was, it appears, unable to
repeat the experiment with the larvae of cicatricosus,
or to discover the true hosts of violaceus and
proscarabczus. But he knew perfectly well the next
stage of J\Ieloe cicatricosus. This he had found in the
closed cells of Anthophora in con-
siderable numbers. It is a curved,
cylindrical, thick, almost footless
grub, motionless and of pale orange
colour. The head is small, and the
hinder end of the body encumbered
with the cast skin of the active
larva. He supposed that the active
larvae devours the egg of its host,
changes its skin, and then feeds FIG. 34.— Second larva

3 . , T A U of Oil-beetle (Meloe

upon the honey. In August, by cicatricosus) magni-

, . , • , i i • i fied. After Fabre.

which time it had greatly increased
in size (Newport found advanced larvae f in. long), it
changes to a pupa, and the perfect Beetle soon
emerges. This hibernates in the same cell, and only
emerges in the following spring. The newly emerged
Beetles are small and shrunken. But they feed
greedily upon the leaves and flowers of the Buttercup
or some few other spring flowers, and become plump.
The Beetles are fond of sunshine. They drink water
plentifully, and in captivity require their food to be
frequently wetted. The females are much larger than

94

ROUND THE YEAR

the males. Newport tells us that the males are
exceedingly pugnacious, and often fight, depriving
each other of one of the antennae. The unwieldy
form of the female, the inky purple colour, and the
sluggish gait have something unpleasant about them,
and few would care to handle the insect. Those who
do so find that it sweats from every joint drops of
yellow fluid, probably acrid. As if aware of its ill-

FIG. 35— Pseudo-chrysalis (inactive larva) and pupa of Oil-beetle (Meloe). After
Newport.

taste, the Beetle creeps leisurely about in full sun-
light, as fearless and as conspicuous as a Skunk.
What a variety of experiences it has gone through !
It has lived three lives, each requiring its own
instincts and a distinct bodily structure, when its last
packet of eggs is laid and the curious history of greed
and cunning comes to an end.

Such is the account which Newport was able to
give. We shall see that it does not by any means

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE) 95

exhaust this complicated life-history. The fresh
information \ve owe to Fabre.1 I am glad of the
opportunity to introduce his graphic sketches to some
English readers who may not have met with them
before. The translation is somewhat condensed.

Mcloe cicatricosus, he remarks, infests the nests of
two other Anthophorae besides the A. retusa spoken
of by Newport, but though our author had found the
larvae in the cells of its hosts, he had never seen the
female wandering in search of a place to lay her eggs.
The history of his investigations dates from May
23rd, 1858, and the scene was a steep slope bordering
the road from Carpentras to Bedoin. The slope,
baked in the sun, was the abode of swarms of
burrowing Bees (Anthophora). A scanty turf ex-
tended from the edge of the road to the foot of the
slope. To observe the Bees more closely, Fabre lay
upon the grass, when his clothes became covered with
what looked like little yellow fleas, rushing about
with desperate haste. These Insects, which gave him
the appearance of being dusted with ochre, were soon
recognised as the active larvae of Meloe.

On the patch of grass were some few flowers, and
among these a Groundsel and a Chamomile. Observ-
ing these closely, Fabre saw that almost all the
flowers were occupied by the larvae. They might be
found crouching motionless among the florets of a
single head. None were to be seen on a Poppy or a
Crucifer which grew by the side of the Composites.

" Besides the hordes encamped on the heads of the
Composites," continues Fabre, "which were motion-
1 Nouveaux Souvenirs Entomologiques, XVI. (1882).

96 ROUND THE YEAR

less, as if they had accomplished their immediate
purpose, I could see a still more numerous crowd
whose restless movements showed that they were still
unsatisfied. On the ground among the grass ran
about in disorder innumerable little larvae, resembling
the swarms which issue from an overturned ant-hill.
Some mounted in haste a blade of grass, and came
down again with equal speed ; others clung to the
cottony surface of dry Cudweed, but after resting
there a moment, quitted it and resumed their quest.
In a space some ten metres square, there was hardly
a blade of grass which had not been explored by the
larvae.

" I had plainly before me a swarm just hatched from
a mass of eggs laid in the earth. Some of the larvae
were already settled among the florets of Chamomile
and Groundsel, waiting the arrival of Bees, but most
of them had still to discover a suitable station. The
whole multitude, which must have amounted to many
thousands, could hardly be the offspring of one female,
in spite of all that Newport says of the astonishing
fertility of this Insect.

" The strip of turf stretched a long way by the side
of the road, but no Meloe larvae could be seen except
within a few square metres adjacent to the burrows of
the Bees. The larvae could not have travelled far ;
there were no laggards, such as inevitably follow a
marching column. It would appear that the Meloe,
not laying her eggs at hazard, or leaving the young
to make their own way to the burrows which they were
destined to inhabit, chooses a place haunted by
Anthophora, and lays her eggs there.

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE) 97

" So great was the multitude of Meloe larvae that
sooner or later almost all *:he Bees of the neighbour-
hood must have become infested with them. Though
comparatively few larvae had yet gained the flower-
heads, and though the Anthophora seldom alights
on the ground, where the Meloo larvae were most
plentiful, almost all the Bees which I caught and
examined had several larvae entangled in the hairs of
the thorax.

" I have also found Meloe larvae on Melectes and
Ccelioxys, two Hymenoptera which are parasitic upon
Anthophora. Quitting for a moment their bold
dartings to and fro in front of the galleries of the Bee,
still in process of construction, these thieves of honey
stored up for others settle for an instant upon a flower
of Chamomile, and then it is the robber who is robbed.
A tiny larva creeps upon their downy covering.
When the parasite, having destroyed the egg of the
Anthophora, comes to lay its own egg on the honey,
the Meloe larva lets itself down, destroys the second
egg, and remains sole proprietor of the food within
the cell. The store of honey laid up by the Antho-
phora will thus belong to three owners in turn, and
will remain with the weakest of the three.

" But who can say that the Meloe may not itself
be dispossessed by some new thief, or even, while
still a soft, fat and sluggish larva, fall a prey to some
destroyer, who will devour its living entrails ? As we
ponder over the deadly and remorseless strife which
nature prescribes to these various creatures, by turns
wealthy and destitute, devourers and devoured, a
feeling of horror mingles with the admiration excited

II

98 ROUND THE YEAR

by their artifices. We forget that these things pass
in a lower sphere of existence, and shudder at the
train of thefts, deceptions and robberies which enter
into the plan of our alma par ens rerum.

" The young Meloe larvae, once settled on the hairs
of Anthophora or its nest-parasites, are in a sure way
to reach sooner or later the cell which is their goal.
Are they guided by intelligence, or do they attach
themselves by chance to anything that offers? It was
not difficult to clear up the point. Drone-flies and
Blow-flies dashed now and then against the flowers of
the Groundsel and Chamomile in which the Meloe
larvae were lurking, and paused for a moment to suck
the sweet juices. On all, or very nearly all these
Flies, I found Meloe larvae, clinging to the thoracic
hairs. An Ammophila (Sand-wasp) which provisions
its burrows in early spring with a caterpillar, just
grazed the surface of a flower. I caught it, and found
Meloe larvae running over its body. Neither the
Eristalis and Blow-fly, whose larvae feed on putrid
flesh, nor the Sand-wasp which feeds its young with
caterpillars, could ever transport the Meloe larvae to
the cells filled with honey which they desire. These
larvae had gone astray, and it is clear that their
instinct is not infallible.

" Let us study more carefully the Meloe larvae as
they wait in expectation on the Chamomile flowers.
There they are, ten, twelve or more together, half
concealed within or between the florets. They are
not easily seen, as the amber-yellow of their bodies
matches the colour of the central florets. So long as
the flower is undisturbed, they remain motionless,

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE) 99

head downwards. One might suppose that they were
sucking nectar, but if that were their aim, they would
move about from one floret to another, which does
not happen, except when they seek the most advan-
tageous position after a false alarm. The florets are
a mere lurking-place, and they will eat nothing until
their jaws crush the egg of an Anthophora.

" Let us gently explore a Chamomile flower with a
straw. The larvae quit their retreats, and run out along
the white ray-flowers. When they gain the extreme
tip, they attach themselves by the appendages of the
tail, or perhaps by means of a viscid secretion, such
as the Sitaris larvae possess. With the body extended
in free air and the legs free, they sway about in all
directions, as if bent upon reaching some object out
of easy reach. If nothing approaches which they
can grasp, they by and by return to the centre of the
flower, and become motionless once more.

" If we bring any object within their reach, they
attach themselves with extraordinary quickness. A
blade of grass, a straw, the arm of a forceps —
anything will do, so eager are they to quit their
retreat. But they soon find out when they have made
a mistake, and run up and down, trying to get back-
to the flower, if it is still possible. After having once
grasped a straw, they will not, if replaced on the
flower, be entrapped a second time so easily.

" I tried little bits of cloth or velvet, torn off my
clothes, as resembling more or less the hairy covering
of a Hymenopterous Insect, plugs of cotton-wool,
and flocky pellets stripped off the Cudweed. Any of
these the larvae clutched at, but instead of remaining

H 2

IOG ROUND THE YEAR

close and still, as they do on the Insect, they perceived
that they were out of the right track, and tried to
escape. This might have been predicted, for I had
seen them running restlessly to and fro on the woolly
Cudweed. If a mere hairy surface would satisfy
them, almost all the larvae which fell in with these
plants would perish there without an effort

" I next tried bringing a live Anthophora to the
flower. The Bee, cleared of any parasites which it
happened to bear, was held by the wings, and made
to touch the flower for a moment, when it was in-
variably found to bear Meloe larvae, which clung to its
hairs. The larvae climb instantly upon the thorax,
and there they remain motionless ; the second stage
of their migration is now accomplished.

" In the same way I tried all the live Insects which
I could immediately procure — Drone-fly, Blow-fly,
Honey-bee and small Butterflies. All were instantly
overrun by the Meloe larvae. What is more, no
subsequent attempts were made to regain the flower.
There were no Beetles at hand, so I did not make
trial of them. Newport, working under different
conditions, for his larvae were imprisoned in a bottle,
while mine were under natural conditions, saw them
climb upon a Malachius Beetle, and remain there at
rest, from which I conclude that I should have got the
same result with Beetles as with Flies (Eristalis, for
instance). I have since found a large Beetle, the Rose
Beetle, which continually haunts flowers, beset with
Meloe larvae. When all the Insects I could procure
had been tried, I offered them a large black Spider.
They climbed upon it without hesitation, reached the

THE OIL-BEETLE (MELOE) 101

articulation of the legs, and remained there motionless.
Anything, it appears, suffices to tempt them from
their temporary retreat ; the}' attach themselves to
the first living thing which comes in their way. Hence
the necessity of a vast number of eggs ; the great
majority of the larva; go astray, and never gain the
cells of the Anthophora. Fertility supplies the defects
of instinct.

" How does the Meloe larva quit the Bee, which
has guided it to the cell? With larvae found upon
various Hymenoptera I made some trials, such as
Newport had previously made. Meloe larvae when
brought near to the larvae and pupae of Anthophora,
paid no attention to them ; others placed close to
cells filled with honey, did not enter them and at
most touched the edge ; while such as were placed
inside the cells, came out immediately or perished by
suffocation.

" Dug-out nests of Anthophora had previously in-
formed me that Meloe cicatricosus is parasitic upon
this Bee, in whose cells I had found the adult Meloe,
dead and dry. The yellow larvae, found alive upon
Anthophora, had been recognised by Newport as the
larvae of Meloe. Bearing in mind these facts, which
impressed me the more as I had recently been investi-
gating the similar history of Sitaris, I betook myself
on May 2ist of the following year to Carpentras, and
visited the nests which the Anthophora was now
engaged in constructing. I felt pretty sure of finding
out sooner or later the life-history of Sitaris, which
was very plentiful, but was less hopeful about the
Meloe, which, though it occurs in the same nests,

I02 ROUND THE YEAR

is very rare. After six hours of digging i secured
many cells enclosing Sitaris, and two with Meloe.
On the dark and liquid honey was a wrinkled mem-
brane, and upon this a yellow larva. The membrane
was the empty envelope of an Anthophora egg ; the
larva was the larva of Meloe.

" The Meloe larva quits the hairs of the Bee just
when she lays her egg. ' Since contact with honey
would be fatal, the tactics of the Sitaris are pursued,
and the larva drops upon the egg as it is laid. The
next step is to devour the contents of the floating
egg, and after this meal, the only one which it takes
in its active stage, it undergoes a kind of transforma-
tion, feeding hereafter upon the honey stored up by
the Anthophora. Hence the obstacle which rendered
fruitless my own previous attempts as well as those of
Newport. It is useless to offer to Meloe larvae honey,
larvae of Anthophora, or pupae ; they must attain the
freshly deposited egg."

Fabre has described in detail the subsequent trans-
formations of the Sitaris larva, of which the English
reader will find an interesting account with illustra-
tive figures, in Lubbock's Origin and Metamorphoses
of Insects (Chap. II.). The history of Meloe is very
similar. The active larva changes to a soft grub,
which feeds exclusively on honey. A third larval
form, not unlike a Lamellicorn larva, succeeds. About
Midsummer this is transformed into what Fabre calls
the pseudo-chrysalis. The Meloe in this stage, still
encumbered by the cast skin of the third larva, had
been observed by Newport, who remarks that the
stout mandibles and hooked feet of the third larva

THE CORN-RIGS OF BEAMSLEY FELL 103

seem suited for digging, perhaps for making a passage
to a fresh cell, whose honey is unexhausted.

The pseudo-chrysalis is sluggish, with a yellow,
horny skin, and from it the true pupa at length issues.
The only perfect Beetle which Fabre reared came out
in September, but the Insect does not show itself nor
seek its mate till the following spring.

THE CORN-RIGS OF BEAMSLF.Y FELL.

April 15, 1895. — I look out from my study-windows
across Wharfedale, and see faint but unmistakable
tokens of the advance of spring. The level meadows
in the floor of the valley are green, and not grey as
they were a month ago. The woods, which all winter
through were of uniform black, are now resolved into
masses of feathery trees, softly pencilled with brown
and green. A grove of poplars in Denton Park is
distinguished by the colour and the branching at a
distance of a full mile.

When we come to close quarters we see the green
buds of the Sycamore, the brown buds of the Poplar
and the russet flowers of the Elm. The trees which
slept are waking.

It is near sun-down, and the sun shines straight
down this reach of the valley, bringing out with his
horizontal rays the faintest surface-markings. On the
opposite hill-side the drainage furrows are ruled in
close and regular lines across the meadows and
pastures. I can also distinguish much slighter
furrows here and there, which are corn-rigs, the

io4 ROUND THE YEAR

furrows of ploughed land. These last are so ill-defined
that I should not have recognised them, if I had not
lately walked past those very fields. Falling into talk
with a farm-labourer, he pointed out which pastures
had been reaped within his own memory. Higher up
the valley are terraces, once cultivated by the spade,
and there are many signs that corn and vegetables
formerly flourished where now all is grass. Such
traces of ancient tillage are not peculiar to Wharfe-
dale or to Yorkshire. They are common in all parts of
England. Canon Raine points out that in parts of
Tynedale which have never been tilled within living
memory the Black Book of Hexham Priory shows that
corn was once raised. " If this evidence were wanting,
the lay-riggs, as they are called, which the rich sward
of untold years has been unable to obliterate, still
show decisively that in days long gone by the plough-
man and the sower have been there." l Marshall in
1804 found that over all the country from the Tamar
to the eastern border of Dorsetshire, open commons
which had never been ploughed within the memory
of man were marked with ridge and furrow.2

Corn -rigs on grass land do not necessarily prove a
diminution in the acreage of tilled land. In our day
the few ploughed fields of this part of Wharfedale
belong to the lower and richer lands. But when
drainage was rare and insufficient, these low-lying
fields were considered too wet and too liable to inun-

1 History of Hexham Priory, Vol. II. Preface, p. xviii.
(Surtees Soc.).

^2 Quoted by Prothero, Pioneers and Progress of English
Farming.

THE CORN-RIGS OF BEAMSLEV FELL

105

dation, and the uplands \vercpreferred for raising corn,
1 have noticed in old maps of Yorkshire towns that
fl.it meadows near rivers were often occupied by
tenter-hooks for stretching cloth upon. Probably
they were too wet for crops. But the higher ground,
up to 600 ft. or more above sea-level, often bore crops.
Wheat would not thrive at the greater elevations, but
oats and especially rye would do well enough. Rye
can be harvested late, in cold and wet weather, and
this was no doubt the chief reason why it was so
largely grown in the north of England down to the
early part of the eighteenth century.

There are few published records which give in-
formation respecting the history of agriculture in
Wharfedale. Craven was long a wild and backward
district. In Edward III.'s time1 the labourers of
Craven with the inhabitants of other desolate regions,
were made exempt from the prohibition to wander in
search of work in summer time. In Henry VI I. 's
reign there was a notable increase of population in
Yorkshire, as the many parish churches of that age
testify, and this increase would encourage the tillage
of lands previously waste. This was also a time when
much arable land was laid down in grass, as we learn
from the statute-book and from the complaints of
Hugh Latimer and Sir Thomas More. Whether the
acreage of tilled land positively declined in the six-
teenth century it would be hard to say. But there is
no doubt that during the next three hundred years
there was a vast increase in the ploughed land of all
parts of England, an increase which went on steadily
1 25 Edward III, Stat. 2, Cap. 2,

106 ROUND THE YEAR

until the middle of the nineteenth century. During
the last fifty years, however, there has been a marked
concentration of population jn Yorkshire. Out-
side the great towns there has been a considerable
aggregate increase, due to the growth of manufactur-
ing villages, health resorts, and suburban houses, all
dependent upon manufactures. But the proper rural
population has declined. Unroofed cottages are
common in Wharfedale, and a far larger number
have been swept away altogether. There was a time
when princes and parliaments would have interposed to
check the evil by such blundering enactments as they
could devise. We have learnt by experience that
mankind cannot be effectually driven to adopt an
occupation and a place of abode which accord with
the views, not of themselves but of their rulers.

The importation of cheap corn has materially re-
duced the area of ploughed land within recent years.
In every part of England are great expanses of pas-
ture and meadow which waved with corn within the
memory of men still living. The day is at hand when
the vast majority of Englishmen will dwell in cities.
A hundred years ago the vast majority were rustics.

Was it better to live in England then than now ?
Better in some ways, no doubt. Men worked, if they
did not sleep, in pure air, and in sight of the trees and
the blue sky. The simple out-of-door pastimes of
Shakespeare's day were better than the music-hall
and the street-organ. There were then no wilder-
nesses of streets to cut the children off from the very
possibility of knowing the face of Nature.

Some things have remained much the same through

THE CORN-RIGS OF BEAMSLEY FELL 107

centuries of change. Curiously enough, among the
things which abide with us is political and social rest-
lessness. Almost every age has dimly felt that it was
on the eve of startling changes. Such changes have
come and passed, and left the old fabric standing.
Wat Tyler and John Ball in the fourteenth century
were followed by Jack Cade in the fifteenth, by the
pilgrimage of Grace and Robert Kett in the sixteenth,
by the Levellers and Clubmen in the seventeenth,
and by the Luddites and Chartists in the nineteenth.
The hopeful and the ignorant and the clamorous are
always full of" a good time coming," which will never
come, it is to be feared, until men learn self-denial.

Some things have changed for the better during
three centuries. Among these are food, lodging,
clothing, education and medical treatment. People
feed much better and live much longer than they did.
If they are not a good deal wiser, it is their own
fault.

Take one thing with another, I would rather live in
Yorkshire in 1895 than in 1495, 1595, or 1695. Be-
tween. 1795 and 1895 it would be harder to choose.
The changes of the last hundred years are very con-
spicuous, but they are very hard to equate.

THE CUCKOO.

April 19. — This morning I heard for the first time
this year the " two-fold shout " of the Cuckoo. One
male Bird is certainly here. I see him fly to and fro
across the fields, as if seeking a mate.

I08 ROUND THE YEAR

April 22. — We have now several Cuckoos in our
valley, the males as yet greatly predominating. The
males are more fixed in their abode than the
females, which rove a good deal and pick up several
mates.

May 20.— A Cuckoo's egg found in a Wagtail's
nest. The small Birds are certainly afraid of the
Cuckoo, who pursues them as if to see where they are
going to lay. The Hawk-like appearance no doubt
adds to the terror which the Cuckoo inspires.

We have few memoirs on the habits of Birds more
interesting than Dr. Jenner's Observations on the
Natural History of the Cttckoo, published in the
Philosophical Transactions for 1788.

Jenner, the discoverer of vaccination, was a man of
varied tastes and acquirements. He was accomplished
in music and studied Natural History with diligence
and success. In this subject he had the advantage of
instruction by a first-rate master, John Hunter, in
whose house he lived for two years, and to whom he
addressed, for communication to the Royal Society,
his memoirs on the Cuckoo. In 1788 Jenner was
thirty-nine years old, and practising medicine at
Berkeley. During the same year he came up to
London, in order to make known his views as to the
relation between cow-pox and small-pox, which were
coldly received by the great physicians. His first
case of successful vaccination was still some years in
the future (1796).

At one time it had seemed likely that Jenner might
become a professed naturalist. He had been em-
ployed, probably on Hunter's recommendation, to

THE CUCKOO 109

arrange the zoological collections brought back by Sir
Joseph Banks from Captain Cook's first voyage of
discovery, and the post of naturalist on the second
voyage had been offered to him. But love of his
Gloucestershire home and the prospect of distinction
in medicine decided Jenner to remain in England.
Throughout his eminent and useful career Natural
History continued to occupy his attention. He studied
the hibernation of the Hedgehog, the fossils of
Gloucestershire, and the habits of Birds His long-
meditated paper on the Migration of Birds was sent
in to the Royal Society in 1823, the year of his
death.

Jenner's Observations on the Cuckoo are too long
for verbatim quotation, but as they are not accessible
to every reader, I think it may be worth while to give
them in a condensed form. I preserve, as far as
possible, the words of the author.

"The first appearance of Cuckoos is about the r/th
of April. Like other migrating Birds they arrive and
depart in succession, and are more numerous in the
second than the first week of their arrival. The song
of the male soon proclaims its arrival. The song of
the female is widely different, and I believe that few
are acquainted with it ; the cry of the Dab-chick
bears the nearest resemblance to it.1

" Unlike most Birds, Cuckoos do not pair. The
female does not begin to lay till some weeks after her

1 Some naturalists are of opinion that the female bird calls
"Cuckoo " like the male ; but clear and direct testimony cannot
be quoted. See Newton in Yarrell's British Birds, 4th edition,
Vol. 2, and Zoologist, June, 1886.

no ROUND THE YEAR

arrival. I never could procure an egg till after the

middle of May.1

" The Cuckoo makes choice of the nests of a great
variety of small Birds. I have known its egg
intrusted to the care of the Hedge-sparrow, the
Water-wagtail, the Titlark, the Yellow-hammer,
the Green-Linnet, and the Whinchat ; 2 among
these it generally selects the three former, but
shows a much greater partiality to the Hedge-
sparrow than to any of the rest. The Hedge-sparrow
commonly takes up four or five days in laying her
eggs. During this time (generally after she has laid
one or two) the Cuckoo contrives to deposit her egg
among the rest. When the Hedge-sparrow (or other
Bird) has sat her usual time, and disengaged the
young Cuckoo and some of her own offspring from
the shell, her own young ones and any of her eggs
that remain unhatched, are soon turned out, the young
Cuckoo, which is commonly hatched first, remaining
possessor of the nest, and sole object of her future
care. The young Birds are not previously killed, nor
are the eggs demolished ; but all are left to perish
together, either entangled about the bush which
contains the nest, or lying on the ground under it.

11 June 1 8, 1787, I examined the nest of a Hedge -

1 The Cuckoo is said by Dr. Rey to lay an egg every other
day (sometimes every day for a short time) from the middle of
May to the middle of July.

2 To this list we may add the Wren, the Red-backed Shrike,
the Bunting, and the Redstart. There is a fuller list in Harting's
Summer Migrants, pp. 222-3. No fewer than 1 10 species of
birds are recorded as having been known to hatch the eggs of
the Cuckoo.

THE CUCKOO in

sparrow which then contained a Cuckoo's and three
Hedge-sparrow's eggs. On inspecting it the day
following I found that the nest now contained only a
young Cuckoo and one young Hedge-sparrow. The
nest was placed so near the extremity of a hedge, that
I could distinctly see what was going forward in it, and
to my astonishment, I saw the young Cuckoo in the act
of turning out the young Hedge-sparrow. The mode
of accomplishing this was very curious. The Cuckoo,
with the assistance of its rump and wings, contrived
to get the other Bird upon its back, and making a
lodgment for the burden by elevating its elbows
clambered backward with it up the side of the nest
till it reached the top, where, resting for a moment it
threw off its load with a jerk, and quite disengaged it
from the nest. It remained for a short time feeling
about with the extremities of its wings, as if to be
convinced that the business was properly executed,
and then dropped into the nest again. I have often
seen it examine, as it were, with the extremities of its
wings, an egg and nestling before it began its
operations, and the nice sensibility which these parts
seem to possess, compensated the want of sight,
which as yet it was destitute of. I afterwards put in
an egg, and this by a similar process, was conveyed to
the edge of the nest, and thrown out. These experi-
ments I have repeated several times in different nests,
and have always found the young Cuckoo disposed to
act in the same manner. In climbing up the nest, it
sometimes drops its burden, and thus is foiled in its
endeavours, but after a little respite, the work is
resumed, and goes on almost incessantly till it is

Ii2 ROUND THE YEAR

effected. This disposition for turning out its com-
panions declines from the time it is two or three days
old. I have frequently seen a young Cuckoo, hatched
nine or ten days, remove a nestling that had been
placed in the nest with it, but suffer an egg, put there
at the same time to remain unmolested. The singu^
larity of its shape is well adapted to these purposes,
for, different from other newly hatched Birds, its back
from the scapulae downwards is very broad, with a
considerable depression in the middle. This depression
seems formed by nature to give a more secure
lodgment to the egg or the young Bird, when the
Cuckoo is employed in removing either of them from
the nest. When it is about twelve days old, the
cavity is quite filled up, and then the back assumes
the shape of nestling birds in general.

"July 9.— A young Cuckoo, that had been hatched
by a Hedge-sparrow about four hours, was confined
in the nest in such a manner that it could not possibly
turn out the young Hedge-sparrows which were
hatched at the same time, though it was almost in-
cessantly making attempts to effect it. The conse-
quence was, the old Birds fed the whole alike, and
appeared in every respect to pay the same attention
to their own young as to the young Cuckoo, until the
1 3th, when the nest was unfortunately plundered.

" The smallness of the Cuckoo's egg in proportion
to the size of the Bird is a circumstance that hitherto,
I believe, has escaped the notice of the ornithologist.
So great is the disproportion, that the egg is in general
smaller than that of the House-sparrow, whereas the
difference in the size of the Birds is nearly as five to

THE CUCKOO 113

one. Eggs produced at different times by the same
Cuckoo vary very much in size. I have found one
that weighed only forty-three grains, and another that
weighed fifty-five grains. The colour is extremely
variable : some, both in ground and pencilling, very
much resemble the House-sparrow's ; some are in-
distinctly covered with bran-coloured spots ; and
others are marked with lines of black, resembling in
some measure the eggs of the Yellow-hammer.

" The circumstance of the young Cuckoo's being
destined by nature to throw out the young Hedge-
sparrows, seems to account for the parent-Cuckoo's
dropping her egg in the nest of Birds so small as
those I have particularised. If she were to do this in the
nest of a Bird which produced a large egg, and con-
sequently a large nestling, the young Cuckoo would
probably be unable to throw out the young Birds. I
have known a case in which a Hedge-sparrow sat
upon a Cuckoo's egg and one of her own. Her own
egg was hatched five days before the Cuckoo's, and
the young Hedge-sparrow gained such a superiority
in size that the Cuckoo was unable to lift it out of the
nest till the Cuckoo was two days old.

" It appears a little extraordinary that two Cuckoos'
eggs should ever be deposited in the same nest, as the
young one produced from one of them must inevitably
perish ; yet I have known two instances of this kind,
one of which I shall relate.

"June 27, 1787. — Two Cuckoos and a Hedge-
sparrow were hatched in the same nest this morning ;
one Hedge-sparrow's egg remained unhatched. A
few hours after a contest began between the Cuckoos,

I

II4 ROUND THE YEAR

which continued undetermined till the next afternoon,
when one of them, which was somewhat superior in
size, turned out the other, together with the young
Hedge-sparrow and the unhatched egg. The contest
was very remarkable. The combatants alternately
appeared to have the advantage, as each carried the
other several times nearly to the top of the nest, and
then sunk down again, oppressed by the weight of
its burden, till at length the strongest prevailed, and
was afterwards brought up by the Hedge-sparrows.

" Why should not the Cuckoo, like other Birds, build
a nest, incubate its eggs, and rear its own young ?
There is no reason to be assigned from the formation
of the Bird, why it should not perform all these
several offices. May not the singularities of the
Cuckoo be owing to the short residence this Bird
makes in the country where it propagates, and the
call of nature to produce during that short residence a
numerous progeny ? The Cuckoo's first appearance
here is about the middle of April, commonly on the
1 7th.1 Its egg is not ready for incubation till some
weeks after its arrival, seldom before the middle of
May. A fortnight is taken up by the sitting Bird in
hatching the egg. The young Bird generally con-
tinues about three weeks in the nest before it flies,
and the foster-parents feed it more than five weeks after
this period ; so that [even] if a Cuckoo should be ready
with an egg much sooner than the time pointed out,
not a single nestling would be fit to provide for itself
before its parent would be instinctively directed to

1 In other parts of England the Cuckoo often arrives a few
days earlier.

THE CUCKOO 115

seek a new residence : for old Cuckoos take their
leave of this country the first week in July.

" The Cuckoo goes on laying till the eve of her
departure from this country, for though old Cuckoos
in general take their leave the first week in July, I
have known an egg to be hatched in the nest of a
Hedge-sparrow so late as the I5th.

"Among the many peculiarities of the young
Cuckoo there is one that shows itself very earl}-.
Long before it leaves the nest it frequently, when
irritated, assumes the manner of a Bird of prey, looks
ferocious, throws itself back, and pecks at anything
presented to it with great vehemence, often at the
same time making a chuckling noise, like a young-
Hawk. Sometimes, when disturbed in a smaller
degree, it makes a kind of hissing noise, accompanied
with a heaving motion of the whole body. The
growth of the young Cuckoo is uncommonly rapid.
The chirp is plaintive, like that of the Hedge-
sparrow ; but the sound is not acquired from the
foster-parent, as it is the same whether it be reared
by the Hedge-sparrow or any other Bird. It never
acquires the adult note during its stay in this country.

" The stomachs of young Cuckoos contain a great
variety of food, animal or vegetable. Hedge-
sparrows in general feed the young Cuckoo with
scarcely anything but animal food ; the Titlark feeds
it principally with grasshoppers. In one fed by
Hedge-sparrows, the contents of the stomach were
almost entirely vegetable, such as wheat, small
vetches, etc. This served to clear up a point which
before had somewhat puzzled me ; for having found

I 2

n6 ROUND THE YEAR

the Cuckoo's egg in the nest of a Green-Linnet, which
begins very early to feed its young with vegetable
food, I was apprehensive till I saw this fact that this
Bird would have been an unfit foster-parent for the
young Cuckoo.

"There seems to be no precise time fixed for
the departure of young Cuckoos. I believe they go
off in succession, probably as soon as they are capable
of taking care of themselves. Though they stay here
till they are nearly equal in size and growth of
plumage to the old Cuckoo, yet the fostering care of
the Hedge-sparrow is not withdrawn from them. I
have frequently seen the young Cuckoo of such a size
that the Hedge-sparrow has perched on its back or
half-expanded wing, in order to put the food into its
mouth. At this advanced stage, I believe that young
Cuckoos procure some food for themselves. If they
did not go off in succession, it is probable that we
should see them in large numbers by the middle of
August, but they are not more numerous at any
season than the parent-birds in May and June."

The habits of the Cuckoo afford a tempting field
for speculation, and many attempts have been made
to trace the probable origin of the instinct which
leads this Bird to lay her eggs in the nests of others.
Jenner, as we have seen, looks upon the necessity of
early migration from the north as the determining
cause. But the early migration is still an unexplained
fact. Is it an antecedent or a consequent? Does
the Cuckoo lay her eggs in other Birds' nests, in
order that she may leave early, or does she leave

THE CUCKOO [17

early because she has no young brood to detain her
in the north ? Has she a motive independent of her
young for retreating in July? We cannot tell.

It has been supposed that the parasitic egg-laying
of the Cuckoo depends upon the circumstance that
the eggs instead of being laid daily, mature in suc-
cession, with intervals of two or three days. If all
the eggs were hatched in the same nest, the operation
would be protracted, and inconvenience would result
from the existence of eggs, young nestlings and older
nestlings in the same nest. This actually happens
in the case of the American Cuckoo which is non-
parasitic. Such a negative exception is not a refutation,
but we have no proof that the rate of formation of the
eggs is a fixed and unalterable condition, capable of
dictating the mode of incubation.

It is interesting to note that the habits of the
Cuckoo are not absolutely determined by obvious
facts of structure, and also that other Birds exhibit
the beginnings of a possible parasitic instinct. Some
species of Cuckoo build their own nests, hatch their
own eggs, and feed their own young. The common
American Cuckoo is one of these. Our common
Cuckoo has been said to lay her eggs on the bare
ground, to hatch them, and to feed the young.1 There
are several truly parasitic Cuckoos besides our
familiar species. One of these is European, three are
Australian.2 This affords the possibility of deciding

1 Mr. Harting suggests that there may be an error of obser-
vation here, and that the Nightjar has been taken for a
Cuckoo.

2 Ramsay, quoted in Darwin's Origin of Species, Chap. VI I.

n8 ROUND THE YEAR

which facts of structure and life-history are and which
are not necessary to the parasitic mode of incubation.
It would seem probable that the small size of the
egg is directly connected with parasitism. Whether
early migration or even migration at all is an essen-
tial condition I do not know. By comparison of
various species of parasitic Birds it appears that
they are prone to lay their eggs in the nests of
Birds whose eggs are somewhat similar in size and
colour. This tendency perhaps exists in our com-
mon Cuckoo, though the contrast between her eggs
and those of the Hedge-sparrow is notorious. There
is some reason for supposing that the colour of the
eggs laid by every female is peculiar and constant.
Each Cuckoo returns, it is believed, year after year to
the same place, and lays her eggs in the nests of one
particular species only. Dr. Rey supposes that each
Cuckoo keeps to the nests of that species by which
she was herself reared.1 Certain Birds which are
not Cuckoos at all regularly lay their eggs in the
nests of other Birds. Among these are more than
one species of Icteridae, some of which are named
Orioles, though not belonging to the family of true
Orioles. Various Birds of the most diverse kinds
have been known to practise the same trick casually.
The Starling's egg for instance, has been found in a
Woodpecker's nest. Much work remains to be done
in the way of collecting, authenticating, and com-

1 Altes und Neues mis dem Haushalte des Kiickucks An in-
teresting discussion of the question is to be found in Harting's
Summer Migrants, pp. 224-8.

THE CUCKOO 119

paring information before an adequate history of the
instinct can be related.

Our Cuckoo is said to be unable from its size to sit
upon the nests in which its eggs are commonly laid,
and therefore unable to lay in the usual fashion.
Several witnesses, apparently trustworthy, are quoted
as having seen the Cuckoo carry her egg in her bill.
One observer watched a Cuckoo through a telescope,
saw her lay her egg on a bank, and then carry it in
her bill to a Wagtail's nest.1 Dr., Rey quotes a
case of a Cuckoo's egg smeared with red earth
similar to that which covered the ground about the
nest.

It has been repeatedly said that it is the female
Cuckoo or the Birds to whom the nest belongs, which
turn out the nestlings.2 Jenner's narrative, which is
very explicit, has however been confirmed by sub-
sequent observers, and appears to be entitled to full
credit. Montagu saw a young Cuckoo repeatedly
throw out a young Swallow put into the nest for the
purpose of experiment. Blackwall saw a nestling
Cuckoo turn both young Birds and eggs out of the
nest in which he had placed them for the purpose.
Mrs. Blackburn made a clever drawing of a young

1 This and other cases are given in Newton's Dictionary of
Birds, which contains much curious information respecting the
habits of the Cuckoo.

2 It is strongly maintained by X. Raspail in a recent paper
(Mem. Soc. Zool. de France, 1895) that the hen Cuckoo watches
the process of hatching, and as soon as the chicks begin to free
themselves, destroys the eggs with her beak. She throws the
eggs or the young Birds out of the nest as soon as her own egg
is hatched.

I20 ROUND THE YEAR

Cuckoo in the act of ejecting a nestling Pipit. (See
Gould's Introduction, or Harting's Summer Migrants).
John Hancock j>aw a young Cuckoo make repeated
and at length successful efforts to throw out the eggs
and nestlings of a Hedge Sparrow. (Nat. Hist. Trans,
Northumberland and Durham, Vol. VIII. ; reprinted
in Zoologist, May, 1886.) The accounts of Montagu,
Blackwall, and Mrs. Blackburn are fully related in
Harting's Summer Migrants.

Like some other Birds, the Cuckoo changes his
note after the breeding season. The cry becomes
hoarser, the first syllable is sometimes doubled,
and the musical interval between the two sounds
is altered.

Jenner only slightly refers to one singular feature
of the Cuckoo, viz., its resemblance to a Sparrow-
hawk. Many inexperienced people have been deceived
by it. The barred plumage of the chest, belly and
legs are the chief means of deception, but there is
also a resemblance of attitude. The small Birds
seem to be imposed upon, for they show terror at the
sight of a Cuckoo, desert their nests and build new
ones when intruded upon by her, or at other times
collect and chase her as they would chase a Sparrow-
hawk. It is common to see a Cuckoo followed like a
Hawk by a small bird, and late in summer a young
Cuckoo is not unfrequently mistaken for a Hawk by
some manor boy, and shot. It seems likely that the
Hawk-like appearance of the Cuckoo intimidates the
sitting Bird, and causes her to offer less resistance to
the invasion of her nest. But we have still much to
learn about the difficulties and artifices of the Cuckoo,

BUDS

BUDS.

April 20. — The trees are fast coming into leaf. It
is a good time for observing the structure of buds,
and seeing how they expand. Let us begin by

FIG. 36.— Bud of Sycam

examining a Sycamore-bud, which is big and of
simple structure.

I gather a Sycamore-bud which is bursting, and the
first thing which catches the eye is that it is enveloped

122 ROUND THE YEAR

in a number of tough scales. The outer scales and
the tips of the inner ones have been long exposed to
the air, and are dark-coloured ; the parts which were
concealed in the unexpanded bud are paler. There
are four rows of scales, two opposite rows of four
each, and two intermediate rows of three each ; there
are therefore fourteen scales to the bud, or sometimes
twelve only. All these are carried upon a short stem.
If we strip off all the scales, one by one, we shall find
two pairs of folded foliage-leaves in the centre of the
bud. This is most easily seen in a bud which has
already expanded, and whose parts are enlarged.

On the ground beneath the Sycamore hundreds of
bud-scales are lying about. They are deciduous, and
are cast as soon as their purpose has been served.
We may conclude from this that they serve only for
the protection of the folded leaves within. Pick up a
few of the fallen bud-scales. They are rather long
and narrow, deeply concave on the side which faced
inwards, and well shaped for wrapping round the bud.
At the top of each scale is a small knob or point.
Look at it with a lens. You will see (more distinctly
in some than in others) a small three-lobed projection.
This is often curved round to the inner side of the
scale, and sometimes hidden by a mass of brown
hairs. On some of the larger scales, which were next
to the folded leaves, the projection at the summit is
five-lobed and quite leaflike. We can hardly be
wrong if we call it a rudimentary leaf-blade. In the
Flowering Currant, as well as in some other trees and
shrubs, this leaf-blade often attains a fair size, turns
green, and remains for a long time attached to the

BUDS

branch by its supporting scale. If the tip of the scale
is a rudimentary leaf, what is the scale itself? A
leaf-stalk, surely. That seems a natural and almost

FK; S7- — Bud - scale
of Sycamore, with
rudimentary leaf.
Magnified.

FK;. 38.— Bud-scale of
Flowering Currant, with
rudimentary leaf. Mag-
nified.

inevitable answer, but it is wrong, as we shall see by
and by.

Some Sycamore-buds contain bunches of flowers
as well as leaves. These are larger, and expand
earlier than those which produce leaves only.

I24 ROUND THE YEAR

Let us now turn to the true foliage-leaves in the
centre of the bud. They are folded up fan-wise.

Why is this ?

A few weeks ago it was hard frost, but the Syca-
more-buds were already fully formed and exposed to
the air They were to be seen all through the winter,

FIG. 39.— Cross-section of Sycamore, showing scales and folded foliage-leaves.
Magnified.

and had to endure all the cold and wet of the severe
season. One obvious precaution is to restrict as much
as possible the exposed surface of the leaves. Hence
leaves in the bud are packed up tightly, sometimes
folded, sometimes crumpled up, sometimes rolled
round. The hardships of winter explain why the

BUDS

125

leaves are enveloped in scales. The scales keep off
cold air and moisture.

We can imitate the folding of the Sycamore-leaf by
a paper model. Take a sheet of paper, cut it to a
roundish shape, and fold it along the middle. On

FJG. 40. —Cross-section of folded foliage-leaves from bud of Sycamore (two pairs).
Highly magnified.

each side of the first fold make two symmetrical folds.
To imitate the Sycamore-leaf as closely as possible
the spaces between the folds must be narrow towards
the base, and widen out towards the tip, as in a fan.
When folded up tight, the paper model will have a
pointed base and a square end. Such a shape is not

126

ROUND THE YEAR

good for close packing. The square ends of four
leaves would give the bud a great bulging tip. Let
us bring our paper model to a point by cutting
obliquely through the folds near the apex. Observe
that the cut must not interfere with the midrib, lest
the leaf be weakened, but should slope towards the
opposite side of the folded leaf. When the paper is

FIG. 41.— Leaf of Sycamore.

unfolded after being cut through, it will be five-
fingered. Four such leaves, pointed at base and apex,
will go into a neat oval bud. The five-fingered
Sycamore-leaf is well-shaped for packing, but I will
not say that this is its only merit.

We will take the bud of the Beech as our next
example. It is long, slender and pointed. In spring

BUDS 127

it swells and lengthens ; the numerous bud-scales part,
and several brown membranes (stipules) appear
between them. As the bud expands more full}-,
green leaves push out from among the brown stipules.
As in the Sycamore the leaf is folded. From the
midrib about ten pairs of lateral ribs are given off, and
the thin, green blade is sharply folded between each
pair. The ribs and the margin of the leaf are fringed
with silky hairs, which entangle much air, and so screen
the delicate young leaf from cold winds or fierce
sunlight. In Horse Chestnut, the great White Willow,
and some other trees the leaves are downy when the}'
first appear, but cast all their hairs before long. The
shoot enclosed within the bud of the Beech grows fast,
and the stipules soon become widely spaced, then
the leaves and leaf-stalks are fully seen, and we
observe that the stipules spring in pairs from the bases
of the leaves. Each stipule is a long curly, strap-like
blade, which withers and falls off as soon as the leaf
is fully expanded.

Stipules do not always fall off early. In Hawthorn,
Lady's Mantle, Pansies, and many other plants they
form small green leaves of peculiar shape, which last
all summer. What are stipules? They are lateral
outgrowths from the leaf-base, which develop earl}-,
and enclose the central part, or leaf proper. They are
often a protection to the unexpanded leaf, and where
this is their sole function, they are deciduous.

The principal leaf-blade and the stipules, if there
are any, spring from a particular part of the leaf, which
we have called the leaf-base. This is flattish, and of
inconsiderable length in the full-grown leaf. If a leaf-

,2g ROUND THE YEAR

stalk appears at all, it is of later formation than the
base and blade, and appears between them. In the
rudimentary leaf of the bud -scale of Sycamore no
leaf-stalk forms because the development of the leaf
is checked in an early stage. Hence the bud-scale
itself is not properly, in the Sycamore, a leaf-stalk, but
a greatly enlarged leaf-base.

By close examination we can satisfy ourselves that
the bud-scales of the Beech are not leaf-bases, as in
the Sycamore, but stipules. Between each pair there
is a minute green leaf, which never develops. The
bud-scales are the stipules of several such undeveloped
leaves.1

The bud of Lilac exhibits some interesting pecu-
liarities. Here the branch does not usually end in a
single bud, as in most trees, but the terminal bud fails
to develop, and a pair of lateral buds take its place ;
hence the strong tendency to fork which we find in
the branches of Lilac. The central leaves are en-
veloped in four rows of bud-scales, alternately two
or three in a row. So far there is nothing out of the
common. But if you dissect away the bud-scales
and examine them one by one, you will find that
they pass by insensible gradations into ordinary
foliage-leaves. The outermost scales are triangular,
the next longer and narrower at the base, and so on.
There are no rudiments of blades at the tips. The
bud-scales are not here enlarged leaf-bases, but small
leaves, the blade being more and more developed as
we pass inwards.

Bud-scales are not therefore all formed exactly in
1 Goebel, Bot, Zeitimg, p. 774 (1880).

BUDS I2g

the same way. Some buds have no scales at all.
Thus tropical plants, if they have no dry season to
face, and some evergreens (Ivy, Box), bear naked buds.

FIG. 42. — Flowering bud of Lilac, partly dissected. Some of the scale> have been
removed, and part of the central leaf has been cut away to show the flowers
within. Magnified.

Some Conifers have scales (Pine, Spruce, Yew) ;
others none (Cypress, Juniper). If there are bud-scales,
they may be simply leaves of small size and simple

K

130 ROUND THE YEAR

form (Lilac, Honeysuckle). This is rarely the case
with plants which possess divided leaves. Such plants
have bud-scales which are enlarged leaf-bases, rudi-
ments of the blade and of the stipules being often
visible at the tip. Sycamore, Horse Chestnut, Ash,
and most Rosaceous trees are examples. The true
foliage-leaves may also be enveloped by stipules,
which may either be few, green and leaf-like, as in
the Alder and Poplar, or numerous, brown, and
purely prptective. Oak and Beech buds are of this
latter kind.

A bud is a new shoot, complete or nearly so in all
its parts, but as yet unexpanded. It consists of a
stem with leaves and leaf-like appendages, and per-
haps flowers too. A bud is a thing of slow growth,
for though it may only be a quarter of an inch long,
it contains a number of perfect, if minute leaves, or
flowers, or both. When spring comes round every
sunny day is of value, and no time must be lost.
Everything is therefore made ready beforehand. The
leaves and flowers are all there, of microscopic size
and crowded into the smallest space, but with the
encouragement of moderate warmth, they soon swell
out and unfold.

The buds of trees and shrubs and other perennial
plants are formed months before they expand. Look
at a tree in summer or autumn. Close to the base of
each leaf, in the angle between it and the branch, or
in some cases on the scar of a leaf which has fallen
off, you will find small buds. These small buds are
those of the following year. It is by no means
uncommon to find by careful search at the side of the

BUDS 131

bud of the following year, still younger buds, and
when required these can be pushed forward rapidly.
Sometimes a late frost kills the newly-expanded leaves,
say, of a Beech. This happened in the year 1891.
A hard frost on the night of Whit-Sunday killed
nearly all the young and tender leaves, and for weeks
after all the Beeches looked brown and withered,
But before midsummer the buds, which in the usual
course would have expanded in 1892, had already
pushed forth, and each of these showed at its base a
bud which had been hastened a year, and which at
length expanded in the spring of 1892 instead of

1893-

Drought, or the devastations of Insects may bring
about the same results. Sometimes mere luxuriance
of growth accelerates the development of the buds,
and what would in the regular course form winter-
buds expand and develop into shoots in July. Such
fresh summer shoots are common in Horse Chestnut.
Elder, and Sycamore for instance.

We can produce these results at pleasure by re-
moving the leaves from young shoots in spring.
\Vhen the buds are thus made to expand a year in
advance, the leaves whose development had been
arrested, in order that they might be converted into
bud-scales, resume their growth, and expand into
fully formed foliage-leaves or transitional forms con-
necting these with bud-scales. It is as if the tree
perceived that leaves and not bud-scales would be
wanted immediately. New buds form in the axils of
the leaves thus hurried on, and it is these which open
in the following spring.

K 2

I32 ROUND THE YEAR

The protection of leaf-buds is effected in various
ways. The bud-scales are sometimes downy, as in
buds of the Willow ; sometimes they pour forth a
sticky substance, made of resin or gum, especially at
the time when the bud is just ready to open. Such
secretions are found in the buds of the Horse-Chest-
nut and the Black Poplar. Hairs protect the bud
from both cold and wet, chiefly by enclosing air,
which cannot easily be dislodged from very narrow
spaces. Imprisoned air is a very bad conductor of
heat, and it does not allow water to penetrate.
Even when the bud-scales are not downy, the thin
layers of air between them are a great protection.
Sometimes the bud-scales are excavated by broad
and very thin air-spaces. Many buds, especially of
herbaceous plants, are buried beneath the ground.

But for disturbing circumstances, which are, how-
ever, inevitable in the case of trees and shrubs, every
leaf would develop a bud in its axil, that is, in the
angle between it and the main stem. It is easy to
see that the shoots would become terribly crowded if
every leaf produced its bud, and every bud formed
a shoot. But poorly illuminated leaves often produce
no buds in their axils, or the buds fail to expand.
At the tips of the branches, on the other hand, where
the light is profuse, large buds, developing strong
shoots, will appear. Hence the branching is most
vigorous in an upward and outward direction. Many
variations are to be observed, and these lead to
variations in the mode of branching, and therefore in
the form of the full-grown tree. If the terminal bud
is larger than any of the lateral ones, and expands

BUDS ,33

regularly upwards, we shall get a spiry tree. In an
Oak there is a terminal bud, around which several
lateral ones are clustered ; this arrangement gives
the rosette-like branching which we all know. In
Lilac, as we have already seen, the terminal bud
always fails to develop, and a pair of lateral ones
take its place ; hence the strong tendency to fork
which we observe in this shrub. In the Elm and
Lime also the terminal bud fails to develop, though
it is often vigorous up to a certain point. Here the
lateral bud next below takes up the running, and
pushes out very nearly in the line of a regularly
expanding terminal bud.

There is no constant position for the flower-buds
of trees and shrubs. They may be terminal, but are
more commonly lateral, as in the Willow. Some-
times there is no separate winter flo\ver-bud at all, as
in Beech and Oak. Here the flowers appear in the
axils of an ordinary leafy shoot. The flower-buds
are often, however, of special size and shape, and
enclose a leafy or leafless inflorescence. They may
often be distinguished from ordinary winter-buds
weeks before they expand, and the flowers can be
made out by opening or cutting across the bud as
early as the previous autumn or summer.

Many plants make use of their buds as means of
propagation. All the organs necessary to a plant are
present in a bud or can be readily formed upon it.
Stem and leaves are already there. Roots can be
pushed out from the stem when required. The leafy
stem can form flowers when flowers are wanted. If
the bud is to grow into an independent plant, it must

I34 ROUND THE YEAR

in general be detached from the parent. See how
this is managed in the Strawberry or the creeping

FIG. 43.— Moschatel. (Ado

chatellina.)

Buttercup. They push out, sometimes very rapidly,
a stalk or runner, which lengthens and makes its way
over the ground. The runner bears one or more

buds, which are thus carried to a place where they
have room to establish themselves. Before long they
become rooted, and send up new upright stems. The
Celandine forms numbers of little green buds which
break loose and are scattered (how, I do not know).
You may sometimes find them in hundreds and
thousands, lying loose on a lawn. These little buds
are capable of growing into full-sized plants. The

Fir,. 44.— Head of Flowers of Moschatel.

Ladies' Smock and the Water-cress form little bulbs
on the leaves in the same way.

Flower-buds often exhibit beautiful arrangements
for close-packing. It is hard to see without a micro-
scope the very minute flowers, and the way in which
they are arranged long before the bud opens. But I
will mention one case where the need for close-pack-
ing seems to govern the shape and arrangement of
the fully-opened flower.

In some parts of the country the little Muscatel is

I36

ROUND THE YEAR

a common hedge-row flower in April or May. It
bears five, small, greenish flowers on one flower-stalk.
Many young naturalists have gathered these clustered
cups, and have wondered to see that the side-flowers
are differently made from the single flower at the top.
Each side-flower is five-pointed,
bearing five petals, ten stamens,
and five carpels. But the top
flower is four-pointed, and has
only four petals, eight stamens,
and four carpels. Why this
difference? We will suppose
that the number of the flowers
in the head is determined by
causes not known to us, and that
five has proved to be the most
convenient number. We will
also take it for granted that the
arrangement of the five flowers
into a compact head is bene-
ficial to the Muscatel, though
the reason is not known to me
at least. Then the necessity
for neat packing in the bud
requires that the side-flowers
shall be five-pointed, and the
top flower four-pointed. The
whole head is of nearly globular shape, with six faces
regularly placed all round. Each flower occupies one
face, the sixth and bottom one being wanted for the
flower-stalk. Take an apple, and cut it square by
paring off the sides. We shall get four vertical faces,

FIG. 45. — Flowers of
chatel, a, uppermost flower
/>, ditto, seen from beneath ;
c, lateral flower,
beneath.

from

THE BOTANY OF A RAILWAY STATION 137

\vhich indicate the places of the side-flo\vers. They
will not be exactly square, but each will have two up-
right straight edges, a semi-circular edge above, and
a flatter, curved edge below, near to the stalk. Such
a face is nearly pentagonal or five-cornered, and a
five-cornered flower will do very well for each of the
four side-places. But the top-flower must fit in be-
tween the four side-flowers, and to do this neatly it
must be four-pointed. A five-pointed flower could
only fit very awkwardly into the squarish place at the
top of the flower-head.

If the flowers of Muscatel were not so crowded
together they might be all alike. So too, where a
great many small flowers are packed together into
one bud, they may all have the same number of
points, and this we find in the flower-buds of umbel-
bearing flowers, such as Cow-parsnip. In the flower-
bud of Cow-parsnip there is a dense crowd of unex-
panded flowers, all five-pointed. But where the head
consists of only five flowers, four beneath and one on
the top, it cannot, so far as I know, be neatly and
closely packed in any other way than that which we
see in the Muscatel.

THE BOTANY OF A RAILWAY STATION.

May 10. — The platform of the little station where
we get in and out of the train every day was well
asphalted five or six years ago. The pavement is
still sound and good, except in a few places near the
palings, where plants have pushed beneath it, heaved

I38 ROUND THE YEAR

it up, and at length made their way to the air and
light. Shoots of Coltsfoot and the common Field
Equisetum, sent out from plants well established on
the adjoining slope, have succeeded in breaking
through a solid stratum more than an inch thick.

I do not in the least understand how the growing
shoots of herbaceous plants can force their way
through an asphalt pavement. It is true that any
observant person can find like instances. We know
of the sapling which grew through the hole in the
middle of a millstone, and ended by lifting the
millstone from the ground. We have perhaps seen,
as I myself have done, a tree growing in the cleft of
a rock, and at length forcing asunder fragments which
would tax the strength of several men to lift. We
talk of turgidity and the like, but we have not solved
the problem. Where is the mechanician who will
undertake to push a growing herbaceous stem, neither
so thick nor so firm as a lead pencil, through an inch
of hard asphalt?

On the same platform are little hollows, hardly
apparent to the eye, where the asphalt has been
chipped or indented. In some of these hollows dust
has collected, and seeds or spores have germinated
there. A little annual grass, a chickweed and a moss
flourish in these minute garden-plots, few of which
are bigger than a sixpence. At the foot of one of
the lamp-posts a handful of earth and sand has
collected, and here five sorts of flowering plants have
managed to establish themselves.

Germs of living things are scattered everywhere,
and some develop in the most unexpected situations.

THE BOTANY OF A RAILWAY STATION

139

Let us take one group of plants — the Fungi, and one
group of animals — the Insects. I cannot find room
for more than one or two examples of each. Fungi
have been known to thrive in the saturated solution
of copper sulphate used in a Darnell's cell. Various
species find nourishment in almost every animal or
vegetable tissue, alive or dead, raw or manufactured.
Insects are known to feed upon organic matter of
every kind. Glacier ice harbours one species in
countless numbers. A small Beetle feeds upon argol
(crude potassium tartrate), and has lived and pro-
pagated for years in a stoppered bottle half full of
this substance, which is kept in my laboratory.

We speak of life as a precious thing, and such it
really is. But we must admit that it is not precious
because of its rarity. There is an unlimited supply
of life of all kinds ; it is food and opportunity which
run short. Malthus and the new Poor Law have
interpreted nature truly enough. Population of every
kind is always tending to outrun the means of sub-
sistence. Of course it cannot actually do so, or
cannot do it long. There is consolation for the
anxious observer of Man and nature in the very
obvious reflection that intolerable evils, such as
starvation, are deadly, and work their own cure. The
fear of starvation is an evil too, but it is one of those
evils which brings forth good. All human arts and
activities orginate in the fear of starvation, and
decline when it is removed. The natural contri-
vances which delight us^by their ingenuity and
completeness are just as much the outcome of
difficulties about food and space as human arts.

I4o ROUND THE YEAR

Over-population may be a source of many evils, but
it is the mainspring of Life.

SUMMER TWILIGHT.

June 21. — This evening we were able to play bowls
till nearly ten o'clock. It is true that the last shots
were made with some difficulty. It was necessary to
hold a white handkerchief or even a lighted match
over the jack to show where it was. But the finish
was exciting, and we persisted till five minutes to ten.
At that time the north-western sky was still bright,
and we smoked on the terrace for a long time,
watching the slow fading of the light and the grada-
tion of the colour from amber to purple and grey.
Some one began to talk about the long twilight
of midsummer, and mentioned the well-known fact
that it lasts till dawn. Then an argument arose
about the length of twilight in different seasons of
the year. All were agreed that it lasts longest IHT
midsummer, but opinions differed as to whether it is
shortest at midwinter or at the equinoxes. I have
since tried to inform myself a little on this point.

The duration of twilight can only be stated precisely
when a somewhat arbitrary assumption is made.
Twilight is light received only by reflection from
particles, solid or liquid, which float in the air. Hence
it varies according to the state of the sky. In high
alpine regions there may be no twilight, although the
sun is only a little way below the horizon. But under
favourable atmospheric conditions twilight lasts till
the sun has sunk 18° below the horizon. How long

SUMMER TWILIGHT 141

after sunset will it be before the sun sinks so low, and
how will the season of the year affect the time ?

Draw a circle to represent the apparent path of the
sun in the heavens, and draw chords in the circle to
represent the horizon on particular days. In summer
the chord will be low down, and the diurnal path
will be greater than the nocturnal. In winter the
chord will be high up, and the nocturnal path greater
than the diurnal.

Parallel to each chord, and beneath it, draw a line,
to represent the limit of twilight. The arc inter-
cepted between the two lines will measure the duration
of twilight. It will be seen that the arc intercepted
will be shorter, the nearer the two lines approach the
equator of the circle, shortest of all when one is as
much above the equator as the other is below it.
That position will occur twice in the year, a little
before the vernal equinox, and a little after the
autumnal equinox. At the equinox itself the horizon
will coincide with the equator of the circle, and the
limit of twilight will be i83 below it. As we approach
the solstices the intercepted arc will increase in length,
but as the limit of twilight is always below the horizon,
it will come nearer to the equator at the winter than
at the summer solstice. The maximum for the year
will be at midsummer. In London twilight never
ends between May 22 and July 21. There is a second
maximum in midwinter, when twilight lasts about 2
hrs. 10 min. The minima fall about February 28 and
October 12, when twilight lasts only about I hr. 50

I42 ROUND THE YEAR

MIDSUMMER BLOOMS.

One of the glories of the summer is the abundance
of white flowers, not merely scattered about the lawns
and hedges like stars, but clustered into sheets and
masses. Hawthorn, Elder, Meadow-sweet, the great
Umbellifers, Apple, Pear, Bird-cherry, Mountain Ash,
Horse Chestnut and Guelder Rose are familiar
instances. The spectacle opens in May, and ends in
August with the great Wood Campanulas. As the
autumnal equinox draws near, the twilight is too
short and the nocturnal Insects too few for flowers of
this particular kind.

It seems probable on a first consideration of the
question that these expanses of white flowers,
glimmering in the twilight of the short night of
Midsummer, are lures to night-flying Insects. Some
of them offer fragrance as well as contrast of colour,
and the fragrance is often more powerful by night.
But when we come to note what Insects have been
actually seen to visit the great white blooms, we shall
find that some of them are visited only in the day^
time, and by various kinds of Flies. The Umbelliferae
are adapted for fertilisation by Flies, and their odours,
often disagreeable and rank to our taste, seem to be
well suited to the appetite of Flies. The night-
haunted blooms on the other hand are largely visited
by Moths, and belong more particularly to the season
when Moths are plentiful. Moths, it would seem,
enjoy the same odours as ourselves, for many of the
perfumes which attract Moths delight mankind also.

HAY-TIME 143

Midsummer is not however reserved for any one
kind of Insect, or any one kind of flower. It is the
very height of the flowering season, when the pro-
fusion, though not the variety, of flowers is greatest.
Then all sorts of flowers have a good chance, the
wind-fertilised Grasses, the Insect-fertilised Le-
guminosae, the flowers which trust to colour, or
perfume, or sweet taste — all are copiously represented
in June and July. Some few indeed have hurried on
their blooms to open in spring, or kept them back for
autumn, as if for this small minority it were better to
be out of season than to compete with the throng.
Many bulbs, which can store up food when the days
are long, expend part of it in flowering early or late
in the year. Catkin-bearing trees flower so early
because the wind can then carry the pollen to the
stigmas through bare boughs instead of through
leaves, which would inevitably detain and waste a
great part of that small proportion which actually
reaches the tree.

The botanist finds most occupation in July and
August, but the great spectacle, when the woods and
meadows and heaths are full of bloom, comes earlier,
and is at its best on Midsummer Day.

HAY-TIME.

It is July, and in the north of England the
meadows are almost ready for the scythe. The flat
fields along the river look brown, as if scorched by
the sun, but it is only the dull-coloured panicles of the

144 ROUND THE YEAR

flowering Grasses which deaden their tints. I can
see from my window one patch of emerald green in
the sea of brown ; it is a field which has just been
cut and cleared.

Grass-pollen floats everywhere in the air. I find it
on my microscopic slides, and sufferers from hay-fever
find it to their sorrow in their nostrils. Dr. Blackley,
when prosecuting his ingenious researches into the
cause of hay-fever, found grass-pollen at considerable
heights in the air. He raised two and even three kites,
one above another, the lower holding the string of the
one beyond it, and so was able to expose slips
smeared with glycerine at elevations of several
hundred feet. The spread of grass-pollen to great
heights in the air, and its penetration to the recesses
of our houses give proof of the extreme lightness
and profusion of the grains. While almost every
stigma becomes fertilised, innumerable grains are
wasted. Insect-fertilised flowers waste little pollen,
but they have to maintain an elaborate machinery to
secure this advantage.

A friendly correspondent, Mr. B. Holgate of Leeds,
tells me of the curious spectacle that may often be
observed when a field of hay is cut. The wild
animals which lurked in the long grass are driven
towards the centre as the scythe or mowing machine
works round the field from the outside. Rabbits,
Field-mice, and now and then a Weasel or a Hare
may be imprisoned in the ever-narrowing patch of
uncut grass. In the hayfield Hares are seldom caught
in this way, but when a cornfield is reaped, they are
often unable to escape. The noise of the reaper

HAY-TIME 145

terrifies them to such a point that they will lie down
and submit to be knocked on the head. Smaller
animals are often cut to pieces by the machine. When
only a few square yards remain to be cut, the
labourers arm themselves with sticks, and watch for
anything that runs out. A good dinner is often got
in this way, but among the miscellaneous collection
of animals killed are many that no one would eat.1

Grasses, as every farmer knows, are of many species,
and every field contains a mixture of several kinds.
A few, among which are our chief cereals, are annual,
the majority perennial. When a perennial grass,
sprung from seed, has once established its rootstock,
sent its roots downwards into the earth and expanded
its leaves, runners are pushed out, which travel on or
beneath the surface of the ground, sometimes to a
distance of several feet, rooting at intervals and
forming fresh tufts of leaves. The runners are solid,
and often sheathed in scales, which are really a kind
of leaves. Runners which lie on the ground are
green, but the subterranean ones are blanched.

I have lately gained a practical knowledge of the
runners of one particular Grass, Holcus inollis, which
is, I am told, known to farmers as the Yorkshire Fog.
Our tennis-lawn was sown last year with fine grasses,
but in the old sods which formed part of the soil
were many bits of Yorkshire Fog, which soon began
to show themselves above ground. Every one must
know this grass by sight, if not by name. It has

1 A graphic account of the disturbance of wild creatures by
the mowing of the grass is given by Cornish in Wild England
of To-day, p. 243 (1895).

L

,46 ROUND THE YEAR

broad, soft, pale-green leaves, and large panicles of
whitish or pale purple flowers. Cattle dislike it, and
it is often left quite undisturbed in a pasture, forming
coarse tussocks, or even covering large spaces to the
exclusion of more profitable species.

Of course the Yorkshire Fog cannot be tolerated in

FIG. 46. — Creeping root-stock of Yorkshire Fog. (Helens Jiiollis.)

a tennis-lawn, and I set to work to extirpate it. This
I did with great labour because of the runners, white,
horizontal stems, spreading through the earth an inch
or two beneath the surface. The runners branch,
root themselves at frequent intervals, and continually
send up bunches of leaves. Bits of the runners are

HAY-TIME 147

easily left behind, and these sprout again, so that
\yhoever undertakes to eradicate Yorkshire Fog, when
once it is fairly established, has his work cut out for
him. There is another very common Holcus (//.
lanatus] which is down}', and sends out no runners.

The rootstock is the true stem of the grass, and
the runners are its branches ; it is these which bear
the buds. In summer the grass sends up flowering
branches, which are often called stems too, but as
these are quite different from the true stem, we want
another name for them. Let us call them Jiauluis ;
the straw of Wheat, Oats and Barley is made up of
these haulms, together with their leaves and flowers.

The full-grown haulm is built up of lengths of
hollow, cylindrical stalk, with knots at the junctions.
At each knot is a plate of tissue which interrupts the
cavity, and from the same place springs a leaf, which
passes up the haulm about as far as to the knot next
above, clasping it close all the way. This leaf-sheath
ends in a blade, which is usually long, flat, and
pointed. The sheath is very often split all along one
side, the side opposite to the blade, but in some of our
common grasses the sheath is entire, like the barrel of
a quill. The leavds stand alternately on opposite sides
of the haulm. At the base of the sheath is a leaf-
knot, which is sometimes quite distinct from the knot
of the haulm itself. Where the sheath and blade of
the leaf meet is a transparent scale, the ligule, which
ascends for a short distance in close contact with the
haulm. It has been conjectured that the ligule
prevents rain-water from making its way into the
cleft between the sheaf and the haulm. I am not at

L J

I48

ROUND THE YEAR

all sure that this is the real purpose of the ligule
water does not easily enter a narrow, air-filled space.

FIG. 47. — Haulm of Oat. a, base of haulm, showing knots and leaf-sheaths ;
/', roots of ditto piercing the leaf-sheaths ; c, section through a knot and leaf-sheath.

When the haulm is young, it is solid, and com-
pletely filled by soft cellular tissue. The sections

HAY-TIME

149

between the knots are at this time very short, and at
first the leaves and their sheaths grow faster than the
sections of the haulms, so that they greatly exceed
them in length. One result is that the sheaths over-
lap, and a cut across a young haulm may show several
sheaths, one inside another. The leaves borne on the
haulm are profitable to the plant in the early season,
and they attain a fair length in April or May, but the
haulm itself is then quite short. It does not rise to
any considerable height until the flowering-time is
close at hand. Till then unusual height would bring
with it the risk of laying by the wind and rain, and
no corresponding advantage.

But when the flowers are ready to open it is
necessary that they should clear the low herbage.
The pollen, and a little later the seeds, have to be
dispersed, and this is best effected when they are
carried on tall, elastic stalks which dance in the wind.
The haulm, which was short and succulent, now
rapidly expands, shooting upwards and enlarging in
diameter at the same time. A haulm of a certain
grass, Festuca elatior, which I measured from day to
day, lengthened two inches in twenty-four hours
during part of the time. The growth is so rapid that
the cellular tissue in the interior tears open, and the
haulm becomes hollow. There is comparatively little
increase of weight, chiefly expansion and hardening
of tissues already formed. The sections of the haulm
increase in length till they equal or a little exceed the
leaf-sheaths, and these, which were telescoped one
within another, now become drawn out. It is not
uncommon to find the terminal joint very much pro-

T5o ROUND THE YEAR

longed, and then it stands up as a slender wiry stem,
clear of all the leaves, and loaded at the summit with
spikelets of flowers. The sudden expansion of the
haulm is possibly the chief reason for the split leaf-
sheath. The sedges, in which the haulm expands and
ascends more slowly (the solid pith is one proof of
this), have the leaf-sheaths closed. In some small and
slender grasses, where the haulm never shoots up to
any considerable height, the sheath is closed ; so it is
in the Cock's-foot grass, where the haulm dilates only
slightly, and remains nearly solid, though here the
swelling of the bulky spikelets tears open the upper
leaf-sheaths.

Each section increases in length by growth at its
base, and the young and tender tissues above the
knots probably derive support from the leaf-sheath
which wraps them round.

The knots bind the fibres closely together. They
also stiffen the haulm by forming a diaphragm or floor
across the tube. Some authors have doubted whether
the mechanical function of the knot in stiffening the
tube is of practical importance, but after examin-
ing a number of common grasses with special
reference to this question, I have no hesitation in
saying that the knots do materially stiffen the haulm.
They also discharge a very definite and useful function
of another kind. They remain capable of absorbing
water from the surrounding tissues, and of swelling in
consequence. In the uppermost part of the haulm-,
which is erect, the swelling could produce no useful
effect, and here there are no knots except where the
flower-stalks are given off. But at the base

HAY-TIME 151

of the haulm the knots become crowded. Here
the unequal turgidity l of the cellular tissue can be
turned to good account. That side which comes next
to the ground swells, while the opposite side becomes
compressed or even folded. When a haulm has been
pushed out sideways from the rootstock it is the unequal
turgidity of the knots which causes it to curve
upwards and take an erect position. After a storm of
rain and wind has laid the long stalks, the turgidity of
one side of the knots (always that side which comes
next to the ground) erects it once more. The
deflection capable of being produced by a single knot
is only moderate, but as the knots are crowded together
at the base of the haulm, a considerable aggregate effect
can be brought about. Inclination through an angle of
ninety degrees can be caused by the unequal turgidity
of three or four knots.

Thickenings containing tissue \vhose turgidity can
bs regulated are found also at the points where the
inflorescence of a grass branches. It is by means of
such organs that the lateral stalks, the flowers, and
even the bracts of the flowers, change their posture as
required. In the bud all the flower-stalks are limp
and collapsed, but when the flowers ripen the stalks
take up the most favourable position, often at right
angles to the haulm. Turgidity, or the want of it,
regulates the exact place and attitude of every mem-
ber of a highly complex inflorescence.

Additional roots are often emitted from the lower
knots of a grass-haulm. They push out through the
leaf-sheath, which is ruptured to give them passage.
1 Turgidify is distension of the tissues by water.

,52 ROUND THE YEAR

In some large grasses, such as cereals, these additional
or adventitious roots can be seen at times to issue
from a knot two or three inches above the ground.
They serve not only as channels for the supply of
nourishment, but as stays, like the stout wires which
are employed to secure a telegraph-pole.

I have said that the diaphragms probably increase
the rigidity of the haulm ; in the great haulms of a
Bamboo they certainly do stiffen and strengthen the
tube to a notable extent, but here they are of particu-
larly firm texture. An excellent model of the grass-
haulm can be made by procuring one of the Bamboo
rods now sold in the shops for fishing-rods and
curtain-poles, and sawing it in half along its length. If
a piece of Bamboo is knocked to bits against a stone,
some notion may be got of its great strength, and of
the way in which the diaphragms prevent splitting and
crushing. The Bamboo is a true grass, and in all
essentials of structure reproduces on a large scale the
features of our small native grasses.

If we try to cut a piece of Bamboo with a knife we
are reminded of another peculiarity of the grasses.
The Bamboo cuts very badly, with a harsh gritty feel,
and quickly blunts the knife. The hard, glossy surface
is particularly unpleasant to cut, as well may be,
seeing that it is largely composed of flint. The glossy
surface of a Wheat-straw contains much flint too, and
in various degrees all grasses and almost all parts of
them are flinty. By very cautious charring, or by
removal of the organic matter in other ways, it is
possible to get small pieces of grass which show the
flinty particles under the microscope. They some-

HAY-TIME 153

times form a uniform sheet, or in other cases rows of
minute beads. The flinty covering prevents the
penetration of moisture, gives additional rigidity, and
perhaps defends the plant against the attacks of
certain animals. Some grasses are so effectually
protected that they are hardly ever eaten, but in other
cases the softer tissues especially are eaten out by
small, burrowing Insect-larvae. Browsing cattle dis-
regard such trifles as a microscopic layer of flint,
but even browsing cattle can be kept off by the
defences of certain common grasses. Nothing per-
haps is more effectual than a close covering of fine
hairs on the leaves and leaf-sheaths. These prevent
easy wetting, and the leaves become unpleasant to
chew. One reason why Holcus is avoided by cattle
is apparently that its leaves are hairy.

How the grass-haulm is adapted to endure the
wind, how its proportions secure adequate strength
without waste of material, and how it comes to possess
such elastic stability that it sways beneath a light
breeze and yet is not prostrated by the storm, are
questions whose complete solution \vould I believe
exceed the powers of any mechanician. And the
problem might be further complicated to any extent
by taking into account the varying proportions of
different haulms, the varying loads which they have
to carry, and the minute structure of the hollow stalk,
which is far from homogeneous. Nature, working by
endless experiments, gives us a number of practical
solutions of questions which have actually come up for
settlement. She invites us to recover the question from
the answer, and to compare the practical with the

154

ROUND THE YEAR

theoretical solution. I do not venture to accept the
challenge, but shall merely look about to see whether
some particular cases, artificially simplified by assump-
tions, can be illustrated by known results of calculation
and experiment.

A joint of the grass-haulm is usually a hollow
cylinder. What is the advantage derived from this
form? A column of circular section is particularly
appropriate to a structure which has to resist pressure
from all sides. Such a column may be either a solid
or a hollow cylinder. Of these two the hollow cylinder
is clearly the stronger for a given sectional area. This
becomes evident when we consider what will happen
during bending. One side (the convex side) will be
stretched ; the opposite side will be compressed,
and between the two there will be a neutral line,
where there is neither extension nor compression.
Material lying close to the neutral line would be less
useful, and would stiffen the cylinder more if it
were removed and disposed uniformly on the outside
of the rod where the extension and compression are
greatest. A hollow cylinder is inevitably stronger to
resist bending than a solid cylinder of the same weight
per foot run.

The joints of the haulm get narrower in regular
succession upwards, the long joint which carries the
spikelets being conical and usually very slender.
This is attended with various advantages. The
moment of the load varies with the distance, and
is least at the summit of the stalk. Hence economy
of material is obtained by a reduction of thickness at
that point. The surface exposed to wind is reduced

HAY-TIME 155

where the wind would act most violently. The centre
of gravity is brought nearer to the ground. The
haulm is stiffest where the overturning moment is
greatest, most flexible where the spikelets are situ-
ated. It is important to many grasses for the dis-
persal of their pollen and seeds that the spikelets
should dance in the wind.

The diaphragms of the haulm have, as we noticed,
some effect in stiffening the structure. When a
hollow cylinder is bent, the opposite surfaces tend to
approach the neutral line, and the cross-section
becomes elliptical. Whatever resists that change of
shape, such as a solid floor, will oppose bending.
The diaphragms are most crowded where excessive
bending would be most injurious, i.e., near the ground,
It is probable that the diaphragms offer no appre-
ciable resistance to moderate bending.

The mechanics of a long bone cannot be treated with-
out raising some of the same questions. This subject
has already been handled by Dr. Donald Macalister
in a lecture which is peculiarly interesting and at the
same time perfectly simple. I should merely refer
the reader to his article in the English Illustrated
Magazine} if it were not that every reader has not
ready access to the old volumes of a periodical.

Dr. Macalister points out that the tubular form of
a long bone, such as the human thigh-bone, fits it to
resist either a breaking or a crushing stress. A solid
cylinder of the same mass would be weaker than the
hollow cylinder. If the solid cylinder had a diameter
of 100 units, and the hollow cylinder an external
1 1883-4, p. 640.

,56 ROUND THE YEAR

diameter of 125, with an internal diameter of 75, the
area of cross-section would be the same in both cases.
But the hollow cylinder would have a power to resist
breaking greater than that of the solid cylinder in
the proportion of 17 to 10, while its resistance to
crushing would be more than twice as great. The
strongest tube is one whose external and internal
diameters bear the proportion of 1 1 to 5.

Dr. Macalister shows that the cancellous or lattice-
work arrangement of the internal laminae of bones
coincides with the lines of pressure and tension.
Hence the bone is strengthened precisely where
strength is most needed, and the stresses are dis-
tributed. The bony substance is placed along the
curved pressure-lines and also along the curved
tension-lines, which intersect the first at right angles.
But the intervening neutral spaces, where there is
little or no thrust or pull, are left unoccupied, thus
economising material and diminishing weight as far
as possible.

In some animals whose weight is " taken off" by
the water in which they live, increased weight of the
body is less disadvantageous, and economy of sub-
stance may be disregarded for the sake of additional
strength. The bones of a Crocodile are solid, and
composed almost to the core of a dense, ivory-like
substance. In a land-quadruped weight must be
more carefully considered, and the long bones are
largely excavated, the spaces being to a great extent
occupied by marrow. In a flying Vertebrate strength
and lightness are combined with still greater nicety
of calculation. The wall of the shaft is reduced to a

HAY-TIME 157

thin shell, the cancellous tissue is scanty and large-
meshed, and the cavities are filled with air instead of
marrow.

The limbs of many Crustacea and Insects illustrate
in their way the advantages of the tubular principle.
But the best example of the strength and lightness
yielded by the tubular structures of animals is
furnished by the hollow quill of a Bird's feather.

The leaves of grasses are full of curious contrivances,
some of which are described and figured by Kerner in
his Pflanzenleben (Natural History of Plants}.

The flowers are expressly adapted to wind-fertili-
sation. Notice the absence of striking colour, scent
or honey, the abundance of the pollen, the lightly
poised anthers, and the feathery stigmas.

When the fruits ripen and fall off, there fall off with
them certain of the enclosing husks. It is only in
some cultivated cereals that the artificially enlarged
grain can be readily detached from its envelopes. It
is not uncommon to find the flower-stalks jointed, so
that they readily break away from the haulm. The
husks serve to protect the grain from spoiling by rain
or drought, and in some cases aid in dispersal by
greatly increasing the surface exposed to wind. My
old enemy, the Yorkshire Fog, enjoys great facilities
for dispersal by wind, and I find it springing up
in the most unlikely corners of the garden. In the
Reeds of the fenlands some of the inner husks are
fringed with long, silky hairs, which act like the hairs
on the seeds of Willow, wafting the grain to long
distances. Some grasses have awns attached to the
husk, which catch in the fleece or fur of animals. In

iS8 ROUND THE YEAR

Feather-grass the extremely long and feathered awn
twists when dry, and untwists again when wetted,
thus screwing the pointed fruit into the earth, the
long awn, entangled in the herbage, furnishing a
fixed point to push against.

Small as it usually is, the grass-fruit carries with it
a little store of starchy food and a minute quantity of
a ferment, which, under suitable conditions of
moisture and temperature, dissolves the starch,
and renders it fit for assimilation by the embryo
plant

A meadow ripe for the scythe calls up before me the
endless contrivances by which the grasses have won
such mastery in the struggle for the surface of the
earth. But what different thoughts the same sight
may suggest to other minds ! Andrew Marvell,
walking behind the mowers at Nun Appleton, was
chiefly struck by their resemblance to the Israelites
passing through the Red Sea !

" Who seem like Israelites to be
Walking on foot through a green sea,
To them the grassy deeps divide,
And crowd a lane to either side."

THE HISTORY OF THE CABBAGE WHITE BUTTER-
FLIES.

When I came to live in the country I naturally
began to grow cabbages. One result has been that
I have great facilities for the study of Cabbage
Whites. In May I find the eggs on the leaves ; the

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES i5q

eggs hatch out and produce caterpillars, which are
too plentiful for any but naturalists during a great
part of the summer. The caterpillars turn to yellow
pupae, spotted with black, which are found on the

FIG. 48.— Large Cabbage White Butterfly ; the female above, the male below.

trees, walls and palings around the cabbage-plot ;
and from these pupae issue white butterflies, such as I
used to chase across the summer fields in my school-
boy days.

When we look closely at the White Butterflies,

i6o

ROUND THE YEAR

which are reared in our kitchen garden, we find that
they belong to three different species, of different
sizes, and with rather different markings. These are
distinguished as the Large, the Small and the Green-
veined Cabbage Butterfly. If you find any common
Cabbage Butterfly and wish to identify it, you may
find it convenient to use this table of characters.

Size across
expanded Fore Wings.
Wings.

Hind Wings.

Larva.

Large
Cabbage
White.

2\ in.

Male. Black
at the tip ; no
spot.
Female. Black

A black spot.

Yellow,
spotted with
black.

at the tip ; two

black spots and

a dash.

Small
Cabbage

2 in.

Male. Black-
ish at the tip ;

A black spot.

Green,
spotted with

White.

no spot or a

black and

blackish spot.

yellow.

Female. Black-

ish at the tip,

two black spots

j and a faint

dash.

Green-

1 4 to

Blackish at the

Male. A black

Green,

veined
Cabbage
White.

nearly 2
inches.

tip ; one black
spot.

spot or none.
P'emale. A
black spot.
Under side

spiracles red,
on yellow
spots.

with greenish

veins in both

sexes.

The larvae feed upon Cabbages and allied plants
(Cruciferae). The small and green-veined species

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES

361

feed also on Mignonette and Tropa&Qlum There are
two and sometimes three broods in the rear. Eggs
laid in the end of summer yield larrae -which pupate
in autumn. and after hibernating emerge .as Butterflies
in spring. The Butterflies lay eggs, and the issuing
summer-larvae pupate about midsiammer. In an
early season the broods are hastened a little, and the

nuat i»tiir*v -

od is the third and not the second of the
April to September these are fe'vr weeks
Bmtterfflies cann-ot be seen, and soccessroe
of caterpillars are busy feeding during

The e^gs of the Large Cabbage White are laid in
patches on the underside of the leaves, and are small

M

,62 ROUND THE YEAR

yellow objects. Keen eyes will now and then detect
he eggs (hard boiled) on cooked cabbage leaves. If
you capture a female Butterfly, she will probably lay
eggs for you, but the best way of securing a supply of
eggs is to watch a female Butterfly as she haunts the

FIG. 30.— Green-veined Cabbage White ; the male above, the female below. In the
lower figure the under side of the wings are shown on the right.

Cabbages. When she rests for awhile among the
leaves, mark the place. After she has flown away,
you will often find that she has left a hundred^eggs
or so on a leaf. The small Cabbage White lays her
eggs singly.

Why are the eggs laid on the under side of the leaf?
Perhaps to protect them from sun and rain ; perhaps
to keep them, or the larvae which issue from them, out
of sight of greedy animals. The female Butterfly is

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 163

not very scrupulous about the position of the eggs,
and will sometimes lay them on the upper surface of
the leaf.

The eggs, when examined by a lens, are seen to be
enclosed within a flask-shaped cell, on which is a
delicate relief pattern. The egg-shell is quite im-
pervious to liquids. I once wished to mount a number
for microscopic examination. Knowing that the
larvae, if not killed, would by and by emerge and
break the shell, I resolved to soak the eggs in strong
alcohol for some days. This was done, and then the
eggs were cemented upon a glass slip. But they
hatched out all the same, and all the egg-shells were
destroyed. Plunging the eggs into boiling water is a
better expedient.

In ten days or less the caterpillars hatch out. They
have the outward form usual in Lepidoptera. There
is a dark-coloured horny head bearing the jaws (chief

FIG. 51.— Larva of Large Cabbage White, X 2.

among them the powerful mandibles), a pair of eye-
spots, and a minute pair of antennae. All these
require magnifying power for convenient observation.
There are three pairs of thoracic legs, and further
back four pairs of prolegs, besides a pair of claspers
at the hinder end of the body. Except where reduced

M 2

X64 ROUND THE YEAR

for special reasons, as in Geometer larvae, the legs of
all Lepidopterous caterpillars have the same number
and disposition.

When I have examined the outward appearance
of an Insect, I like to anatomise it, and here comes
the chief interest. Just as, in the words of Tony
Lumpkin, the inside of the letter is always the cream
of the correspondence, so the inside of the Insect is
the best part of its structure. I should like very well
to talk about the things which can be seen in a
caterpillar by the dissecting microscope, the air-tubes,
the nerve-cord, the heart, the digestive tube and the

FIG. 52.— Larva of Small Cabbage White, x z. After fiuckler.

reproductive organs. It is worth while to note that
fresh-hatched larvae are already male or female.
During the whole larval period the reproductive organs
slowly increase in size and complexity, and when the
change to the pupa takes place, they are often, to the
eye of the anatomist, perfectly formed. But this is
hardly the place to describe in detail things which
can only be followed with the scalpel and lens, and I
will say no more about the anatomy of the larva.

The larva changes its skin four, or sometimes five
times, the last change being that which we call
pupation. Then the last larval skin is cast, and the
pupa is disclosed. In the preceding changes of skin

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 165

little alteration of form, only increase in size, is to be
observed. The last moult, however, appears suddenly
to convert the larva into a new being.

I say " appears," because, as \ve now know, the pupa
is merely the larva in a new form. Pupation is a change
of skin, accompanied by an unusual amount of change
of form. When the last larval skin is cast, the
rudiments of wings and other new parts become
visible, though they do not acquire their ultimate
structure nor serve any useful purpose until the
resting-stage is over, when, after one more moult the
winged Insect emerges.

This seems plain enough to any one who observes
for himself. Yet much controversy was needed and
much Christian ink had to be shed before men could
be persuaded to drop their theories and look the facts
in the face.

When our Royal Society was founded the wildest
notions were abroad as to generation, development
and transformation. If the reader should chance to
come across a curious but rather worthless book
published in 1634, Moufet's (or Mouffet's) Theatrum
lusectorum, he will find in the dedicatory epistle by
Sir Theodore de Mayerne much learned trash about
the universal spirit which fills and governs the three
kingdoms of Nature. If animals and plants undergo
transmutation, Mayerne does not see why it should
be impossible for metals to do the same. In 1651
Harvey, our great Harvey, published his treatise on
Generation, and here, as all the world knows, is solid
matter, the fruit of observation and reflection upon
the development of chicks and fawns. But

166 ROUND THE YEAR

Harvey had studied the scholastic philosophy too,
and he treats us to many pages of learned disquisition.
Thus he explains to us that there are two ways in
which things come into being. The material may be
ready to hand, and require only to be supplied with
form. The sculptor makes a statue, but he does not
make the marble. In other cases material as well as
form has to be supplied, or at least brought together,
as when a potter gathers clay, and adds bit to bit to
make an image. In some animals, Harvey goes on,
the material is all collected beforehand, and only
requires to be thrown into shape ; that is metamor-
phosis. In others the parts have to accrete substance
to themselves and grow ; that is epigenesis. Insects
are developed by metamorphosis, but the higher
animals, which have blood, develop by epigenesis.

Such was the kind of speculation which was current
in the learned world when Malpighi and Swammerdam
began to explore the transformations of Insects with
the scalpel and the microscope. I do not know which
was the first to observe the fact, but Malpighi was the
first to announce that in a Lepidopterous larva nearly
ready for pupation the legs and wings of the imago
may already be distinguished by dissection. The
observation is to be found in that memorable treatise
on the Silkworm, which Malpighi wrote for our Royal
Society in 1668, and which they printed in the
following year. When the larva, he tells us, has spun
up, its skin splits, and the pupa emerges like a new
animal born of the old one. The antennae stand out
in the place formerly occupied by the mandibular
muscles. The legs of the Moth appear inside the

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 167

thoracic legs of the larva, and the wings project from
the sides of the segments, in places which were marked
shortly before pupation by purple tracts. The
appendages, when they first emerge, are slimy, and
cohere during drying, so that before long the body
and appendages of the pupa seem to be invested by
a common envelope. Even before the larva begins
to spin, says Malpighi, the rudiments of the wings can
be made out beneath the skin of the second and third
segments, while the antennae are already formed
within the larval head. The pupa is a mask, which
protects and conceals the future Moth until it has
grown firm and fit for the emergencies of a free
existence. Malpighi rarely makes a controversial
remark, and here he offers no comment on the views
of the schoolmen, but quietly states the facts as he
knew them to be.

In the very same year (1669) appeared Swammer-
clam's General History of Insects, a precursor of the
Biblia Natures, far less complete and valuable than
that great monument of industry and sagacity, but a
noteworthy book which had its results. The History
appeared a little later than Malpighi's Silkworm, as
we see from the fact that Swammerdam quotes with
high praise that very passage of Malpighi's which I
have condensed above. Swammerdam in his History
of Insects figures Daphnia, the Louse, the Dragon-fly,
the Gnat, Stratiomys, Anthomyia, the Ant, the
Vapourer, and the Cabbage-White, giving the trans-
formations of such as undergo transformation. The
text is meagre as compared with the later descrip-
tions of the Biblia Natures, and is largely occupied

168 ROUND THE YEAR

with a discussion on what we now call the Transfor-
mations of Insects. Swammerdam protests with all
his might against such words as Transformation and
Metamorphosis. They sounded in his ears as Trans-
mutation might sound to us, calling up such possibili-
ties as the change of men to wolves, the change of
the flesh of oxen to bees, the change of putrefying
plants to caterpillars, and the change of lead to gold.
Very likely Mayerne believed in all of them ; Harvey
certainly believed that Insects could be generated
spontaneously from putrefying matter. Metamor-
phosis was with him not a particular kind of growth,
but an alternative with growth. No wonder that
Swammerdam should bitterly remark, after giving a
long extract from Harvey, that it contained nearly as
many mistakes as words ; no wonder that he should
hate the words about which such rank misconceptions
had gathered. He insists time after time that an
Insect grows in just the same sense as a plant or a
Frog. We, who have not had Mayerne or Harvey
to refute, wonder a little at his vehemence, and see
no reason why we should not employ the very con-
venient terms Transformation and Metamorphosis.
They mean to us, who are happily unencumbered by
the rags of scholasticism, nothing more than con-
spicuous change in the form and mode of life of an
animal. The change may be apparently sudden, as
when a larva becomes a pupa, or a pupa an imago ;
again, it may be insensibly slow, as when a Tadpole
loses its tail and gills, and acquires legs, taking three
or four months to accomplish the transition. Whether
sudden or gradual to the eye, the change is always in

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 169

reality gradual ; the new organs are slowly developed
and grow by imperceptible degrees. When the
animal becomes to outward appearance transformed
in a night, it is because the new parts have been
concealed by the old skin, and are suddenly revealed.

Malpighi and Swammerdam knew all this as well
as we do. Swammerdam tried to make it plain to
his contemporaries, but in spite of his earnestness he
only succeeded in a moderate degree, so much were
men's words and thoughts entangled with the
mischievous theories of bygone ages.

The reader will be glad, I dare say, to quit these
ancient controversies and get back to matters of fact.
We have seen that Malpighi and Swammerdam
nearly at the same time discovered the rudiments of
the imago within the caterpillar. The following in-
structions are based upon Swammerdam's method of
procedure. Take a full-grown larva of any Moth or
Butterfly which has ceased to feed, kill it with ether,
tie it dcfwn with thread, and dip it several times in
boiling water. The outer skin will then peel off
readily, and the Butterfly will be exposed to view. I
have repeatedly done what Swammerdam recom-
mends, and have seen what he describes. When the
larval skin is removed, we find a flabby, pale-coloured
object left behind, which has two pairs of short and
crumpled wings, three pairs of legs folded beneath
the thorax, a pair of long antennae, and a pair of long
and slender mouth-appendages. Except that they
are soft, wrinkled, and somewhat undersized, all these
parts agree perfectly in outward form with the wings,
legs, antennae and maxillae of the Butterfly. The

,7o ROUND THE YEAR

maxillae are intended to cohere by innumerable
hooks, and so to form the long suctorial proboscis,
by which the Butterfly will search the depths of
nectar-bearing flowers.

Swammerdam came very near the truth in his
positive statements about the tran formations of In-
sects, but his knowledge, like that of every first
explorer of a very difficult subject, was incomplete on
many points. Having found that the caterpillar just
before pupation encloses what may be called a Moth
or Butterfly, he concluded that the Moth or Butterfly
had been there from the first, and that no more im-
portant change was involved than the expansion and
at length the liberation of the imago. We now know
that much goes on of which Swammerdam had no
notion. The organs of the imago are not all present
from the first. The rudiments of the wings form very
early, even before the egg is hatched, but the antennae,
the mouth-parts, and the legs of the imago are formed
after the last larval moult. Moreover, there is de-
struction of old parts as well as formation of new
ones. The muscles of the larva, the silk-glands, and
various other parts which are not required after the
larval stage has come to an end, disappear altogether.
The organs which are external, and belong to the
outer cuticle, are simply cast at pupation, but what
becomes of the internal organs which are no longer
wanted ? How do these disappear ?

They are eaten up and converted into granules,
which serve for the nutrition of the rapidly growing
organs. Certain wandering cells, very like the colour-
less corpuscles of human blood, do the work. The

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 171

corpuscles may be found sunk in the tissues which
they are devouring, and bits of striated muscle, plainly
recognisable under the microscope, have been seen
buried in the protoplasm of such corpuscles. In the
same way the muscles of a Tadpole's tail are eaten
up by wandering corpuscles, which carry the sub-
stance which they have appropriated into the blood.
How they part with it, and how the growing organs
get the benefit of the food contained in the corpuscles,
are questions to which we can at present give no
satisfactory answer.

What is a pupa? I have found few, even among
professed naturalists, who could give a full and
accurate answer. The common notion is, I believe,
that the pupa is a resting-stage, during which the
imago or winged Insect is formed. The form of the
pupa is supposed to be merely protective. Within
the hard, usually dark-coloured, and therefore incon-
spicuous pupa-skin, the imago is believed to form.

There is some truth in this, but it is not the whole
truth. Wings, legs, antennae, proboscis, and other
characteristic members of the imago, form, as we have
seen, during the last larval stage. They become free
for a short space at the time of pupation, but are then
folded against the breast and glued down. The pupa
is to external appearance a Moth or Butterfly which
has glued down its half-expanded appendages ; it is
enveloped in a close-fitting skin, which will be cast
when the imago emerges.

Svvammerdam must have often asked : — Since the
parts of the Butterfly are plainly to be seen within
the larval skin, how is it that the Butterfly, complete

172 ROUND THE YEAR

in all respects, does not at once issue from the larval
skin ? Why should a pupa-stage be interposed ? I have
not found Swammerdam's answers to these questions.
It is not likely that he was able to answer them fully,
for minute investigation of the tissues is requisite, and
histology was wholly undeveloped in Swammerdam's
time. Nowadays the most obvious course is to cut
transparent sections through the organs of the
Butterfly, after the larval skin is stripped off, and by
microscopic examination we soon arrive at one signi-
ficant fact. The organs of the Butterfly, though
recognisable and externally pretty complete, are
merely the outward shapes of what they will after-
wards become. The muscles, nerves, air-tubes, and
other histological elements are either absent or
extremely imperfect. Much internal growth has to
be accomplished before the wings are fit for flying, or
the legs for running. This is the proper office of the
pupal-stage of Lepidoptera, to carry on and complete
the formation of new parts, necessary to the flying
Insect, which were merely blocked out in the larva.
It is quite conceivable that the whole growth, both
external and internal, might have been completed
while the Insect was still to outward appearance a
mere larva. Indeed this is very nearly what happens
in certain Dipterous Insects, such as Chironomus. In
them all the details of the future imaginal organs are,
with some slight exceptions, completed in the larval
stage, and the pupal stage, which lasts a very short
time, often only two or three days, is employed in
giving the parts the firmness which they will require,
and in filling the new breathing-organs with air.

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 173

There are great differences between Insects as to
the amount of structural change which goes on during
the pupal stage. In some (Blow-fly, etc.) the whole
larval body is at this time reconstructed ; in others
(Moths, Butterflies) the new parts, fashioned during
the larval stage, are completed internally during the
pupal stage ; while in a third case (Chironomus, etc.)
most of the new parts are already complete, inside
and out, when pupation sets in, and require little more
than to be hardened, or in the case of certain organs to
be exercised a little, before they enter into full activity.

It is likely that primitive Insects never acquired
wings, and led much the same life during the adult,
reproductive stage as before. There are still some
few Insects (Spring-tails, Silver-fishes) of which this
is true. But it is common for adult Insects to fly.
Flight gives facilities for finding a mate not too
closely related, and for laying eggs in likely places,
which would be inaccessible to an animal which could
only crawl or run. Flight does not of necessity bring
about any change of food. If there is no change of
food, there is no absolute need of a resting-stage.
The Dragon-fly feeds upon live Insects, as it did in
its earlier aquatic condition ; it has no resting stage
at all. But the flying adult is likely to profit by a
change of food. The larva, as a rule, is voracious ; it
needs a capacious stomach and stout jaws, but no
extraordinary nimbleness or quickness of perception.
When the Insect comes to take long excursions in
the air, it will in general require a lighter and more
nutritious food, such as the nectar of flowers. Change
of food naturally brings about changes in the mouth-

,74 ROUND THE YEAR

parts. Short and powerful mandibles will be dis-
carded, and replaced by a suctorial proboscis. Change
of mouth-parts inevitably means cessation from
feeding, and almost inevitably cessation from work
and travel. Then we get a resting-stage. When
once established, the resting-stage may be turned to
good account in refitting the internal organs, and
indirectly in promoting specialisation of the earlier
and later stages. Where a pupa-stage is provided,
the larva may be yet heavier and slower, the fly yet
more swift and light. If the flying adult is specialised,
and the female capable of flying far and scenting
food at a distance, the better will be the provision
made for the young larva and the less the exertion
demanded of it. But the more inert the larva, and
the greater the interval between it and the active,
quick-witted Fly or Moth, the more complete will be
the change to be undergone in the resting-stage.

Though some Insects and not others are described
as undergoing transformation, the essential and prim-
itive feature is the periodical change of skin which
occurs in all Insects. In many cases advantage is
taken of the change of skin to secure a change of
form. The interval between the last moult and the
last but one, when passed in outward inactivity for
the purpose of effecting conspicuous change of form,
is what we call the pupa-stage. The more the larva
resembles the imago, the less the need of a true
pupa-stage. Difference of food in the early and
final stages, scattered food in the larval stage, are
among the reasons for conspicuous difference be-
tween the larva and the winged Insect, and indirectly

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 175

reasons for a resting stage. Similarity of food in all
stages of growth, and abundance of food, which is
easily found and easily appropriated, are circum-
stances which render a resting stage less necessary.

We must now turn back and study the formation
of the new organs beneath the larval skin. Many
larvae have to be sacrificed, and innumerable sections
examined to make out the whole story, but we shall
be satisfied here with learning the general plan of
development. At the time of the fourth moult there
is no indication of parts differing from those of the
larva. But as soon as the last larval skin but one
has been cast, a new skin, which we shall name the
pupal skin, begins to form beneath the last larval
skin. The new skin is not exactly moulded upon its
predecessor, but pushed inwards here and outwards
there. Where considerable prominences are to form,
the infoldings are deep, and from their innermost
extremities outward-directed folds project, which are
shaped in some cases like glove-fingers, in others like
pockets. These hollow folds are wings, legs, antennae
and other appendages, telescoped into the interior of
the body, because the corresponding parts of the larva
are not large enough to contain them. They are
often much bent and crumpled, but in a methodical
way, as the perfect symmetry of the two sides of the
body shows. Either from the first or after a short
interval, a second skin forms within the pupal skin ;
this is the imaginal skin. As the imaginal skin and
its complex folds develop, the pupal skin ceases to
grow. It is not cast or ruptured at present, but it
becomes a mere passive envelope, which takes accu-

i76 ROUND THE YEAR

rately the form impressed upon it by the growing
parts within. The larva in the latter part of its
history has accordingly three skins, one outside
another, larval, pupal, and imaginal.

Insects furnish examples of every degree of com-
plication of such imaginal folds. Where no change
of form is to be effected, the imaginal skin is closely
moulded upon the larval skin. Slight changes in
length of leg or mouth-parts are readily brought
about either by wrinkling of the new integument,
which becomes extended as soon as it is freed, or
by shallow infolding. Many intermediate cases of
various complexity occur in different organs or in
different Insects. The maximum of complexity is
found in the Blow-fly and other Insects of the same
family. Here the complete want of correspondence
between the structure and mode of life of the larva
and the fly, together with the high and special
development of the organs of the fly, have led to
an extraordinary elaboration of the imaginal folds,
which are numerous, intricate and deep. Closely
connected with this complexity of the new growth
is the completeness of the resting-stage. The pupa
has no external mark of a living thing ; internally
it is at one time reduced to simple elements, and
consists of a kind of pulp, except for the unde-
veloped imaginal folds. Protected by the hardened
larval skin, which forms a firm smooth capsule about
it, it goes through the evolutions which are to trans-
form a sluggish and voracious larva, destitute of
limbs and almost destitute of senses, into a swift and
adroit fly.

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 177

We now resume the history of the Cabbage White.
I will next quote Reaumur's account of the method of
fixation of the pupa. His pleasant and leisurely
narrative easily admits of condensation, and I pro-
pose to condense it greatly. Those who prefer the
freshness of a discoverer's narrative should read for
themselves the ninth, tenth and eleventh memoirs of
the first volume of the History of Insects.

Reaumur first tells us of Butterfly larvae, which like
those of the Peacock and small Tortoise-shell, suspend
themselves at the approach of pupation by the tail,
and hang head downwards. The larva spins a web
upon a leaf or other support, crowding the threads
towards the centre, so as to form a projection or hill-
ock. This web is not easily seen, but it can be made
evident by placing a larva ready to pupate in a box
lined with black paper. To the hillock the larva
applies the hooked claspers at the end of its body,
and so gets a safe attachment. The next thing is to
cast the larval skin. The soft parts within, covered
of course by the thin and flexible pupa-skin, are
swollen and contracted by turns until they become
loosed from their envelope. The tail-segments are
the first to be disengaged ; afterwards the fore part of
the body is powerfully distended, and the larval skin
cracks longitudinally behind the head, allowing the
surface of the pupa to appear. The next step is to
slip the loose skin backwards over the body. This is
accomplished by the successive contraction and dila-
tation of the segments one by one, and is aided by
spines or backward-pointing hairs upon the surface of
the pupa, which act like a ratchet, and prevent the

N

I78 ROUND THE YEAR

disengaged integument from slipping back to its
former place. When the old skin, like a stocking
pushed down the leg, is gathered into a mass of folds
close to the extremity of the body, the Insect pro-
ceeds to free itself completely, and further detaches
the cast skin, which if allowed to remain hanging by
its side, would needlessly attract the attention of
Birds. How is a pupa, hanging by its tail, and with-
out means of holding on by the rest of its body, to
attach itself anew, and dislodge the cast skin ? The
tip of the abdomen of the pupa bears a pair of pro-
minences which are opposable and armed with many
small hooks. At their base the abdomen is indented,
and forms a kind of elbow, which can be flexed, and
used as a means of grasping. The pupa extricates
the tip of its abdomen, using the elbow and the
hooked forceps alternately as a means of attachment ;
it then creeps a short distance along the cast skin,
and gets an independent hold of the hillock of
threads. Next it sets its body spinning, first in one
direction, and (if necessary) in the opposite direc-
tion by turns. The hooks cut through the threads
which hold up the cast skin, and this falls to the
ground.

Where the pupa is to hang by its tail, head down-
wards, the artifice of the Peacock and Small Tortoise-
shell Butterflies answers perfectly, but the Cabbage
Whites and some others have reasons of their own for
taking a more or less horizontal position, or if placing
themselves vertically, keeping the head uppermost.
Here a second attachment becomes desirable, and
they secure themselves by a girdle passing round the

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 179

body well behind the head. Reaumur goes on to
describe the girdled pupae.

Each end of the girdle is glued to the supporting
object. At first sight the girdle looks like a single
thread, but on examination with a lens it is found to
be made up of many threads, which are neither glued
together nor interwoven. It is sufficiently loose to
allow the body to move a little way in any direction,
and, what is of special importance, is loose enough to
allow the cast skin to be slipped
off beneath it.

The larva attaches itself by
its claspers to a hillock of silken
threads, and remains quite still
for many hours before be-
ginning to spin the girdle. The
subsequent operations differ a
little in different Butterflies.
Reaumur kept several kinds in
captivity, and was rewarded by

discovering three modes of procedure, each adapted
to the wants of a particular species.

In one of the Hair-streaks (Thecla) the larva is
stumpy and covered with stout hairs. Having pre-
viously attached itself by its tail, it contracts the fore-
part of its body as much as possible, fastens the be-
ginning of a new thread to the support, and passes it
over its head to the other side of its body, where it
fastens it again. The head is employed in a peculiar
way to carry the thread across. Some notion of the
process can be got by holding a thread between the
finger and thumb of the left hand, and grasping it

N 2

Igo ROUND THE YEAR

again with the finger and thumb of the right hand.
Then the right finger must be turned so that the
thread rests upon its nail, which answers to the hard
and shiny surface of the head of the larva. By this
extempore model the reader can better understand
how the thread issuing from the mouth is made to
sweep across the body in an arc of the requisite size.
gliding smoothly all the time over the polished head
Each thread as it is fixed is passed backwards over
the spiny segments, which contract or dilate for the
purpose of aiding its passage, and thus by the addi-
tion of. many threads the girdle at length acquires
due strength. Then the fore part of the body is
extended, the head passed well in front of the
girdle, and the larva, now provided with a two-fold
attachment, can proceed to divest itself of its larval
skin without fear of falling to the ground.

Reaumur tells us next how the Large Cabbage White
manages. When pupation approaches the larva makes
its web and hillock, as already described, and catches
hold with its hooked claspers. The body is smooth,
and so flexible that the head can be bent backwards
and made to touch the fifth segment. Thus doubled up
it spins the girdle from side to side, passing it round
the furrow between the fifth and sixth segments of
the body. When sufficient silk has been spun, the
body is straightened, and comes into the best position
for support by the girdle.

The third method of girdle-spinning is practised by
the Swallow-tail Butterfly. Here the larva holds on
by its tail and abdominal feet, the head is thrown well
back, and the thoracic feet are in the air. The thread,

CABBAGE WHITE BUTTERFLIES 181

as it proceeds from the spinneret, is caught by the
fore legs, and held taut, as by the fingers of a person
holding a skein of wool. When the girdle is com-
pleted the larva slips its head through, and is at once
adequately supported.

In all three methods it is requisite that the girdle
should surround the body at a point well behind the
head. The tail is already fixed, so that the body
cannot be moved forward as a whole after the girdle
is completed, but by one or other of the three
methods described, viz. : (i) contracting the fore part
of the body during spinning ; (2) doubling it up ; (3)
arching it away from the fixed support, the girdle is
set far enough back, and a due amplitude is insured.

When the pupa first becomes exposed, it is much
like the pupa liberated artificially from the larval
skin, and has in essentials the same external form as
the future Butterfly. The limbs and antennas and
proboscis are separate for a moment. Then they are
gently drawn over the breast,1 the proboscis in the
middle line, and the others in perfectly regular pairs
outside it. A viscid fluid is poured out, which sets
on exposure to the air, and glues them fast. After
this the pupa can only move its abdominal segments,
and even this it rarely does, except when disturbed.

During the pupal stage there are no outward signs
of life, although considerable internal changes are in
progress. The alimentary canal becomes smaller and
more complex ; a sucking stomach is partitioned off
from the larval crop, for use in drawing up nectar

1 In some cases this appears to be effected directly by the
process of extrication.

i82 ROUND THE YEAR

through the proboscis ; the nerve-cord and dorsal
vessel become shortened ; the silk-glands practically
disappear ; the reproductive organs enlarge ; the new
appendages acquire their motive and sensory appa-
ratus ; the voluminous fat-body of the larva is used
up. No food can at present be taken into the body,
but the pupa breathes all the time, and perishes if its
supply of air is cut off.

At last the organs of the Butterfly have attained
the last degree of perfection ; the pupal skin cracks
along the back of the thorax, and the winged imago
emerges. At first its wings are damp and crumpled,
but they speedily expand and stiffen, and in no long
time the Butterfly is ready to range the fields, seek its
mate, and provide for new generations.

Not all the larvae bring their life-history to a
prosperous end. There are some, in particular years
a large proportion, which are attacked by a deadly
enemy, an Ichneumon fly (Microgaster glomeratus],
which pierces the skin, and lays its eggs in the living
body. The eggs hatch, and the larvae which issue
from them devour their host alive. The victim has
not strength enough to assume the pupal stage. It
creeps up some adjacent object, as if with the in-
tention of casting its larval skin, but remains
immovable, and unchanged. The parasites now
devour all the viscera, creep out from the empty skin,
and keeping together, spin each its own little cocoon
of yellow silk. A cluster of such cocoons may often
be seen hard by the empty larval skin, and people
have been known to take them for the eggs of the
Cabbage White and destroy them. The fully de-

CABBAGES AND TURNIPS 183

veloped Ichneumon is a small four-winged fly, with
piercing ovipositor, or egg-shoot, and long antennae,
which vibrate rapidly, as if to gain from the sur-
rounding air some intimation of the neighbourhood
of their prey.

There is, in this as in other like cases, a peculiar
relation between the abundance of the caterpillars
and the abundance of the parasites, which is only
fully brought out by long-continued observation. Let
us take as the first of a series of years one in which
the caterpillars are plentiful and the Ichneumons few.
This state of things favours the increase of the
Ichneumons. The caterpillars become infested in
large proportion, few pupae yield Butterflies, many
yield Ichneumons. When things come to a climax
the Ichneumons are extraordinarily plentiful, but
their victims fewer than usual. Then the Ichneumons
suffer from mutual competition, and many die without
propagating their kind. As their numbers decline,
the numbers of the caterpillars increase. So the
cycle comes round time after time, the maximum of
the Ichneumons lagging behind the maximum (and
in some cases nearly coinciding with the minimum) of
the caterpillars.

CABBAGES AND TURNIPS.

My cabbage-plot is, I must admit, ridiculously small,
but it gives me plenty of opportunity for observation.
The difficulties of the young plants in dry spring
weather, and their rapid growth in a wet June are
among the little events of our year. The way in

184 ROUND THE YEAR

which the leaves throw off rain, gathering up the
moisture into big drops, which roll to the earth about
the roots instead of choking the breathing-pores, and
the waxy bloom which brings this result about, are
well worth both study and admiration. I hold with
Andrew Fairservice that a kail-blade by moonlight is
like a lady in her diamonds. Many of the drops
which we call dew-drops are not deposited upon the
leaves by condensation of vapour, but exuded as
liquid. You can see this very plainly in the Cabbage,
for the drops appear at certain points only on the
margin of the leaf, where veins end. Here are special
water-pores. Drops are exuded whenever the tissues
of the plant are chilled, most abundantly when a cold
night, whether clear or cloudy, follows a hot, damp day.
True dew-drops form only beneath a clear sky, and con-
dense as a multitude of minute globules, which may
afterwards roll together. The mere cabbage-stalk is
a wonder in its way if carefully examined. Look out
for cabbage-stalks which have been thrown aside to
bleach in the rain and sun, not in the filthy air of a
town, but on a country farm. You will see the stout
network of fibres, the meshes which allow the cellular
tissues to expand and to communicate with one
another, the bundles of vessels which pass to the
roots and the leaves. If you can get a turnip bleached
in the same way, compare the two, and notice that
the turnip is merely a bulge upon what is essentially
a cabbage-stalk too, though it is here called a root.
There is plenty of occupation, to say nothing of pro-
vocation, to be got out of the Insects which haunt a
cabbage-ground. But the chief interest of cabbages,

CABBAGES AND TURNIPS 185

turnips and the like is to me the part which they
have played in human civilisation.

FIG. 54.— Wild Cabbage. From Sowerby's English Botany.

Here and there along the south coast of England
and the Welsh coast we find a plant known as the

X86 ROUND THE YEAR

Sea-cabbage (Brassica oleracea). It grows in tolerable
plenty on the chalk cliffs of Dover, and is also
recorded from the Isle of Wight, Cornwall, South
Wales, and Great Orme's Head. It is about twenty
inches high. The leaves are large, jagged, and
covered with a blue-green bloom. The stem is tough
and woody. The flowers are of a pale yellow colour,
and are succeeded by pods. The plant belongs to
the order of Cruciferae, the same large and important
order which yields the Radish, Mustard and Water-
cress.

From this wild original (or possibly from it and
one or more closely allied forms not easily distin-
guished) have been derived the countless varieties of
the cultivated cabbage. Red cabbages, Brussels
sprouts, with their crowds of little leaf-buds, cauli-
flowers, with their dense masses of imperfect flowers,
brocolis and savoys, are all cultivated forms of the
weedy and ragged sea-cabbage. In Jersey, Mr.
Danvin tells us, a cabbage-stalk has grown to the
height of sixteen feet, and has had its top occupied by
a Magpie's nest, while the woody stems are often ten
or twelve feet long, and have been used as rafters and
walking sticks. A cabbage-stalk fashioned into a
walking-stick may be seen in the Museum of Economic
Botany at Kew. The principal varieties were estab-
lished before botanical curiosity had been excited,
and we can only get chance bits of information as
to the time and place of their first appearance.
Theophrastus knew of three cabbages, Pliny of six.
Regnier has collected evidence that cabbages were
cultivated by the Celts of ancient Gaul. There is no

CABBAGES AND TURNIPS 187

hint that they were known to the ancient nations of
the East, and De Candolle, who made laborious
researches into the subject, believes that the cultivated
cabbage is of European origin.

Turnips are practically cabbages in which the
lower part of the stem, beneath the seed-leaves, has
become enlarged and fleshy under cultivation.
Botanists think that the wild turnip and cabbage,
though extremely similar in form and mode of life,
are capable of separation, but this is a question for
specialists and of little practical moment.

Cabbages and turnips yield striking examples of
conspicuous changes due to long-continued cultiva-
tion and selection. They must have been factors of
appreciable weight in the early civilisation of Western
Europe. We can imagine some old European
savage, wandering dinnerless along the seashore, until
at length he was pressed by hunger to experiment
upon unfamiliar plants. That savages do thus gain
knowledge at the risk of their own lives we may infer
from the well-known fact that they are well ac-
quainted with the properties of the common plants of
their own country, and can point out which are
poisonous, which useless, which good for food. Our
savage sees the tall, weedy sea-cabbage, and finding
nothing more tempting, tries its flavour. There is a
slight pungency of taste, which raises misgivings, but
no ill-effects follow. Next day the sea-cabbage is
again resorted to, and in time becomes a regular
article of food. Presently some ingenious fellow, the
Watt of his age, saves himself the trouble of a daily
journey to the shore by transplanting a few cabbages

I88 ROUND THE YEAR

to a patch of ground near his cave. The refuse which
lies around, unwholesome as it is to men and animals,
encourages the xrabbages to more vigorous growth.
Years, perhaps centuries later, another great advance
is accomplished, and men begin to raise the cabbage
from seed. Gardens and fences follow. It is no
longer necessary to spend whole days seeking food,
and the man's hands are set free to make himself
shoes, and a coat, and a house.

We have perhaps given to the cabbage some share
of the credit which rightfully belongs to barley or
some other nutritious plant, but there is no doubt
that the cabbage played a considerable part in the
early civilisation of Western Europe. Cultivated
plants and domestic animals are the very foundation
of primitive society. As the plants grow more juicy,
and the animals more docile, Man too rises to some-
thing higher than he was. He becomes able to lead
the life which pleases him, and not that which is
imposed by climate and the wild productions of the
soil. He learns by slow degrees to shape his own
circumstances and habits. But his intellectual gifts
and his social aptitudes cannot be developed without
certain simple natural resources. Of these the chief
are plants worth cultivation and animals worth
domestication.

We have no distinct record of the time when
cabbages and turnips were not cultivated in Western
Europe. But until modern times they were cultivated
in gardens, by the spade, and on a small scale. No
doubt the first cultivation of vegetables in gardens,
could we get to know all about it, was the important

CABBAGES AND TURNIPS 189

step, but the mere multiplication of useful vegetables
by wholesale culture had great effects upon the health
and prosperity of the people, and this part of the story
admits of being set down in some detail.

As late as the time of the Civil War the cattle and
sheep of England had to endure something like
starvation every winter. Between harvest and
ploughing the unenclosed arable lands were used in
common for grazing, and formed together with the
pasturage of wastes and moors, the chief subsistence
of the flocks and herds. Hay was made in small
quantity, for the ground, was unfenced, and no
diligence of the haywards could keep the animals
from devouring or treading down the long grass. At
the approach of winter all the livestock was killed
and salted, except such as wrere kept for breeding.
No grasses were raised from selected seeds till the
eighteenth century, though clover and other " artificial
grasses " had been introduced from the Low Countries
a century earlier. Turnips are said to have been
brought over by Sir Richard Weston. He had been
ambassador at Brussels (1620-2), and when he came
back he cultivated turnips and artificial grasses in
fields at Sutton in Surrey.1 At this time the
Flemings and the Dutch were the most advanced
of European nations in horticulture and agriculture,
and their vegetables and seeds were largely imported
by England. The English engineer, ship-builder
and merchant of that age looked to the Dutch for

1 A Discourse of Husbandric used in Brabant and Flanders.
London, 1650. 4to.

190 ROUND THE YEAR

example and training just as naturally as did the few
English farmers who dreamt of adopting improved
methods. The turnip, which Tusser l had called a
" kitchen-garden root to boil or butter/' was slowly
taken up as winter-food for sheep. Blith (1652)
derides turnips altogether, and says that even swine
will only eat them when boiled. Jethro Tull claimed
to have raised turnips in the field in King William's
reign, but he adds that " the practice did not travel
beyond the hedges of my estate till after the peace of
Utrecht." Some of the Essex farmers, however, kept
their sheep upon turnips towards the end of the
seventeenth century. Townsend, who had seen them
grown as a field-crop in Hanover, made turnips and
clover his great study when in 1730 he turned his
back upon politics. He is said to have thereby
increased the value of some of his lands tenfold. It
was late in the eighteenth century before these crops
were common in remote counties, such as Devonshire
and Northumberland. About the same time English
turnips, as they were commonly called by foreigners,
began to be known in the more backward provinces
of Germany. Adam Smith shows us that the change
was complete by 1776, the date of his Wealth of
Nations. He there says of turnips, carrots and
cabbages that they are " things which were formerly
never raised but by the spade, but are now commonly
raised by the plough." (Book I. Chap. VIII.)

Gilbert White l has noticed the change in the food

1 Five hundredth points of good husbandry, 1573.
" Natural History of Selborne, Letter 37.

CABBAGES AND TURNIPS 191

of the English people and its consequences. In old
days all the livestock that could be spared was killed
and salted at the beginning of winter. From
Martinmas to the end of Lent salt flesh, salt fish and
pease pudding were the staple food of well-to-do
families. Ill-cured flesh and fish, with spoilt grain,
were largely consumed by the poor. The only green
vegetables for winter use were grown in gardens, and
were unattainable by the labourer as late as the
sixteenth century. Hence the fatal prevalence of
scurvy and leprosy. To this day leprosy is a frequent
disease among some few communities which live
much upon corrupt fish. In mediaeval Europe there
were lepers everywhere, and ninety-five leper-houses
have been reckoned up in England alone. The last
was founded at Greenside near Edinburgh as late as
1591, and the last British leper died in Shetland
during the eighteenth century.

It is impossible to separate the effect of unwhole-
some food from the effects of bad lodging and dirty
habits. The mediaeval peasant lived in a narrow, ill-
built hut, such as could be run up in a few hours. The
floor was of earth, the roof of reeds or straw ; there
was no chimney, and no glazed window. Upon the
ground were strewn heather or straw, which served as
a lair both for the family and the livestock, for the
house was undivided, and there was no other stall or
pen. Soap was dear, and the peasant rarely washed.
Bedding was dear, and he slept in his day clothes.

Three hundred years have wrought a great change
for the better. Scurvy, leprosy, and the plague are
known among us no more, and for this we have

I92 ROUND THE YEAR

chiefly to thank our vegetables, especially the potato,
the cabbage and the turnip.1

DUCKWEED.

July !$. — Just after the Wharfe enters Bolton
Woods there is on its left bank a tract of swampy
ground with ditches and pools. In summer these are
overgrown with Duckweed, which is, as all the world
knows, common everywhere in stagnant water. To-
day I was walking to Barden when I stopped to
hunt for aquatic Insects among the Duckweed. I saw
a peculiar yellow light reflected from the floating
Duckweed, and on looking closely perceived that
almost every frond was in flower. The yellow light
was reflected from the anthers, which stood out from
clefts in the edges of the fronds. Man sieht nur
was man weiss. A few years ago I had never seen
Duckweed in flower, and supposed that it seldom
or never flowered in England. A botanical friend,
Mr. Cheesman of Selby, took me to see it in
flower, and since that time I have discovered how
common the flowers are and how easily they may be
seen by an attentive observer.

The fronds of our commonest species (Lemna
minor} are oval, but not quite regularly so, and bicon-
vex or lens-shaped. One end is semicircular, and the

1 The reader who desires fuller information respecting
English agriculture and gardening in olden times may be
recommended to study the chapters by R. E. Prothero in Traill's
Social England, and Rev. W. Denton's England in the Fifteenth
Century.

DUCKWEED

193

opposite end pointed. The two sides are seldom
quite symmetrical. A ridge extends along the upper
surface from the round to the pointed end, some-
thing like the ridge on a house-roof, but not
nearly so sharp. From each frond a thread-like root
hangs down into the water. The root ends in a

FIG. 55. — Duckweed (Leiitna minor), magnified. A, single frond ; a, scar of
attachment to parent. A ridge extends from a to /> across the upper surface of
the frond, gently subsiding towards b ; B, frond, budding out two new
fronds. C, longitudinal section. D, trans

diagrammatic.

nsverse section. All the figures

root-cap, which has long been a very familiar object
of study in every botanical laboratory.

We call the green discs of Duckweed fronds and
not leaves, because they bear roots and flowers.
Functionally they are at once leaves and stems.
During the summer they bud continually. A pair of
minute rudiments appears on the upper surface of a

Q

I94 ROUND THE YEAR

frond while it is still very small and concealed within
the parent frond. Each of these rudiments becomes
enclosed in a special sheath formed by an overgrowth
of the frond upon which it is borne. The new fronds
are invariably paired at first, but one generally out-
strips the other, and often only one comes to
maturity. The pointed end of every frond marks the
place where it was attached to its parent. Four or
five successive generations may be found still
fastened together, all of which are destined to break
away sooner or later.

When a frond is studied microscopically, it is found
to be built up of small green cells. There is a faint
midrib and a pair of lateral veins. A considerable
part of the interior is occupied by air-spaces, which
are large in proportion to the cells and arranged in
one, two, or three layers according to the depth of the
frond ; it is these air-spaces which give to the frond
its remarkable buoyancy. The upper surface repels
water strongly when the plant is in good health ; the
lower surface is always wet.

The flowers spring from clefts in the margins of the
fronds, and are enclosed by minute scales or bracts,
the outer one forming a sheath, which is burst at the
time of flowering. On one or both sides of the
flowering frond appears a group, enclosed by bracts
and consisting of a pistil and two stamens. The pistil
is flask-shaped, and surmounted by a hollow style,
open at the top ; each stamen bears two .separate
anther-lobes, slightly divided into two cells. The
seeds ripen in autumn. They are minute (less than
I mm. long), oval and ribbed along their length.

DUCKWEED 195

They float in water, and germinate at the surface in
the course of the following spring.

Lemna minor is found in every quarter of the
globe, though it is wanting, or at least undiscovered,
in most parts of the tropics.1

Winter is naturally very destructive to the floating
fronds of Duckweed. A frost kills many, and sends
them to the bottom. During the milder intervals
fresh fronds are budded out, but they get smaller and
smaller as the light and warmth decline. These
winter-fronds, which are often so small as to escape
the notice of any but a close observer, are very hardy,
and survive a hard frost in considerable numbers,
serving, together with the seeds, to perpetuate the
race. In spring they emit larger fronds, which
multiply with great rapidity, and soon cover the water
with a green carpet. I believe that the rapid budding-
out of the new fronds is materially aided by their
tendency to form strings and chains, which spread
loosely and irregularly over the surface of the water.
Most floating objects, such as seeds of water-plants,
or bits of stick, attract one another at all points, and
gather into a dense mass. But Duckweed fronds
attract one another at certain points only. Hence
they cling together in strings and stars with unoccu-
pied spaces between. Some simple experiments,
which can be easily set up in any household, will
illustrate the principle on which the difference de-
pends. ' Take a small cork, and cut it into a number
of slices. Set these floating on water The discs of
cork attract one another, and are attracted to the

1 Hegelmaier, Die Lemnaceen, p. 142.

O 2

196 ROUND THE YEAR

sides of the vessel. Why is this ? The water rises
on the sides of the discs and also on the inside of the
vessel, forming in each place an ascending capillary
curve. Descending capillary curves are also to be
met with. If a lump of soot or a greased disc is set
floating on water, it will be surrounded by a descend-
ing curve. Mercury in a glass dish or a barometer-
tube has its free surface bordered by a descending
curve. We can easily change the ascending curve of
water in a glass vessel to a descending one. Take a
glass or cup half-full of water ; the water creeps up
the side in an ascending curve. Add water until it
rises level with the brim ; then we say that the vessel
is full. Though it is full, we can still add a consider-
able quantity without spilling, if we do it steadily.
The vessel can be made over-full, when the flat
surface of the water will be visibly bounded by a
descending capillary curve.

We have next to remark that if two small floating
objects are surrounded by capillary curves, they will
either attract or repel one another according to circum-
stances. If the curves are alike, both ascending or
both descending, the objects will attract one another ;
if they are unlike, one ascending and the other descend-
ing, they will repel one another. A theoretical proof
of this can be given,1 but the fact can be directly
established by experiment. Take a small vessel
nearly full of water, and place in it a small disc of
cork or wood. If the side of the vessel and the disc
are both wetted by water, there will be an ascending

1 I have tried to put the proof in the simplest possible way
in my Object Lessons front Nature •, Part II., p. 150.

DUCKWEED 197

capillary curve around each. The result is that the
disc will be attracted to the side of the vessel. Every
time that it is moved away for a short distance it comes
back again. But if we add water little by little with
a syringe until the vessel becomes over-full, we convert
the ascending curve into a descending one. Unlike
curves are now brought together, and the disc is
repelled. By sucking up a little water the ascending
curve can be restored, and then the disc will be
attracted by the side. Thus we may go on as long as
we please, causing the disc to be attracted and repelled
by turns.

The shape of one of the fronds of our commonest
Duckweed (Lemna minor] has already been described
(p. 193). At each end of the ridge which runs along
its upper surface the margin of the frond is slightly
raised above the water-level, and to it the water rises
in an ascending capillary curve. Each of these raised
parts of the margin will be a centre of attraction to a
like centre on another frond. The free edge of a
budding frond is also raised above the water-level, and
forms another centre of attraction. Hence, when a
number of fronds float upon water, they are attracted
to one another at certain points, while the intervening
parts of their margin come flush with the water and
are inert. We can imitate the effect by models. Cut
out of paper boat-shaped strips, say half an inch long,
and pointed at each end. Turn every point up, and
set the strips floating upon water. There will be an
ascending capillary curve at each end of every strip,
and these will attract one another, so that the strips
will arrange themselves in chains and stars like Duck-

I98 ROUND THE YEAR

weed. They will be equally attracted by the sides of
the vessel, unless this is made over-full of water.

To get direct evidence of the existence of centres of
attraction around the floating fronds, set one floating
upon water, and bring near it a clean glass rod dipped
into the water. There will be an ascending capillary
curve around the rod, and this will attract the frond,
which will turn itself about, so as to bring one of its
centres of attraction next to the rod. The frond may
be dragged about the surface and made to turn round
without being touched.

What good does the Duckweed get from these
centres of attraction ? It is these which cause the
fronds to cohere into strings and chains instead of
forming a compact mass. A moment's thought shows
how profitable this is to the plant. Were the Duck-
weed to crowd together, like bits of cork or seeds, the
fronds in the centre of the mass would be unable to get
room for budding. It would be necessary to displace
a vast number of mutually attractive bodies before a
single new frond could be pushed out. But by the
simple provision of inequalities of level along the
margin, the fronds group themselves in stars and
strings, with lanes between them, so that they can
push forth fresh buds without difficulty as long as any
unoccupied space remains.

The same capillary forces aid in the transport of
Duckweed to fresh sites. If we put a stick into water
overspread with Duckweed, we cannot fail to notice
how the fronds cling to the stick. They cling in a
particular way, which enables them to bear transport
more easily. The wetted surface of the frond is

ROUTINE 199

attracted to the wetted stick, because both have
ascending capillary curves applied to them. The
water-repelling surface, which best resists drying, is
turned outwards and exposed to the air. Duckweed
clings to the legs of water-birds and to the elytra of
water-beetles, and may be carried by them to distant
pools. The wide distribution of the various species
and the extraordinary speed with which they over-
spread any water-surface to which they may get
access, are due among other things to the capillary
forces which come into play at the surface of any
liquid.

ROUTINE.

The course of the year admonishes every man who
takes life seriously to attend to his daily routine.
Life is a long year ; the year is a long day.

Here are three maxims by Lagrange, which I
venture to recommend to every student. The first was
borrowed from the practice of Frederick the Great.

1. Do the same things at the same hours every
day, taking the hardest first, if possible.

2. Before going to sleep settle the plan of the next
day's work.

3. When you read for study, read pen in hand.

To these I will make bold to add another. After the
morning bath encourage the circulation by running till
you are out of breath. A strong young man will
easily run a mile, but those who are older or less fit
should only attempt what they can do without
distress.

ROUND THE YEAR

WEEDS.

I have about an acre of ground to look after. The
natural slope is so sharp that in order to get a level
tennis-court and a level terrace round the house, great
embankments of earth have had to be formed. Some
of these are planted with evergreens ; one has been
covered, with very little trouble and no cost, by the
Creeping Buttercup. My gardening friends smile when
I tell them that I am planting one of the commonest
and most mischievous of weeds. But I am well
satisfied with the plant. It forms a thick mass of
green foliage, which completely hides the ground all
the year round. In summer it is gay with yellow
flowers. When it has once established itself no
intruders can gain admission, and neither clipping nor
weeding is required. But care is needed to keep the
Buttercup within bounds. It is a rapid creeper, and
will spread fast over ill-tended ground. If I had three
or four acres to mind instead of one, I would plant no
Creeping Buttercups.

The pastures which formerly occupied this site
abounded with Sorrel and Earth-nut (Bunium
flexuoswii) and these are our most troublesome weeds.
The tough, yellow root-stocks of the Sorrel, and the
chestnut-shaped tubers of the Earth-nut enable them
to offer a stout resistance to the hoe and every other
weeding tool. Turn over the ground as often as you
please, they come up again in undiminished numbers.
There is no remedy but total extirpation one by one,

WEEDS 201

a work of time ana patience. Shall I ever be rid of
them? Probably not, but I hope to keep them in
subjection at least.

What is a weed ? A plant that persists in coming
up where it is not wanted. Weeds may be beautiful,
at least few of us would deny beauty to the Poppy
and the Dandelion and the Corn Cockle. They may
even have a certain use as food or medicine. But if
they invade our fields and gardens against our will, we
set them down as weeds, and exterminate them as
well as we can.

Provoking as they are, we cannot help admiring
their cleverness. Notice the rosettes of the Rib-grass,
Dandelion or Shepherd's-purse, pressed close to the
ground, and denying space to any other plant within
a certain radius. What an ugly bare patch is left on
the lawn when one of these is rooted out ! Or notice
the artfulness with which many agricultural weeds
time the ripening of their seeds, so that they are reaped
with the corn and sown with the corn. Have they
really adapted their original habits to those of the
cereals, or was it only a happy coincidence ? See
how some weeds, like the Creeping-Buttercup, can
propagate by runners, others, like Celandine, by little
bulbils, small and easily detached buds, which produce
new plants whenever they are cast upon suitable
ground. The Speedwells and many others spring up
again after they have been chopped to pieces. Agri-
mony, and the Forget-me-not of the fields, and Hedge
Avens, and Burdock have hooked fruits, which cling
to the hides of cattle and the fleeces of sheep, and so
make their way into new pastures. But visible con-

202 ROUND THE YEAR

trivance explains only a small part of the facility with
which weeds spread in cultivated ground.

Canon Ellacombe in his pleasant little book on a
Gloucestershire garden observes that every year there
must be millions of seeds formed, and for the most
part ripened, in that acre or two, yet few of them
produce seedlings, while Groundsel, Thistle, and other
weeds seem to have an unbounded power of germina-
tion. Yet the garden flowers have their special con-
trivances too, less familiar to us than those of our
common weeds, partly because the exotic species are
less frequent here, and partly because they are not at
home with us. It often happens that an imported
plant cannot bring its contrivances into action for
want of a particular friendly Insect or some other
favouring circumstance, which the land of adoption
does not supply. Climate and soil may be adverse to
imported species. Some of our garden plants come
from countries which are much hotter or colder, much
drier or wetter than Britain. It is to be expected that
in all these matters the natives will be at an advantage
in comparison with forced immigrants.

If this were all, if it were merely a question of
climate and soil, or of accustomed surroundings, all
plants might be expected to suffer when transported
to distant continents. But when we look into the
facts, we find that this is not at all universally the
case. The weeds of Europe do not suffer when
transported to the southern hemisphere, but flourish
and often drive out the native plants. The weeds of
the southern hemisphere are unable, however, to make
things even by invading any patch of ground

WEEDS

203

in Europe. Let us cite a few examples in proof.
In Australia, such European weeds as the Bathurst
Burr (Xanthium spinosuui}, the Noogoora Burr
(Xanthium strumariuvi), the Spear-thistle, the Sweet-
briar and the Stinging Nettle have spread far and
wide, and often constitute a real plague. In New
Zealand our Dock, Water-cress and Sow-thistle
have multiplied so as to require proscription by law.
In St. Helena the native vegetation has almost
disappeared before man and the plants and animals
which he has brought with him. Our common annual
grass (Poa annua) thrives in many parts of South
America, and our Shepherd's-purse, as well as our
common corn-weeds, have become dispersed over
almost the whole world. The most troublesome
weeds of the United States are said by Asa Gray to
be of British origin. It is the same with the animals.
Our Rabbit and Rat and Pig and House-fly and
Drone-fly seldom find a country in which they cannot
multiply. The Horses of the Spanish conquerors ran
wild and increased prodigiously in America.

But there is no reciprocity in the matter. Southern
plants, and more rarely southern animals, do now and
then get access to Europe, but they cannot maintain
themselves here. All kinds of foreign plants are
brought over in ballast or wool, and for a season or
two they come up where they may chance to be
thrown out, but when the supply ceases, native plants
quickly take their place. Many an attempt has been
made to establish the flowers of the Cape or South
America in places of similar climate in Europe, but
they have been uniform failures. The Agave (in-

204 ROUND THE YEAR

correctly called the Aloe) of Mexico has spread
through the tropics, and has established itself on the
shores of the Mediterranean, but it cannot hold its
own except in spots where our common weeds refuse
to grow or grow at a disadvantage. I know of not a
single animal native to a distant southern country
which can maintain itself in Europe.

Hooker and Wallace have spoken of the aggressive-
ness and colonising power of the Scandinavian flora,
but this is too limited an expression. The plants,
and not only the plants but the animals of Europe
and the greater part of Asia exhibit this dominance ;
it is a feature of the Palaearctic fauna and flora. The
fauna and flora of North America occasionally give
way to the Palaearctic fauna and flora, but show
dominance over the animals and plants of other parts
of the world. What is known of the animal life of
the more recent geological periods tends to show that
this relation is of very long standing. Not a few
animals now characteristic of distant countries, such
as the Lemurs, Tapirs, Hippopotamus, Giraffe,
Sea-cows, Sloths, Elephants and Marsupials, were
once European. There is, I believe, nothing to
show that they did not originate in the northern
hemisphere. But the imperfection of the geological
record bids us to be careful in drawing wide
inferences.

The plants and animals of our fresh waters do not
enjoy the same dominance. Our fresh waters are cut
up into many small portions, and the severity of the
competition in them is thereby greatly reduced.
Accordingly we find that many of our fresh-water

WEEDS 205

animals, especially the pond-snails, concerning which
we have unusually full information, exhibit a great
range in time, the genera being traced to Wealden
or even to Carboniferous times. They survive by
isolation, as certain ancient land-animals survive in
Australia or New Zealand. It is interesting to note
that our fresh-water areas can be successfully invaded.
The Anacharis of North America is a familiar instance.
The Azolla of North America is now plentiful in the
canals of Holland, and may easily spread to other
parts of Europe.

The great land-mass of the northern hemisphere for a
long time past seems to have been the usual birth-
place of new forms of life. Here severity of competition
has created new races, which have spread into the
southern lands as opportunity offered, driving before
them the original inhabitants, and then themselves
becoming unprogressive by reason of their isolation.

It is probable that since the time of the formation
of the Chalk the great oceans have always been pretty
much where they now are. There have been normally
one or two continents in the northern hemisphere.
When, as is now the case, North America has been
cut off from Asia, the barrier has not been of a very
permanent nature. An elevation of 180 feet would,
as Dana remarks, form a land-passage 30 miles
wide from Asia to America. The southern hemi-
sphere is mainly occupied by sea, but possesses three
continents, viz. South Africa, Australia, and South
America, which have sometimes existed as islands, and
have sometimes been joined to the northern continents.
There is no proof that any one of the three has ever

206

ROUND THE YEAR

been united to another. South Africa was cut off
from Europe in later Tertiary times by the sea of the
Sahara. Before the elevation of the Andes, which is
apparently an event of no very great antiquity, it is
probable that South America was cut off from North
America. The accompanying diagram shows rudely
the normal arrangement of the great natural con-
tinents.

PAL^ARCTIC.
Europe. Asia.

S. Africa.

Australia.

N. America.

S. America.

The Palaearctic region is much the largest of the
natural continents, and is intersected by few in-
superable barriers. Hence freedom of communication
and the fiercest rivalry. Every-day experience teaches
us that in any competition the severity will increase
with the number of competitors, and will diminish
with artificial restrictions of any kind. It is harder to
be the best cricket or football player of a county than
of a village, of all England than of a county. If there
are scholarships to be awarded, and one is limited to
natives of Cornwall, another to natives of Devonshire

WEEDS 207

and so on, you will get a poorer competition than if
all were open.

Dominance is much the same in the tribes of men
as among plants and animals. We understand the
dominance of the European better when we re-
collect how race after race has fought for mastery in
Europe. We understand the dominance of English-
men over remote savages better when we reflect upon
the ancient wars within these islands, the " scuffling of
kites and crows," when tribes of all kinds strove
together with life or death as the issue. Let the
survivors of such a competitive examination as that be
brought face to face with some long-isolated Polynesian
people, and can it be doubted for a moment which
will prevail ? Races of men, races of animals, races
of plants, religious faiths, modes of civilisation, all
originate in the northern continents, and spread out in
successive waves. But there is no return-current.
The plants and animals of the southern continents
can no more return to Europe or Asia than the
Basques and Finns can recover Central Europe. The
Palaearctic Region, and in a less degree North America,
have been the officina gentium of which Jornandes
spoke, the laboratory in which new tribes are fashioned,
the starting-point of waves of migration which at
length reach to the remotest corners of the earth.

Our common European weeds are the very strongest
in competition of all plants. They have come out
first in the contest for place. Most of them produce
plenty of light seeds, which are easily dispersed by
the wind. Most of them are hardy and able to endure
extremes of temperature. Most of them are self-

208 ROUND THE YEAR

fertilised, or wind-fertilised, or capable of being
fertilised by any good-sized Insect, and they are
therefore able to thrive in new countries, no matter
what Insect-life they may find there. But our garden
plants are selected by Man for their beauty. Many
of them come from the southern continents, or from
countries where competition is less severe than with
us. Many are rare in their native land. We clear a
bit of ground, plant it with a miscellaneous collection
of such species, and then a struggle begins between
the natives and the foreigners. It is all that we can
do to keep the weeds from exterminating their feeble
competitors. We tear them up by the roots, chop
them to pieces with hoes, and with much pains just
succeed in preserving our favourites from destruction.
The naturally selected are so much stronger than the
artificially selected that every three or four acres must
have a man to turn the scale against nature and keep
it turned.

MOORLAND PLANTS.

I wish to discuss certain peculiarities of the very
commonest plants of our Yorkshire moors. It would
be a great help if I could take it for granted that my
readers knew the most easily ascertained facts respect-
ing these plants. But it is only those who call
themselves botanists who have attempted to study the
structure of our wild flowers. The rest of the public,
99 per cent, or more of the whole number, keeps aloof
and never attends to these things.

I am bound to say that the public has one excellent

MOORLAND PLANTS 209

reason for giving up Botany as a hopeless task, and
that is, that the botanists obstinately persist in speak-,
ing a language of their own. We ought to have, as they
have in Germany, descriptions of native plants in our
own language, but we prefer to write our Floras in Latin
and Greek. I believe that this practice is unnecessary,
and further, that it is the greatest obstacle in the way
of a wide-spread knowledge of the subject.

As a very young man I used to defend the learned
language of Botany and Zoology, and I know pretty
well the arguments that can be used in favour of it.
But when I came to teach Natural History to others,
I quickly felt what a hindrance the language is to
those (the vast majority, of course) who read no Latin
or Greek. Only a very few ever come to master it,
and most of those few are the worse for what they
seem to have gained. For the technical terms are
allowed to count as real knowledge. The student
with much labour learns to apply his rules of nomen-
clature to natural objects, and then thinks that he has
made a step towards understanding the objects them-
selves. Very often he has only interposed a fresh
barrier between his own mind and the world of nature.
Learned words easily disguise the want of observation
and thought. You may set down all the formulas
respecting a plant that ingenious pedantry can devise,
and yet know nothing about it that signifies. The
more learned the phrase the easier it is to deceive
yourself. With few exceptions every result of the
study of nature which is at once well-ascertained and
important can be adequately expressed in plain
English ; it is only the insignificant or half understood

2TO ROUND THE YEAR

facts that call for technical expression. Elementary
teaching in particular, which should be solely con-
cerned with what is well-ascertained and important,
can always be carried on in English.

I should much like to see a British Flora which
would be intelligible without a dictionary to anybody

FIG- 56.— Ling (Cattuna vulgaris). a, a leafy branch, magnified ; b, a leaf,
from below j c, cross-section of leaf.

who would first take the trouble to master the structure
of half a dozen plant-types. The thing could be
done, and if done in a human way, without respect to
the scruples of highly special students, would do much
to enlarge the body of working naturalists.

The very commonest plant of the moors is Ling,

MOORLAND PLANTS 211

one of the Heaths. When we speak of Heather, it is
this plant which we mean. The stem is woody, tough
and dry, branching continually, and never attaining a
considerable height. It is densely clothed with leaves.
The leaves are very small and pointed ; they spring
one exactly beneath another, in four rows, which run
at equal distances up the stem. Each leaf is hollow
above and prominent below, so that when the row
closes up, as it does at certain seasons, the leaves fit
neatly together. A glance at the actual plant will
reveal the arrangement at once, but as the parts are
minute, a lens should be employed to aid the eye.
Why do the leaves overlap ? I suppose because they
can thus screen one another from the air. If the air
is very dry or very cold, the leaves will be protected
by the smallness of their exposed surface. Young
and tender leaves are often protected by close packing,
but in Heather the arrangement is lasting, and can be
turned to account at any time.

Heather is a singularly dry plant, and for this reason
it is very slow to wither. Breaking the stem across
makes little difference to the leaves and flowers for a
long time, for the stem transmits very little water.
Heather is eminently fit to endure summer drought,
which is one serious incident in the life of moorland
plants, though possibly not the most trying of all.

The Crowberry, which grows so plentifully on the~^
moors, is often taken to be a kind of Heath, and it
really looks like a Heath, being of low, trailing habit,
with wiry stems and crowded, evergreen leaves. The
flowers, however, differ conspicuously from those of
any true Heath.

P 2

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d

FIG. 57. — Crowberry (Einpetrum nigninf). a, a staminate flowering branch, slightly
enlarged ; b, part of pistillate flowering branch ; c , a single staminate flower ;
(/, a single pistillate flower.

Crowberry flowers early in the season, often in
April, and then the male flowers show their crimson

MOORLAND PLANTS 213

stamens. So much pollen is emitted by the small
but numerous flowers, that in walking over a patch of
Crowberry we kick up clouds of yellow dust. Such
abundance of pollen points to wind-fertilisation. Hazel,
Grasses, Pines, and other wind-fertilised plants pro-
duce immense quantities of pollen, nearly all of which
is wasted. Insects, if guided exactly to the right
place by the formation of the flower, bring the pollen-
grains surely and accurately to the stigma. Economy
of this precious dust is the reward of the flowers
which are able to win the co-operation of Insects. It
is not every clump of Crowberry which yields pollen.
About half of the plants bear blackish-purple female
flowers instead of stamens. There are also a few
flowers with both stamens and pistil. The pistil
ripens to a small black fruit, which is harmless and
even refreshing when there is nothing larger or better-
flavoured to be had. Grouse devour it in large
quantities, and thus sow the seeds up and down.

The leaves of Crowberry are well worth careful
examination. They are smooth and glossy. At first
sight we should say that they were rather succulent,
but on pinching them we find that they are not
succulent, only a little inflated. Along the middle of
the under surface runs a white line, which we might
take for a midrib. But if we examine the leaf with a
lens, or better still, slice it across with a razor, we find
that the blade is bent round into a hollow cylinder,
and that the white line is the meeting-place of the
edges. Only one surface of the leaf is exposed, that
surface which in ordinary leaves is uppermost. This
is smooth and shining in Crowberry, and curves

2I4 ROUND THE YEAR

completely round, ending along the white line. The
proper lower surface, which bears the stomates, is
rolled inwards and concealed from view. Several of
our true Heaths have the leaves rolled in somewhat
the same fashion, and in the Crossleaved Heath the

FIG. 58.— Cross-section of Leaf of Crowberry, showing the rolled-up form. The
lower figures show one of the peculiar hairs and one of the stomates. Both are
confined to the inner, which is properly the under-surface.

edges almost meet. Andromeda polifolia, the Cran-
berry, and certain rare British Heaths (Phyllodoce
coerulea, Loiseleuria procumbens] also have their leaves
more or less rolled backwards in the same fashion, so
that this seems to be a feature common, though by no
means universal, among moorland plants. Moorland

MOORLAND PLANTS

215

plants which are not Heaths or Crowberries occasion-
ally roll up their leaves. A certain Grass (Nardus
slricta) which forms close tufts of fine, wiry, grey

FIG. 59. — Cross-leaved Heath {Erica, tetralix). a, a flowering branch ; b, p
ditto, magnified ; c, a leaf seen from the under-side ; rf, section of leaf.

leaves, is one of these, and its leaves look wiry or
even bristle-like, because they are rolled into slender
and rather stiff hollow cylinders.

This contrivance of leaf-rolling seems to be intended

2i6 ROUND THE YEAR

to prevent the drying-up of the leaf during summer
heat or parching wind. The stomates, by which
water-vapour is transpired, open, not upon a free
surface, but into a closed chamber, in which the air is
still, being further secured against frequent change by
numerous hairs, which project into it and guard the
opening. The exposed surface of the leaf bears no
stomates, and is overspread by a layer of cork, which
renders it impervious to moisture. That Crowberry
is really effectively protected against drought there
can be no doubt. I gathered a plant in May, and
hung it up in my study. After eight days it was still
green, and capable of forming new buds when placed
in damp earth. I have never known Crowberry or
Nardus to perish by drought.

Kerner, in his Natural History of Plants, has dis-
cussed- the possible uses of the rolled leaves of the
Crowberry and other plants. He thinks that they
keep the evaporating surface dry, and allow air to be
exhaled from the leaf even when it is drenched with
rain. One explanation does not absolutely exclude
the other ; it is conceivable that the rolled leaf may
be serviceable under the opposite conditions of too
wet and too dry. But I am inclined to think that
the leaf would not be rolled up so completely if
exclusion of water were the main object. A far less
elaborate contrivance suffices in other cases to keep
the under-surface of a leaf dry.

Another consideration inclines me to look upon the
rolled leaf as specially a protection against drought
and excessive transpiration. The in-rolled, stomate-
bearing surface is often notably reduced. Striking

MOORLAND PLANTS 217

examples could be quoted of Heaths and moorland
Grasses in which it becomes insignificant in comparison
with the exposed outer surface, which is rendered
impervious by its dense cuticle.

Crowberry seems then to furnish a simple case
of adaptation to a particular contingency of moor-
land life, viz., summer drought. The adaptation
appears less interesting, perhaps, because it seems
so obvious. We may think that we could have
devised such a mechanism ourselves. But we have
not yet got quite to the bottom of the question, and
I fear that it will grow darker as we proceed to
accumulate facts. The problems of Nature are seldom
ridiculously easy.

It will occur to those botanists who have gathered
Andromeda or the Cranberry that these plants are
little liable to drought. Crowberry and the Cross-
leaved Heath often grow on sandy slopes or among
stones, where in dry weather there is no visible
moisture. In summer heats there are few drier places
than moorland ridges. Being high, they receive no
water from rivulets, but only direct from the sky ; there
are no deep alluvium, no matted grasses, no over-
hanging trees to keep in the water of the soil. The
wind blows constantly, and parches the soil still more.
But the moors are not altogether dry. They are
traversed by hollows, perhaps with a floor of boulder-
clay or shale, and these are often choked with
Sphagnum moss, which cuts off the natural outlet.
In such hollows no summer heat, no east winds ever
suffice to dry the soil, and these are the favourite
haunts of Andromeda and the Cranberry. Yet

2i8 ROUND THE YEAR

Andromeda and the Cranberry furnish good examples
of the rolled-up leaves, which we thought appropriate
to an unusually dry soil.

The common Rush (Juncus) is notoriously a native
of wet places, and is often found growing in pools
which never dry up. Yet it has some features in
common with what are called the " Xerophilous "
plants, which live in places subject to drought, and
which are specially protected against undue evapora-
tion from the leaves. The Rush has its leaves reduced
to sheaths, which invest the base of the stem. The
stem takes upon itself the functions of a leaf, turns
green, and is provided with stomates. It is a cylinder,
which of all much elongated solid figures, exposes the
smallest surface in proportion to its volume ; it is
nearly upright, and therefore little liable to be scorched
by the noon-day sun. If we were to reason from
herbarium specimens only as to the habits of this
plant (a most dangerous form of speculation) we
might easily set down the Rush as a native of some
desert tract, which had suppressed its leaves to escape
perishing by drought.

The Rush, like Ling and Crowberry, has a very dry
stem. The interior is filled with pith, which greatly
exceeds in bulk the green layer on the outside. It
would seem that moorland plants are liable to suffer
from too much water as well as from too little. This
is pretty certainly the case with the Rush, which grows
in the wettest of the moor.

Goebel (*) has described for us in a very interesting

1 Pflanzenbiologische Schilderungen. IV. " Die Vegetation
der Venezolanischen Paramos."

MOORLAND PLANTS 219

paper the vegetation of the Venezuelan Paramos.
The Venezuelan Andes, an eastern branch of the
main chain, rise, he tells us, out of marshy, densely
wooded lowlands. Starting from these, and continually
ascending through the zones of vegetation described
by Humboldt, the traveller at last reaches the highest
tract which supports plant life. Here all is wild.
The trees, crippled even at lower levels by the cold
winds, are replaced by shrubs with small, leathery
leaves, and these at length give up the struggle. At
heights corresponding to the higher summits of the
European Alps the only vegetation is scanty, dwarfish,
and adapted to a rugged climate. This highest zone
of plant life, which on certain peaks is cut off
above by the snow-line, is the Paramos, and Goebel
defines it for scientific purposes as the zone between
the upper limit of trees and the snow-line. It is a
region of cold winds and sudden changes of tempera-
ture. Heavy dews, and showers of rain or hail are
frequent. The sun shines bright at times, but is apt to
be suddenly obscured by dense fogs. Pools and bogs
are common, and there is no lack of water anywhere.
The great height and the consequent rarefaction of the
air promote rapid evaporation, which is intensified by
winds which are described as peculiarly cutting. The
temperature rarely falls to freezing-point.

In such a climate, and the very description makes
us shiver, Man would no doubt claim an extra great-
coat. Quadrupeds, if there are any, would be all the
better for thick fur. What kind of protection can we
suggest for the plants which strive to subsist under
conditions so unpleasant?

220 ROUND THE YEAR

The plants of the Paramos are low, an obvious
advantage where the wind is cold and boisterous.
Many form rosettes of leaves ; some of them lay
up stores of food underground ; a few, and these are
characteristic members of the Paramos flora, carry
their rosettes on stunted pedestals (stems) which are
clothed with dead leaves. The leaves of all the plants
are small, sometimes reduced to needles ; some are
rolled-in, others woolly, others leathery ; a few are
pressed close against the stems which support them.
We find in the vegetation of the Paramos all the
characteristic features of a xerophilous flora, except
that succulent plants (like Stonecrops) are few or
wanting. Bleak winds, it would appear, produce much
the same effect upon plants as drought.

Goebel expressly maintains this proposition, that a
low temperature with wind produces the effect of
drought, and cites such instances as the drying-up of
our European grasses in winter, when the ground is
saturated with water. In the Paramos certain plants
with woolly leaves actually grow in bogs. On the
Roraima Mountains (between Venezuela and British
Guiana, as we used to suppose) is a small-leaved
Myrtle, which might be supposed from its appearance
to be adapted to a dry situation ; it really lives in
the spray of a waterfall, but then the water is ice-
cold.

The plantations about my house testify to the
scorching effect of wind. To the windward side,
which here is the west, the evergreens were terribly
punished by the frost of last spring, but on the leeward
side many of them are quite uninjured, and have since

MOORLAND PLANTS 221

pushed out their buds vigorously, but on this side
only.

We can readily understand the drying effect of
wind, especially at great elevations, but drying due to
low temperature is less familiar. Sachs long ago
experimented on the power of absorption of roots at
various temperatures. He found that in certain
plants (Tobacco) the leaves drooped when the tem-
perature fell nearly to freezing-point, although the soil
was damp enough. Turnips and Cabbages, which
are naturally hardier, as natives of cold countries,
endured the same temperature without visible check
More extended observation has shown that plants
cannot absorb water even from a wet soil unless a
minimum temperature, varying according to the
species, is attained. The maximum of absorption is
got with a warm soil, and in certain experiments the
soil is artificially warmed to promote absorption by
plants. Not only is absorption checked by cold, but
water already absorbed may prove superfluous and
even dangerous. A cold wind or a night-frost pro-
duces most damage when the ground has been warm
and absorption abundant. Some plants have a
mechanism expressly devised to meet this contin-
gency. At the tip of the leaf or leaflet are large
water-pores, which discharge drops of water when
sudden cold renders the quantity of water previously
absorbed excessive. Many grasses and Alchemilla
(Lady's Mantle) have such water-pores, and if a cold
night should succeed to a warm, damp day, they
exude big drops, which are confounded with dew by
thoughtless people. Dew forms only beneath a cloud-

222 ROUND THE YEAR

less sky and in minute drops. Exuded water appears
whether the sky is clear or clouded, and forms large
drops at a few points.

Here I will throw in a few remarks upon the
watering of gardens. The gardener never waters when
the sun is high, nor when a cold night is to be
expected. He would waste his labour if he were to
sprinkle the ground when the sun is sure to come and
dry up a great part of the water almost as soon as it
reaches the soil. Moreover, energetic absorption and
transpiration, suddenly induced without reference to
the physiological conditions of the plants, is a strong
measure which often turns out ill. In such a climate
as ours it is better to submit to the hardships of the
changing seasons, which are seldom intolerable,
rather than make violent and capricious changes in
the supply of moisture. To water before a cold night
may be much more serious than to water in a blaze of
sunshine. The plants will be unable to absorb the
water largely because of the low temperature, and
what they do absorb may be distinctly injurious.

It is hardly necessary to remark that the compara-
tive dryness of plant tissues in cold weather is the best
and safest thing for them ; the mere frequency of dry
tissues in living plants during winter would be
conclusive on this head. Dry shoots and boughs,
which do not bleed when cut, will face the hardest
frosts known in Europe ; but in spring, when they are
loaded with water and watery fluids, they will be
blighted by a temperature only a few degrees below
freezing-point.

My own garden has lately shown me how a cold

MOORLAND PLANTS

223

wind may injure plants with young leaves full cf
watery juices. The terrace in front of the house was
not long ago covered with healthy plants sending
up plenty of vigorous shoots. Three or four days of
north wind came on (middle of May) and the plants
were scorched and blighted. Now they look as if a
sheet of flame had passed over them ; the tips of the
shoots are dead, the leaves curled and blackened at
their edges. No watering would have saved them,
nor even diminished the injury.

Kihlman has specially noted the effect of dry, cold
winds in his account of the vegetation of Russian
Lapland.1 Even marsh-plants, he tells us, perish from
drought in the dry wind-storms of early spring, and
the trees of Lapland are regularly cut down to the
level at which they are protected by the deep snow of
winter.

These considerations may well induce us to enlarge
the interpretation which we first put upon the peculiar
structure of the Crowberry-leaf. It is admirably
protected against drought, it is true, but not against
drought only. It is equally well protected against
cold, and against cutting winds, which would set up a
forced transpiration when the roots were unable to
raise water from the dampest soil.

I am therefore inclined to look upon Crowberry, the
Cross-leaved Heath, the Cranberry, Andromeda and
the Rushes as needing protection against cold quite as
much as against summer drought. We may expect
to confirm or refute this supposition by studying the

1 Pflanzenbiologische Studien aits Ritssisch-Lappland. Acta
Soc. pro fauna et flora Fennica. Tom. VI. (1891).

224 ROUND THE YEAR

distribution of these plants outside the British Isles.
A little inquiry brings to light the fact that the Ling,
Bilberry, Cranberry, Cowberry, Andromeda, Crow-
berry, together with the commonest moorland grasses,
all extend far into the Arctic Circle, the Scotch Heath
and the Cross-leaved Heath close up to it. The
defences of which they mainly stand in need are
defences against Arctic and Alpine cold, but these
are effective also against the drought of an English
summer. Drought and cold and wind all tend to parch
the tissues or at least to cut off the supply of water
taken in by the roots, and diminished transpiration is
the remedy of nature for all three contingencies.

To make this clearer I will enumerate the defences
ot" desert plants against extreme drought, and append
to each a short list of Arctic, or at least high northern
plants which exhibit the same feature.

Xerophilous or desert plants often exhibit one or
more of the following features : —

1. The leaves are reduced, rudimentary, or wanting
altogether. Among Arctic or high northern plants
various species of Juncus (Rush) yield examples of
the same thing. Furze (which, however, is not
Arctic) has trefoil leaves as a seedling, which are
afterwards replaced by spines, which contain chloro-
phyll and possess stomates. Pines, Juniper and many
Heaths have the leaves much reduced in size.

2. The leaves are rolled up. Crowberry, etc., are
Arctic examples.

3. The leaves are closely imbricate, or pressed against
the stem, or pressed against the ground, in the last
case usually forming rosettes. All these arrangements

MOORLAND PLANTS 225

diminish the free surface of the leaves. Heather,
many Saxifrages and Sedums are northern forms
belonging to this class.

4. The leaves are woolly. The Edelweiss of
Switzerland is an Alpine example of the same thing.

5. The leaves are succulent. The Sedums of our
northern highlands exhibit the same adaptation.

Goebel has pointed out that maritime and saline
plants often exhibit contrivances which check trans-
piration, even in plants which are abundantly supplied
with water. Samphire is possibly a case in point, but
the rocky situations in which it grows are arid as well
as maritime, and it is not certain that its peculiarities
depend upon its being wetted occasionally with salt
spray. The Glass-worts are a better example, as
they grow on muddy sea-shores. They have the
leaves suppressed and the stems fleshy, like so many
plants of the desert. The little Frankenia, found in
salt marshes on our south-east coast, has rolled leaves,
like Crowberry. Thickened epidermis, woolly leaves,
and concealed stomates are also to be found among
the plants of the sea-shore. Here, though water
is plentiful, it can only be procured by separating it
from salts which greedily absorb water and do not
readily part with it.

The one point common to maritime and Alpine
plants, I mean the difficulty which they have in
absorbing water, however abundant the supply,
may possibly have something to do with a fact, long
known and often speculated upon, viz. that certain
species are found in both situations. Scurvy-grass,
Sea-thrift, Sea Plantain and Sea Pearlwort are

Q

226 ROUND THE YEAR

examples. We find all these among the Yorkshire
hills and on the sea-coast, but' in no intermediate
places. The plant which has been acclimatised to one
of these habitats is thereby adapted to face the most
serious difficulties of the other.

Hindered transpiration points to a limited supply of
water, which may arise in various ways, (i) Water
may be deficient altogether, as in the desert, or
on rocks and loose stones. (2) Water may be plenti-
ful, but absorbed with difficulty because of low
temperature. (3) Water may be plentiful, but
absorbed with difficulty because of salts dissolved
in it The Crowberry and our other native moorland
plants are efficiently protected against contingencies
I and 2, of which the second is probably the more
frequent and serious.

A considerable proportion of our moorland plants
(Ling, Crowberry, Nardus, Juncus, Cranberry, etc.)
are evergreen. In this the moorland flora resembles
that of high northern regions. I am not quite certain
why a large part of the more conspicuous plants of
cold regions should be evergreen. The explanation
may be that even during the summer the conditions
require checks to transpiration, and that these checks,
once developed, enable the plant to endure winter con-
ditions without loss of leaves. The glossy cuticle, the
simple form, the reduced size, the dry texture, and
the concealed stomates, which are common features of
leaves exposed to sun and wind, form a great part of
the special equipment of an evergreen.

But there are puzzling exceptions to the evergreen
habit. Take the British Heaths (Ertcacea) for

MOORLAND PLANTS 227

example. Of the genus Vaccinium two species, the
Cranberry and the "Cowberry, are evergreen, but the
Bilberry l and V. uliginosum are not ; Arbutus is ever-
green ; one species of Bearberry has evergreen, the
other deciduous leaves ; Andromeda, Erica (five
species), Calluna (Ling), Dabeocia, Phyllodoce,
Loiseleuria and the five species of Pyrola are all
evergreen.2

As to the Bilberry, which is one of the few deciduous
Ericaceae, it is to be remarked that it is not a charac-
teristic moorland plant, but overspreads the grassy
borders of the moors, where it chiefly competes with
Ling and the grass Nardus. In spring and early
summer the quick growth of the Bilberry shoots
enables them to overtop its rivals, and thus to get an
advantage which lasts all through the season. When
winter approaches, the Bilberry gives up the struggle,
casts its leaves, and appears to die down. It does
not really do so, however. The younger stems remain
green, and as they are provided with numerous
stomates, they no doubt assimilate during the short
hours of winter sunshine. In summer the deciduous
leaves of Bilberry can safely expand far more freely

1 The leaves of Bilberry often remain green through the
winter in sheltered places, but elsewhere they are usually
deciduous.

2 The word evergreen does not always bear precisely the same
meaning. It is applied to leaves which are able to endure
frost, and last through a great part or the whole of winter,
being all renewed at once in spring. Most of the Ericaceae
are only evergreen in this sense. In other cases the leaves are
changed a few at a time, usually in summer. The tree is never
bare, and the leaves may last more than one year.

Q 2

228 ROUND THE YEAR

than those of its evergreen rivals, which are necessarily
minute, and this may possibly be a consideration of
weight.

The leafy shoots of Ling and Bilberry, which seem
to spring out of crannies between rocks, are sometimes
borne upon long woody stems, which have made their
way up from a considerable distance. In rocky places
what look like tufts of low shrubs are sometimes the
tops of small trees. I have traced some of the ancient,
woody stems for many feet among the loose stones.

It is, I think, worth while to attend to any peculiar
features of particular plants and animals, and to
interpret them as well as we can. But our interpre-
tations are never complete. We see some way into
the problem, and then are baffled by our ignorance
and by the complexity of the case. We can rarely
apply the experimentum cruets, or find decisive in-
stances. There is always, or nearly always, as Goebel
says, some unknown quantity which decides why of
two plants similarly situated, one will show conspicuous
adaptations to its surroundings, while the other will
not. For this reason the methods of biological inquiry
are apt to be loose in comparison with the methods of
the physical sciences. In order to prove that the
height of the mercury in the barometer depends upon
the pressure of the air, we try to show that among
varying conditions of moisture, temperature, light and
so forth, the height of the mercury goes up or down
as one of these conditions, viz., the atmospheric
pressure, increases or diminishes. If it appeared that
the mercury was largely influenced by heat, or that
while some mercurial barometers rose and fell accord-

THE LOVE OF MOUNTAINS 229

ing to pressure, others of rather different construction
rose and fell according to the intensity of the sunlight,
the present doctrine of barometric changes would be
destroyed. The barometer is, so to speak, actuated
by a single string. But plants and animals are things
of complex behaviour ; they are actuated by many
strings, and we never know when we have found them
all out. This is, I imagine, why what I have called
" negative exceptions " prove little or nothing in
Biology. You find that pulling a particular string
produces a certain action upon A. But B has no such
string, though you can give no good reason why it has
not Rare indeed are the cases in which we can
reason out a direct test, by which our biological
speculations are to stand or fall. Complexity, un-
fathomable complexity, on the part of Nature, and
ignorance on our side, preclude decisive experiments.
But in a humble way we may observe, and speculate,
and try. We shall not get the certainty of physical
demonstration, but we may hope in time to become
reasonably sure of interpretations more directly in-
teresting to mankind than any other conclusions of
Science — more interesting because they bear so
immediately upon the great and mysterious problems
of Life.

THE LOVE OF MOUNTAINS.

August i.— Simon's Seat, between Barden and
Pately Bridge, is one of the chief hills in this part of
the country, rising to near 1,600 feet above sea-level.
I have been to the top, to look once more at the

23o ROUND THE YEAR

saddle-like arrangement of the rocks, discovered by
Mr. Dakyns of the Geological Survey, and described
with figures in Prof. Green's Physical Geology. The
ascent is a delightful one, wood and water alternating
with moor and grassy slopes. The way leads through
Bolton Woods and the Valley of Desolation. There
is considerable variety in the composition of the rocks,
which means variety in the vegetation and variety in
the animal life. I know of no better botanising
ground. Insects and Birds are plentiful, and the very
streams are full of life.

To take pleasure in such a ramble up-hill, for we
can hardly call it mountaineering, is, I believe, a dis-
covery of modern times. Xenophon writes as if he
enjoyed a hunt upon Mount Pholoe. He must have
appreciated the exhilaration which springs from
active exercise in the open air. Hunting on foot he
praises as good for the health, the eyesight and the
hearing. He thinks it an excellent way of keeping
off old age, and training the body for the hardships of
war. But he gives no hint that he ever went out on a
hillside without dog and net. It is the hollows, the
plains, the woods and the rivers, which Virgil chiefly
loves. The Alps struck the ancients with horror
though they delighted in the soft scenery of the
Italian lakes.

Perhaps the first man who ever climbed a mountain
in order to gaze from the top, and then wrote an
account of what he had seen, was Petrarch. Living at
Vaucluse, near Avignon, curiosity moved him and his
brother to ascend the Mont Ventoux, a low Alp,
under 7,000 feet. They were warned by an old

THE LOVE OF MOUNTAINS 231

shepherd that no one had been up the mountain for
fifty years, and that nothing was to be seen upon it
but rocks and brambles. Still they persevered, and
at length stood on the summit. The view was
superb. The Alps seemed close at hand ; the sea,
the valley of the Rhone and the mountains about
Lyons were in full view. Petrarch's thoughts ran
much upon the mountains famous in literature, upon
Olympus and Athos, and Hannibal's passage of the
Alps. After a time he took out of his pocket a
volume of St. Augustine, and lit upon words which
rebuked those who wonder at the mountains, the sea,
and the stars, but neglect themselves. He descended
in silence, reflecting that there is nothing admirable
except the mind.

Gray's diary of a tour in the North of England,
though written as late as 1/69, is among the earlier
indications of interest in wild scenery. Till then the
hills had been despised for their barrenness, and
dreaded for their rugged ness and danger. It was
only when better police and better roads had driven
away fear that men began to make mountains their
playground.

Rousseau's Nouvelle Heloise (1760) may be said to
have first awakened a lively interest in Swiss scenery.
Within forty years of the publication of that novel
more than sixty descriptions of travels in Switzerland
appeared. Gibbon in 1785 was astonished at the
crowds of English who haunted the lake of Geneva.
Goethe and Byron drew inspiration direct from
Rousseau, and later writers, who perhaps never read
Rousseau attentively, such as Renan and Ruskin,

232 ROUND THE \EAR

exhibit that sentiment of Nature which was hardly
known until Rousseau's writings had pervaded
Europe.

Our English Lakes began to be overrun by tourists
late in the last century, as we learn from Scott l and
Wilberforce.2 At first the visitors seem to have kept
mostly to the lower and safer ground ; the narrative
which follows marks the close of the unadventurous
age. By 1805 almost all the summits of the Lake
hills had become familiar to thousands of active
Englishmen.

In the History of Cumberland, by William Hutchin-
son,3 a highly-coloured description is given of an
ascent of Saddleback. Those who know the mountain
only on its Keswick side should understand that to
the S. and E. it is much more abrupt. Sharp Edge
might even be dangerous to an inexperienced climber
with a weak head. The summit is only 2,850 feet above
sea-level. The description follows : —

" A friend has indulged us with the following de-
scription of his view of Saddleback, and the curious
crater and lake there, where the lava of a vulcano is
unquestionably to be found in large quantities. His
tour was made in 1793.

" He speaks with great respect, in the first instance,
of one Mr. John Graves, who gave him the earliest
description of those scenes, and excited his curiosity
to visit them ; and of Mr. Thomas Clement, a resident
of the skirts of the mountain, who attended him and

1 Guy Mannering, Chap. XVI.

" Life, Vol. I., p.' 183.

3 2 vols., Carlisle, 1794. See Vol. I., p. 423,

THE LOVE OF MOUNTAINS 233

his party on the view. ... He says Mr. Clement
lives about a mile and a half eastward of Threlkelcl,
at the foot of the mountain, from whose house the
party proceeded about one o'clock, p.m. — That they
made their passage in an oblique direction up that
part which is called Scales-fell : and he proceeds in
his description thus : — ' When we had ascended about
a mile, one of the party, on looking round, was so
astonished with the different appearance of objects in
the valley, so far beneath us, that he declined pro-
ceeding. We had not gone much further, till the
other companion (of the relator) was suddenly taken
ill, and wished to loose blood, and return. I was
almost ready (adds he) to give up my project, which
I should have done with great reluctance, as the day
was remarkably favourable, and exhibited every scene
to the greatest advantage. — Mr. Clement assured us, if
we proceeded a little way, we should find a resting place,
where the second defaulter of our party might recover
the effects of his journey. After labouring another
half hour, we gained the margin of an immense cavity
in the side of the mountain, the bottom of which
formed a wide bason, and was filled with water, that
from our station looked black, though smooth as glass,
covering the space of several acres. It is said to be
so deep, that the sun never shines upon it, and that
the reflection of the stars may be seen therein at
noonday ; but that was a curiosity we did not enjoy.
From our station there was a gentle declivity to a
smooth and verdant lawn, several yards in breadth,
which was the situation our guide had promised us ;
and the descent thereto led us about half way to the

234 ROUND THE YEAR

lake : a like easy descent would have led us to the
edge of the lake, round which there appeared a broad
green walk ; but our leader informing us of the danger
of passing that slippery path, we did not proceed.
We now contemplated the scene with awstmck-
wonder. We stood directly facing the middle of the
mountain, the form of which gives it the name of
SADDLEBACK : and to the lake, a perpendicular rocky
precipice presented itself, extending to the north-east
side of the mountain, called Foul-cragg. To the right
hand, the steepness of the rocks gradually declined ;
above us, and on the left, they were stupendous and
perpendicular ; so that in one half of the circle the
rocks were lofty and precipitous, whilst in the other
half they gradually decreased. My fellow traveller
would proceed no further, and with my guide I was
left to explore the other parts of the mountain.
Winding round, and keeping the cavity on our right,
we attained the ridge or summit of the rock, where
we found a passage three or four yards broad : on the
right, the descent to the lake looked truly awful,
whilst the steep rocks on the other side were lofty,
and not to be climbed by human steps. This passage,
some hundred yards in length, may be compared to a
bridge covered with grass. Having reached the
summit, we went to the point nearest to Keswick
vale, and there enjoyed a most delightful prospect ;
from thence we passed to the next point, being Foul-
cragg, with Skiddaw on the left ; from whence we
looked down into a dreadful abyss, the bottom of
which the eye could not penetrate : sheep frequently
perish in this place, as the number of dead carcasses

THE LOVE OF MOUNTAINS 235

and skeletons evinced. We walked back by the side
next to the lake, but to look down from thence was so
terrible, I could not endure it a moment. We per-
ceived from thence, that my companion, whom we had
last left, was laid upon the ground ; I pressed the
guide to hasten to him, but he refused, alledging that
a fog was rising, and it would be very hazardous for
me to explore my way alone down the mountain : in
a short time we were enveloped in a very dense
vapour, so that we were obliged to keep near to each
other ; the sudden change was almost incredible. It
was with difficulty my guide regained the passage, or
dry-bridge, which we missed on several attempts ; and
one incautious step would have plunged us in the
horrid abyss. The fog soon afterwards dispersed, as
precipitately as it came on ; and left us again under a
serene sky. We passed to the foot of Foul-cragg, to
view its wonderful precipices from their base ; and
again safely reached Mr. Clement's house, after a
laborious travel of four hours.' "

A plate in the History shows Skiddaw as a volcanic
crater, while Saddleback is a hill which positively
overhangs on one side. So greatly did the Lake hills
impress the imaginations of that generation ! Green
and Otley, in their ascent of Sharp Edge, found them-
selves " reduced to the necessity either of bestriding
the ridge or of moving on one of its sides, with our
hands lying over the top, as a security against falling
into the tarn on the left, or into a frightful gully on
the right, both of immense depth."

Years ago I used to read these old narratives with
unqualified amusement. But a solemn feeling now

236 ROUND THE YEAR

mingles with my recollections of the innocent little
peaks of our familiar Lake-country. On Dec. 31,
1893, in the height of his manly strength, and in the
full enjoyment of his great gifts as an investigator and
a teacher, Arthur Milnes Marshall fell from near the
summit of Scawfell, and perished in a moment.

THE REVERSED SPIRAL.

The tendrils of the Red Bryony in our hedges or
of the Passion-flower in greenhouses have been often
admired by the readers of Darwin. When our eyes
have been opened by the penetrating observations of
the great naturalist, it is easy to appreciate the effec-
tiveness of the slight but powerful attachments by
which the tendril-bearer draws itself up to its support.
An unattached tendril, when it contracts, forms a
spiral running in one direction from base to apex.
But a tendril which has grasped a fixed object be-
comes wound from right to left in one part of its
length, and from left to right in the remainder, a short
straight portion uniting the two spirals (fig. 60).
Darwin points out that the spiral spring gives great
elasticity to the tendril, a valuable quality in stormy
weather. The Bryony rides out the gale with a long
range of cable paid out. But why is the spiral re-
versed? Darwin explains that every turn in the
spiral twists the tendril once. Thirty turns in the
same direction would twist the tendril thirty times in
succession. No tendril of ordinary length could stand
so much twisting ; it would inevitably snap across.

THE REVERSED SPIRAL 237

But every turn in the opposite direction takes off
twist, and a tendril twisted fifteen times from right
to left and fifteen times from left to right is not
strained at all.

There is another advantage in the reversed spiral ;

FIG. 60. — Red Bryony, with two tendrils, one free, the other clinging to a branch of

it can be pulled out straight without a kink. Pull at
the ends of a continuous spiral, and the turns cannot
be effaced, though they may be reduced to as many
twists.

238 ROUND THE YEAR

The reversed spiral seems therefore to be one of the
most perfect contrivances in Nature. I think I see
Darwin's admiration of it-in many of his expressions.1
Nevertheless Darwin, like Mohl before him and Sachs
after him, was aware that the reversal of the spiral is
a mechanical necessity. When a band whose ends
are not permitted to revolve has a tendency to curl,
and consequently to form spirals, it can only form a
reversed spiral. This is most easily demonstrated by
taking a long ribbon of sheet brass, and winding it

Fig. 61.— Strip of sheet brass, which has wound itself into a reversed spiral.

into a close coil, as one would wind a tape measure.
If one end of such a coil is pulled out, it will take the
form of a continuous spiral. Unroll the entire coil,
and hold out the ribbon straight and flat Then
gradually relax the pull. The tendency to coil will
throw the ribbon into spiral turns, the middle point
will revolve, and for every turn from right to left a
turn from left to right will appear. The reversed
spiral is not a contrivance at all ; it is a mechanical
necessity when a band whose ends are not free to
revolve is thrown into coils.

The reversed spiral is often found in Nature where
an elastic spring would be quite unnecessary. It is
1 Climbing Plants, Chap. IV.

THE REVERSED SPIRAL

simply a convenient way of coiling a tube which has
greatly increased in length while its ends were fixed.
The intestine of the Tadpole is at first straight.
Afterwards it grows very long, to suit the vegetarian
diet of the young animal. This
long tube must needs be coiled,
for the space into which it has
to be crowded is small. Being
fixed at both ends it cannot
be coiled continuously in one
direction. The watch-spring
coil, which represents the in-
testine of the Tadpole in
many standard books, is a
mechanical impossibility.

The colon of a Ruminant
is extremely long, and having
lengthened while the ends were
fixed, it is coiled in a reversed
spiral. It lies nearly in one
plane, and winds inwards in a
regular spiral to the centre ;
then reverses its course, and
winds outwards between its
former turns. The pattern is
very characteristic, and im-
mediately recognised a second
time. I remember seeing it
depicted over and over again in Italian pictures
of the torments of the damned. At the Campo
Santo at Pisa and elsewhere, the entrails practised
upon by demons are shown with this Ruminant

FIG. 62.— Under-side of Tad-
pole showing the intestine
with its reversed spiral
through the trans
body-wall. From
Atlas of Biology.

ispai
11 ,v

24o ROUND THE YEAR

feature. The kids, which an Italian butcher hangs up
at his door with all the viscera exposed, soon made it
clear where the old painters, careless of comparative
anatomy, had got their reversed spirals. The intestine
of a Pond Mussel, the vasa deferentia of Crustaceans
and many other organs of various animals furnish
examples of the same thing.

GOSSAMER.

Sept. 9, 1894. — A calm, bright autumn day. At
sunrise the sky was clear, and the air perfectly still.
The sun shone uninterruptedly through most of the
morning, but in the afternoon, haze and thin clouds
were prevalent. During the day, light and variable
winds alternated with perfect calnl. The evening was
clear, with a gentle northerly breeze.

At breakfast-time this morning the lawn was
covered with dewy cobwebs, and on walking out a
little later, they were found to overspread the fields,
lanes and thickets. Most of the webs were deserted,
but here and there dead or living Insects — chiefly
Aphides and small flies — were entangled in them.
There were also very many threads attached at both
ends, traces probably of the ordinary excursions of
a variety of Spiders, rendered unusually distinct by
the fine globules of dew. Small and apparently
immature Spiders were occasionally seen, in one or
two cases in little companies. They paid no attention
to the captured Insects, but travelled along the webs.
As the sun got higher, the Spiders became more

GOSSAMER 241

numerous, as if they had crept from their retreats, and
they were more active than before. About an hour
before noon, the day being now warm and the
thermometer at 62°, very many Spiders were running
busily to and fro. They were chiefly bent upon
mounting some elevated object, and hardly any tall
weed, straw, gate-post or boulder could be examined
without finding one or more Spiders climbing upon it.
They were not all of one size, nor all of one species.
Though very slightly acquainted with the classification
of Spiders, I think I may venture to say that at least
three species were represented. There were a few
large and probably old Spiders in the throng, but
these took no part in the manoeuvres next to be
described.

Having gained a post of vantage, every little
Spider reared itself upon its legs, and emitted one
or more threads. I could not decide whether the
threads ever emerged separately from the body, as
this could only be ascertained by a very close
examination with a powerful lens, and the Spiders
were too timid and wary to allow of this. In some
cases, the threads merely crossed one another, and
adhered. Attus is said to emit a brush of threads at
once. The light threads, so fine that they were
completely invisible when dry and single, except where
the sunlight was reflected from their shining surfaces,
seemed to catch the gentlest pufif of air, and were for
the most part extended horizontally. When the little
Spider felt the pull of the threads, she let go, and was
wafted along. I saw some steadily ascend, while
others fell gently to the ground. In the course of

R

242 ROUND THE YEAR

about an hour, perhaps twenty Spiders were observed
to ascend.

By noon, the number of Spiders on the ground had
sensibly diminished. In the afternoon, the sky being
now to some extent overcast, many strips and patches
of web were seen to descend. Though very numerous,
they were by no means conspicuous, owing to the
want of bright sunshine. I remember to have seen
many years ago, descending flakes of gossamer
glistening in the sunlight ; but this time their appear-
ance was not striking Any person who walked along
intent upon business would have neither seen nor felt
anything of the gossamer.

Next day something of the same kind was observed ;
but the numbers of the Spiders were greatly dim-
inished. Several fine days followed, and very likely
the Spiders congregated and took flight again. Un-
fortunately, I was too much occupied to attend to
them ; if much is to be seen, the day must be given
up to observing.

On reading what Gilbert White, Blackwall and
other naturalists have observed about gossamer, I find
that the Spiders which rise in the air belong to many
species and genera. They rise only in still, bright
weather, and gossamer in the air is always preceded
by gossamer on the ground. September and October
are the months in which it is most commonly seen.
The Spiders often float to a great height, several
hundred feet at least. The flight cannot be directed
or regulated by the Spider. Spiders never voluntarily
ascend upon webs, but only on fresh-spun lines. It is
unusual, perhaps unexampled, for good-sized Spiders.

GOSSAMER 243

to ascend, and all that I have seen were so small as to
be invisible without close attention, the body being
about an eighth of an inch long or less ; some of the
floating Spiders, however, though of small size, are
believed to be adult.

The question has been raised whether the Gossamer
Spiders can, strictly speaking, emit threads from their
spinnerets, or whether wind is necessary to draw out
the threads. Blackwall 1 gives us the interesting
results of his experiments. " Having procured a small
branched twig, I fixed it upright in an earthen vessel
containing water, its base being immersed in the
liquid, and upon it I placed several of the Spiders
which produce gossamer. Whenever the Insects thus
circumstanced were exposed to a current of air, either
naturally or artificially produced, they directly turned
the thorax towards the quarter whence it came, even
when it was so slight as scarcely to be perceptible,
and elevating the abdomen, they emitted from their
spinners a small portion of glutinous matter, which
was instantly carried out in a line, consisting of four
finer ones with a velocity equal or nearly so, to that
with which the air moved, as was apparent from
observations made on the motion of detached lines
similarly exposed. The Spiders, in the next place,
carefully ascertained whether their lines had become
firmly attached to any object or not, by pulling at
them with their first pair of legs ; and if the result
was satisfactory, after,tightening them sufficiently they
made them fast to the twig ; then discharging from
their spinners, which they applied to the spot where
1 Linn. Trans., Vol. XV., p. 455 (1827).

R 2

244

ROUND THE YEAR

they stood, a little more of their liquid gum, and com-
mitting themselves to these bridges of their own
constructing, they passed over them in safety, drawing
a second line after them as a security in case the first
gave way, and so effected their escape. Such was in-
variably the result when the Spiders were placed
where the air was liable to be sensibly agitated : I
resolved therefore to put a bell-glass over them ; and
in this situation they remained seventeen days.evidently
unable to produce a single line by which they could
quit the branch they occupied, without encountering
the water at its base ; though on the removal of the
glass they regained their liberty with as much celerity
as in the instances already recorded. This experi-
ment, which, from a want of due precaution in its
management has misled so many distinguished
naturalists, I have tried with several of the Geometric
Spiders, and always with the same success. Placed
under the bell-glass, or in any close vessel, they in
vain endeavoured to make their escape from the
branch to which they were confined ; but in the
disturbed air of an inhabited room, they readily
accomplished their object."

The rising of gossamer has been attributed to the
low specific gravity of the Spider and to imaginary
causes which will bear no investigation. Since
Blackwall's researches it has been agreed that light
currents of air are sufficient to explain the rise of fine
filaments. It is not a question of buoyancy, but of
surface in proportion to weight. The webs rise for
the same reason that fine dust rises in moving air, and
fine sediment in moving water. It is for the same

GOSSAMER 245

reason that impalpable drops of water form mists and
clouds, instead of sinking at once to the earth. The
smaller the particles, the greater the ratio of surface to
volume, the greater the ease of transport by a current,
and the greater the resistance to falling through air or
water. If we divide a sphere into spheres of i, i, £,
etc., the original diameter, the aggregate surfaces
increase as 2, 3, 4, etc. The same is true of a cylinder
or any other figure, provided that the parts are similar
in shape to the original figure. It is a general and
well-known law that the surfaces of similar figures
increase as the square, but the volumes or weights as
the cube of any linear dimension. Hence, if the scale
is enlarged, the weight gains upon the surface ; if
reduced, the surface gains upon the weight. Take a
knitting needle TV inch in diameter. Reduce it in all
its dimensions until the diameter becomes TO <TITO inch,
which is of the order of fineness of a thread of
gossamer. The surface is reduced to (ro\jVo)2> the
weight to (i-oVVo)3> that is, the surface gains on the
weight about 625 times. The actual knitting-needle
falls quickly through the air, while the reduced
knitting-needle, if we could make such a thing, would
fall slowly, for the resistance of the air in proportion to
the weight has been increased 625 times. Not only
do the lightest breezes set up by differences of atmos-
pheric pressure suffice to waft the Spiders, but they
ascend when there seems to be no movement in the
air, except the ascending current due to the heated
ground. Such currents will cause soap-bubbles to
ascend, which will not rise in-doors.

Incomplete information prevents us from clearing

246 ROUND THE YEAR

up the relation of these aerial excursions to the
life-history of the Spider. The circumstance that it is
largely though by no means exclusively immature
Spiders which take to flight connects this case with
the larval dispersal of very many marine animals.
The heavy-armoured adults which haunt our shallow
seas are obliged to keep near the same spot, and
dispersal is effected by the fresh-hatched larvae, which
often migrate before they have acquired a mouth
or stomach, and are provided with temporary loco-
motive organs for this very purpose. In the case of
land animals, where the weight of the body cannot be
supported by a dense medium, locomotion is too
difficult to be effected by very immature individuals,
and only full-grown animals migrate ; (Insects, Frogs
and Birds furnish plenty of examples) but for the
peculiar flight of Spiders small size is essential,
and this one circumstance may have determined
their deviation from the common practice of land-
animals.

Spiders often protect their eggs by cocoons, which
may be laid in crevices or Avebs, or carried about by
the female. The fresh-hatched young often creep
about within such a cocoon or web for some days,
during which time they are watched over by their
mother. At last they begin to seek their own food,
which they procure by hunting. Probably no very
young Spider is able to 'make a snare. By the end of
summer, when food begins to be scarce, the young
Spiders set about the business of dispersal. It is not
likely that they get much to eat until the following
summer, but this is a point on which we have few or

GOSSAMER 247

no observations. We may suppose (until the point is
cleared up), that they retreat to hiding-places, and like
older Spiders, endure long abstinence with impunity,
procuring chance supplies of food at long intervals.
The power of emitting silken threads is commonly
used in the excursions of the young Spider to enable
it to climb from twig to twig, before it is turned to
account in aerial voyages.

So long an interval separates the hatching-out of
the Spider from the time at which it begins to make a
web of its own that it may be given as a pure case of
constructive instinct. There is no parent to show it
how webs are made, nor can it be supposed to
remember the minute details of the web in which it
may possibly have been reared. How little we know,
or rather, how entirely ignorant we are of the means
by which the practical experience of by-gone genera-
tions is handed clown to animals which have no
occasion to apply it until they have long been
separated from their own parents !

Dr. Lincecum 1 tells us that the mother and young of
the Gossamer Spider of Texas ascend together. Prob-
ably this is a species of small size.

Darwin's account of the South American Gossamer
Spiders is well worth reading.2 When the Beagle
was sixty miles distant from the shore, vast numbers
of small Spiders settled on the ship. A steady though
light breeze was blowing off-shore. Each Spider was
seated on a single thread. All were of one species,
but of both sexes, together with young ones. Another

1 See Amer. Nat., Vol. VIII., p. 593 (1874).

2 Naturalist's Voyage, Chap. VIII.

248 ROUND THE YEAR

South American species, observed on shore, darted
forth lour or five threads from its spinnerets, which
were more than a yard long, and diverged in an
ascending direction. The Spider then suddenly let go
its hold, and was quickly bqrne out of sight

FLOWER-HAUNTING INSECTS.

Sept. 29, 1895. — We have had a glorious Sep-
tember, hot and sunny. But for one thunder-shower
there has been no rain, and for several days past the
thermometer has regularly exceeded 80° F.

I have been noticing with some care the Insects
which haunt the clumps of Asters in the garden.
There are Bees of at least seven different species,
Wasps, two small Beetles in scanty numbers, and a
host of Flies. The Red Admiral and Small Tortoise-
shell Butterflies flutter about continually, but pay no
special attention to the Asters. Among the Flies I have
identified two common species of Eristalis, a Volucella,
a Syrphus, a Dilng-fly, the metallic-coloured Lucilia
Caesar, the Blow-fly (Calliphora), and there were also
several small Muscidae which I did not examine.

There were many Insects in the air, chiefly Diptera,
which did not alight on the flowers. I was able to
recognise small swarms of three species by peculiarities
of hovering. As I was sitting this afternoon in the
sun with a book on my knee, small Gossamer Spiders
now and then descended from the air upon the page.
I have not seen any gossamer on the ground for
several days. The little Psychodidse abound on the
window-pane.

FLOWER-HAUNTING INSECTS 249

I have made it my business for some years to hunt
out the larvae of our common Insects. I have searched
the waters, both stagnant and flowing, and have pried
into all accumulations of decaying organic matter
that I have come across. I have particularly attended
to the early stages of the Diptera. But I have to
confess that nineteen-twentieths of the Diptera now
buzzing about in my garden are known to me, if at
all, only as items in a catalogue. No doubt a large
proportion have been reared close at hand. But they
are so well hidden, and the naturalist is so blind, that
it is only when he sees the swarms of winged Insects
that he becomes conscious of the multitude of larvae
and pupa; which he has overlooked.

It is interesting to note that Insects of very different
kinds haunt flowers for honey or pollen. The Insects
just enumerated pass the larval stage in various situa-
tions. Some feed on green leaves, some on decaying
animal matter, one haunts the nests of Humble-bees
as a parasite, some live in stagnant pools. But though
they are so widely separated during the feeding-stage,
the quest of honey brings them together, as soon as
they have got their wings.

The honey-sucking Insects are mainly Lepidoptera,
Bees and Diptera. With unimportant exceptions, all
Lepidoptera, which feed at all, visit flowers. Bees
make the greatest use of honey and pollen, feeding
upon it in all stages. They possess the most elaborate
collecting apparatus, and it is the Bees which have
acted most powerfully upon the organisation of flowers.
The honey-sucking Flies are few in number, but of
considerable practical importance. The form, colour,

25o ROUND THE YEAR

and scent of some orders of flowers have been distinctly
modified in consequence of their visits. As a rule the
Flies have a short proboscis and prefer open flowers,
but some, like Eristalis, have a long proboscis and can
explore tubular flowers, as we have already seen.
Their taste in colour leads them to prefer pale, dull,
or speckled flowers, and their favourite odours are un-
pleasant to man. Bees and Moths come nearer to
ourselves in their preferences, both as to colour and
scent.

It is a striking proof of the importance of Insects
in nature that they should have been able to call into
existence a profusion of beautiful flowers. All the
flowers of the garden and conservatory are in a sense
the work of Insects. What they found ready to hand
was a multitude of green or dull-coloured flowers of
small size, without honey or scent ; their visits have
done all the rest

Flowers have done as much for Insects as Insects
have done for flowers. Flowers are to innumerable
tribes of Insects all that domestic animals and
cultivated plants are to mankind. Honey, which may
be considered a joint product of the flower and the
Insect, owes its great value to three properties. It is
fluid, it is highly nutritious, and it can be stored with-
out undergoing putrefaction. Its fluidity and concen-
tration render it particularly suitable as a food for
those winged Insects which lay their eggs singly or a
few together on scattered plants of one species, and
which must, therefore, spend much time in egg-laying.
It is equally advantageous to those which spend much
time in building or excavation. Upon the fact that

FLOWER-HAUNTING INSECTS 251

honey can be stored depends the whole domestic
economy of Bees and certain Ants.

Honey-sucking is associated with the highest
faculties possessed by Insects, and marks, perhaps, the
highest phase in their evolution. It is a surprise that
Insects with so complex a domestic economy as
Wasps and Ants should be able to dispense with it.
Like almost all Insects they are fond of honey, but it
is seldom their chief food. The Bees have discovered
that honey can be converted by chemical change into
wax ; the gnawing Wasps make paper by chewing
vegetable fibres, and use that in their architecture.
The Ants have sacrificed their wings, for the sake, it
would appear, of carrying on their subterranean work
with greater ease. They have paid a heavy price for
this advantage, for loss of wings brought about their
exclusion from flowers. Ants do get honey, but it is
by precarious means and in small quantities. They
will drink the sweet excretion of Aphides, if no better
supply can be had. Some rifle special honey-glands on
the leaves of plants, which appear to have been specially
enlarged as a consequence of their visits. Ants are
even known to store up honey in subterranean
receptacles, the most singular of which are the
enormously dilated crops of certain individuals of
the community which sacrifice themselves for the
general good, and are converted into globular
honey-pots.

Some of the honey-sucking Insects which are not
Hymenoptera assume so much of the form and colour
of Bees or Wasps as to resemble them superficially.
Species of Volucella, Eristalis, Syrphus, Bombylius,

252 ROUND THE YEAR

Ceria and Conops are often like Bees or Wasps in size,
in colour (brown or yellow-banded), in the attitude of
the resting wings, in the hairiness of the body, in the
narrow waist, and in the telescopic respiratory move-
ments of the abdomen. I have experienced what
Reaumur long ago described when capturing some of
these Insects. Though the form of the antennae told me
quite unmistakably that I had a harmless Fly before
me, I have often hesitated to grasp it, because it looked
so like a Bee or a Wasp.

The mimicry of Bees and Wasps by stingless Flies
is a proof of the protection furnished by the sting, and
of its wide recognition by Birds. If Bees and Wasps
were not generally known and dreaded, it would be of
no advantage to resemble them. Other flower-
haunting Insects may wear the colours of the stinging
Hymenoptera, the most striking examples being the
Clear-winged Moths, which lose a great part of their
wing-scales immediately after emergence, and have
the abdomen banded like a WTasp or Hornet. In the
same way certain tropical Hemiptera, Beetles and
Spiders closely resemble Ants, which are dreaded for
the tenacity of their bite, even when unprotected by a
sting.

TENNYSON AS A NATURALIST.

Oct. 26, 1895. — This morning I went out early, and
found that a touch of night-frost had left its mark
upon the shrubs. The lines from In Meinoriam came
into my thoughts : —

" And Autumn laying here and there
A fiery finger on the leaves."

TENNYSON AS A NATURALIST 253

Later in the day I rambled through Bolton
Woods. I passed the glowing embers of a fire of
weeds, and stopped to look at the quivering haze.
Again it was Tennyson who had seen the poetical
side of a spectacle so common : —

" All the rich to come

Reels, as the golden Autumn woodland reels
Athwart the smoke of burning weeds."

(The Princess.']

In the evening I took down my Tennyson, and
amused myself with noting some of the many passages
which show his knowledge of Nature.

Tennyson is our English Theocritus. It would be
bold to claim that he has excelled the Sicilian idyllist
in charm or knowledge of his art, but it is not ex-
travagant to say that he has given to the grave thoughts
of our reflective age that poetic touch with which
Theocritus was able to brighten the trivial details of a
simple country life. Sometimes Theocritus has been
consciously in the mind of the English poet, as in that
" small, sweet Idyll " of The Princess. Perhaps no
English poet since Milton had read to such purpose
in the books of ancient verse, as Tennyson. That
curiosity which led him to glean among old poets has
also made him observant of Nature. It is hard to find
in any other English poet so many of the graphic
touches which show knowledge of Nature and
sympathy with her. Very familiar are the examples
which follow : —

" Those eyes

Darker than darkest pansies, and that hair
More black than ashbuds in the front of March."
(Gardeners Daughter.}

254 ROUND THE YEAR

" And her hair

In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell
Divides threefold to show the fruit within."

(The Brook)

" Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire,
The little speedwell's darling blue,
Deep tulips dashed with fiery dew,
Laburnums, dropping wells of fire."

(In Mentoriam.)

" I wept, 'tho' I should die, I know
That all about the thorns will blow
In tufts of rosy-tinted snow.

# * * *

Not less the bee would range her cells,
The furzy prickle fire the dells,
The foxglove cluster dappled bells."

(The Two Voices.)

It is not only flowers that Tennyson can use to
enrich his verse. I remember one morning after
heavy rain climbing the old St. Gothard road as the
mists clung to the peaks, and it seemed to me as if
one poet only had seen what I then saw.

" The summit's slope
Beyond the furthest flights of hope,
Wrapt in dense cloud from base to cope.

" Sometimes a little corner shines,
As over rainy mist inclines
A gleaming crag with belts of pines."

(The Two Voices.}

" Leave

The monstrous ledges there to slope and spill
Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke,
That like a broken purpose waste in air."

(The Princess.)

TENNYSON AS A NATURALIST 255

Now and then the flash of unfamiliar analogy
suggests a thought new to poetry. The lines,

" Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit
Which in our winter woodlands looks a flower,"

are the very soul of that Dedication, which, but for
the Spindle-tree, would have taken a quite different
and less vivid turn. The verses to J. S. reach their
highest point when they bring in the long-lasting
summer twilight of the northern shores, never turned
to such poetic service before.

" His memory long will live alone

In all our hearts as mournful light
That broods above the fallen sun,
And dwells in heaven half the night."

There is no deep observation but a pleasant
humour in the well-known passage : —

" When the lone hern forgets his melancholy,
Lets down his other leg, and stretching, dreams
Of goodly supper in the distant pool."

(Caret 7i and Lynefte.}

Tennyson's natural history allusions have not quite
escaped criticism. Mr. J. E. Harting l points out two
slips. In " The Poet's Song " we used to read : —

" The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee,"
and in In Memoriam these lines occur : —

" Where now the seamew pipes, or dives
In yonder greening glade."

The swallow does not hunt bees, and no gull pipes
or dives.

1 Zoologist, 1893, p. 145,

256 ROUND THE YEAR

That Tennyson's use of natural fact depends upon
real sympathy is clear to all who observe how the
animals and flowers which throng his written fancies
render each its due service. What desolation Tennyson
adds to " Aylmer's Field " by the mention of the shy
creatures which come back to their ancient haunts,
after the wilful lord has undone the last of his

" And where the two contrived their daughter's good,
Lies the hawk's cast, the mole has made his run,
The hedgehog underneath the plantain bores,
The rabbit fondles his own harmless face,
The slow-worm creeps, and the thin weasel there
Follows the mouse, and all is open field."

The stanza,

" When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush,
Or underneath the barren bush
Flits by the sea-blue bird of March,"

sets the larch and the kingfisher of early spring in their
corner of the canvas with the sprightliness and the sure
touch of Rosa Bonheur. The tapestry which hung
the rooms of the Palace of Art is a real gallery of
pictures, which many a lover of poetry knows by
heart I quote one verse only.

" One showed an iron coast and angry waves.
You seemed to hear them climb and fall
And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves,
Beneath the windy wall."

Among a crowd of other examples which press

TENNYSON AS A NATURALIST 257

for remembrance I find it impossible to pass over
these :—

" So dark a forethought roll'd about his brain,
As on a dull day in an ocean cave
The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall
In silence."

{Merlin and Vivien,")

" O sound to rout the brood of cares,

The sweep of scythe in morning dew,

The gust that round the garden flew,

And tumbled half the mellowing pears !"

(In Memoriam.)

" Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away ;

" Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,

Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air."

(In Memoriam!)

" By night we linger'd on the lawn,
For underfoot the herb was dry ;
And genial warmth ; and o'er the sky
The silvery haze of summer drawn ;

" And calm that let the tapers burn
Unwavering : not a cricket chirr'd :
The brook alone far off was heard,
And on the board the fluttering urn :

" And bats went round in fragrant skies,
And wheel'd or lit the filmy shapes
That haunt the dark, with ermine capes
And woolly breasts and beaded eyes ;

S

258 ROUND THE YEAR

" While now we sang old songs that peal'd

From knoll to knoll, where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmerM and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field."

(In Memoriam.)

Wordsworth, Burns and Shakespeare share this
loving appreciation of Nature. I do not find it in
Shelley, though the general voice gives it to him.
Gray comes near to it once or twice, as here : —

" The red-breast loves to build and warble there,
And little footsteps lightly print the ground."

Thomson has his successes, mostly happy words,
but they are the gems of a rhetoric whose lustre is not
always real. Pope's rhapsody about the moonlight
(for Homer has little share in it) won high praise from
more than one generation. To us it is nothing but
magnificent declamation ; no observant person could
describe moonlight so.

The examples from Tennyson, which of course
illustrate only one side of his poetic endowment, charm
us partly by their terse characterisation of what we all
know, but never attended to before, but still more by
their feeling for the human aspect of Nature. It is
not rocks, clouds, flowers and birds which chiefly
engage the poet's mind, but the relation of these to
the thoughts and hopes of Man ; they are intertwined
with the history of a man's life. The reality of the
observation, the reality of the feeling, save Tennyson
from the common faults of those who show knowledge
in their poetry ; he is never pedantic, nor whimsical,
nor cold.

THE STRUCTURE OF A FEATHER 259

THE STRUCTURE OF A FEATHER.

Familiar as it is, there are few works of nature which
better repay careful study than a feather. Its adapta-
tion to its purpose is complete ; it is strong, light,
flexible and elastic ; its concave surface, which in the
case of a quill, is turned towards the inside of the
wing, or towards the under-side of the tail, catches the
air, while the convex surface allows the air to glide
past with little resistance. The feather resembles
a host of other natural contrivances in this, that
the more we study it, the greater wealth of contrivance
we discover. It is wonderful enough when we merely
hold it in the hand, and examine it by the unaided
eye, but a pocket-lens brings out further and more
interesting details, while the utmost refinements
are only to be appreciated by those who can com-
mand a good microscope and some delicacy of
manipulation.

Notwithstanding the utmost diversity in detail,
all feathers are constructed upon a common plan.
We have feathers with two shafts, feathers with one
shaft and feathers with no shaft at all ; feathers
which bear a stiff and broad vane, feathers which form
branching plumes, waving in the gentlest current
of air, and feathers which at an early stage of develop-
ment crumble to powder. Feathers may be used for
warmth, for defence, for decoration, for flight. They
are of all colours, sizes and shapes. But there is hardly
any organ of the Bird's frame more uniform in its
early stages of growth.

In the present period of the earth's history, feathers

S 2

26o ROUND THE YEAR

are absolutely restricted to the class of Birds, and we
have no information respecting any extinct feathered
animal which was not in essentials a Bird. All
known Birds are feathered, just as all known Mammals
are hairy.

I can remember something of the excitement which
was roused among naturalists by the discovery in 1 860
of a fossil feather in the lithographic limestone of
Solenhofen in Bavaria. That Birds had existed in the
remote Jurassic period was a startling announcement,
but how tantalising to have no record of the fact
beyond a single feather ! The suspense was not long
protracted. The very next year the same quarries
revealed that fine skeleton of Archseopteryx which is
now in the British Museum, and no doubt was enter-
tained that it was this primitive Bird which had yielded
the solitary feather found a year earlier.

Take a Bird (a Sparrow is suitable, but any common
Bird will do) with all its feathers on, and notice how
they are set upon the body. By plucking half the
Bird, you can see that the feathers are not placed
at equal distances. They are inserted into definite
tracts, with bare spaces between. There is a feather-
tract along the spine, and a double feather-tract along
the front of the body. The sides are to a great extent
bare, more in some Birds than in others. If the whole
body were closely feathered, the action of the wings
would be impeded. But the flightless Ostriches and
Penguins are uniformly feathered.

Observe the principal quills used for flight (prima-
ries), and notice that they are inserted into the
hand. A Bird's hand is so reduced and mutilated that

THE STRUCTURE OF A FEATHER 261

you will hardly be able to recognise it except by
counting the joints of the fore-limb. Nearer to
the body comes the long row of secondaries, inserted
into the ulna (one of the two bones of the fore-arm).
The bases of the quills are bare and separated, to
allow freedom of movement during the expansion and
folding of the wing, but air is not allowed to rush
through the intervening spaces, and so diminish the
force of the wing-stroke. The spaces are concealed
by the overlapping wing-coverts (upper and under).
The tail usually bears twelve quills, and has upper
and under tail-coverts. Notice the little "bastard-
wing " on the thumb, which perhaps you may not see
quite at the first glance. The feet are, in most Birds,
bare of feathers and scaly. It is easy to see that
feathered shanks and toes would be inconvenient to
Birds that run about on wet or muddy ground.

Besides the quills a Bird carries body-feathers of
two or three sorts. The larger ones come to the
surface, and are hence termed, together with the
quills, contour feathers. They are compact and glossy,
at least in that part which is exposed, and overlap so
as to turn the rain. Hidden beneath them are fluffy
down feathers, which entangle much air. Air is more
important than the solid substance of the feathers
in preventing the escape of heat. There are also
•filoplumes, feathers reduced to slender, wiry shafts with
perhaps a few plumes on one side, or a little tuft on
the summit. I suspect that the filoplumes help
to prevent the feathers, and especially the down
feathers, from becoming entangled one with another.
The stiff bristles often scattered through the fur

262 ROUND THE YEAR

of Quadrupeds are possibly examples of the same
expedient In certain Birds, Herons for example, there
are patches of feathers which crumble to powder (powder-
down feathers]. I cannot venture upon any explanation
of this curious structure ; the powder is often greasy.

Now let us take a single quill, and examine its parts.
There is the barrel, a hollow cylinder, often trans-
parent, the shaft, filled with a white pith, and grooved
along its inner side, and the vane. The barrel has
usually a small hole at its attached end, and a scar
upon its inner side, where it joins the shaft Between
these points there can often be seen a chain of dried up
husks, often of oval or conical shape. They are easily
seen in a goose-quill, especially if one side of the
barrel is cut away to expose them. Notice the
curvature of the whole quill along its length, and also
its more marked curvature from side to side. The
concave side is turned towards the inner side of the
wing or the under side of the tail ; it is usually paler
in colour than the other, and marked by the groove
along the shaft

The barrel of a feather is very light, being filled
only with air, but it is very strong. I lately took the
barrel of a goose-quill, laid it horizontally on supports
2i inches apart, hung a scale-pan by means of a hook
to its middle point and gradually added weights.
When the load amounted to jibs, the quill began
visibly to yield, and at 7|lbs. it collapsed.

I have already attempted to explain the mechanical
principle which renders the hollow cylinder so strong
in proportion to its weight1

1 Seepage 154.

THE STRUCTURE OF A FEATHER 263

In many feathers, especially body feathers, there Is
a second shaft, the aftershaft, which springs close to
the scar from the top of the barrel. The aftershaft is
usually smaller, often much smaller than the main
shaft, but in the Emu and Cassowary it is of nearly the
same length. In these large, flightless Birds the
feathers serve only for defence and warmth, and here
the double shaft is of distinct advantage, allowing
twice as many shafts to be crowded into the same
surface of skin. I cannot explain why the Ostriches
and the little Kiwi of New Zealand have no aftershaft,
or none that signifies, but I have long been familiar
with negative exceptions to every kind of natural con-
trivance. At first the enquirer is much shaken in his
interpretation of a natural structure when he finds that
it is wanting altogether in a species which seems to
need it as much as any other. But the constant
occurrence of such cases where there can be no doubt
of the use of the structure leads at length to a settled
conviction that Nature has many ways of accomplish-
ing her ends, and can dispense with any organ or any
adaptation, often for reasons which are altogether
inscrutable to us.

The next thing is to examine the minute structure
of the vane. It resembles at first sight a woven fabric.
Cut out a square piece, hold it up against the light,
and gently pull it across the grain. We see that it is
made up of fibres (barbs). The barbs are held
together by a multitude of finer fibres (barbules).
The barbules will resist a direct pull pretty well, but if
the barbs are slid along sideways, they can be
detached without violence. The)" are not truly

264 ROUND THE YEAR

interwoven, but only hooked together by the

barbules.

It now becomes necessary to employ the microscope.
Cut out a small piece of the vane, soak it in alcohol to
expel the air, then transfer it to glycerine, and tease it
out with needles.

We shall then find that the barbs are shaped

FIG. 63.— Part of a feather, showing two barbs and a number of barbules, slightly
separated. The hooks of the distal barbules grasp the proximal barbules of the
next barb.

like knife-blades, the back of the blade being turned
outwards, away from the body of the bird, and
towards the convex side of the quill. Each barb
bears a double row of barbules, some hundreds in
number. Since the barbs run outwards from the
shaft, and the barbules outwards from the barbs, the
barbules will be approximately parallel to the shaft.
They are only approximately parallel, for they cross
one another at a quite appreciable angle. We must
now distinguish the two sets of barbules borne upon
every barb. There is one set which points towards

THE STRUCTURE OF A FEATHER

265

the base of the quill ; these, in accordance with
ordinary anatomical nomenclature, may be called
the //m7>;/tf/ barbules. The other set points towards
the tip of the quill and will be the distal barbules.

FIG. 64.-Two barbules of a feather. The left-hand one points owards the base of
the feather (proximal barbiile), while the right-hand one points towards the
tip (distal barbule). The distal barbule bears the hooks.

The distal barbules of every barb overlie the proxi-
mal ones of the next barb, crossing several of them
obliquely. The proximal barbules have the outer
«dge turned over at a right angle towards the barb

266 ROUND THE YEAR

from which they spring, and this projecting edge is, in
some feathers at least, scolloped. The distal barbules
bear a number of hooks on their inner edge (inner
here means the side next the body of the bird), and
these hooks catch the scolloped edges of several
barbules, and hold them strongly, but not rigidly.
They can stretch a little and can also slide a little,
though the scollops prevent them from sliding too

FIG. 6s.-Parts of three barbs in section showing their proximal (upper) and distal
(lower) barbules. The small diagram illustrates the action of the hooks upon
the edges of the proximal barbules.

easily. If they have been gently detached from the
proximal barbules, they can be replaced by stroking,
and this is no doubt often done when a bird smooths
its ruffled feathers with its bill, but rough handling
breaks or distorts the hooks, and they never adhere
properly again. When the barbules have been
studied and drawn, they may be modelled with great
advantage. The barbs may be represented by bars of

THE STRUCTURE OF A FEATHER 267

wood, and strips of card cut out to the shape of the
barbules may be fixed to saw-cuts made in the sides of
the bars. A little trouble bestowed upon the details of
the model will not be thrown away ; it all helps
the perfect understanding of a beautiful and intricate
mechanism. In the decorative plumes of many birds
the barbules are undeveloped or lose their hooks, and
the barbs then become free. A piece of a peacock's
feather mounted as a lantern-slide, makes the arrange-
ment of the barbs and barbules quite plain. Double-
shafted feathers are easily shown to a number of
persons, if mounted in the same way.

A feather cannot be mastered until its development
has been studied. Something may be seen of the
development of a feather by examination of a moult-
ing Bird, and it is seldom that a bird is not moulting
some of its feathers. The new feathers may be seen
pushing up through the skin, each enclosed in a thin
outer quill, which crumbles gradually away from the
tip downwards, and allows the barbs to expand. But
the easiest way to get developing feathers is to ex-
amine unhatched chicks. Chicks removed from the
egg after incubation for nine days and upwards,
provide excellent material. But few of my readers, I
fear, can command a supply of developing chicks, or
know how to investigate them. The work is mainly
done by thin sections through the artificially hardened
tissues.

There are two layers in the skin of Vertebrate
animals, an outer layer (epidermis), which is cellular
and neither vascular nor sensitive ; and an inner layer
(dermis], which is abundantly supplied with vessels

268 ROUND THE YEAR

and nerves. Both layers contribute to the formation
of the feathers, but the epidermis alone furnishes the
formative cells, while the vessels of the dermis bring
nutritive substance for the supply of the rapidly
multiplying epidermis cells. The first stage in the
development of a feather shows a conical elevation of
the epidermis, within which the dermis forms a papilla
of similar form. As the papilla increases in height, its
base becomes sunk to a corresponding extent beneath
the general surface of the skin, thus obtaining pro-
tection against friction, which would be injurious to a
slender column of rapidly growing cells. The
epidermic sheath which encloses the dermal papilla
increases rapidly in thickness, and the cells arrange
themselves in three layers, of which the middle one is
much the thickest. After a time the middle layer
thins out along one side of the papilla, corresponding
to the future inner side of the feather, while it grows
in thickness on the opposite side, where the shaft will
ultimately appear.1 At length the line of weakness is
broken through, and the upper part of the tube is laid
open, forming henceforth a flattish sheet, which is the
vane of the feather. Meanwhile unequal deposition
of material has given rise to the barbs and barbules,
which are due to splitting of what was in a very early
stage a continuous conical sheath. The tubular
arrangement is retained in the lower part of the
feather, which forms the barrel. It is obvious that if a
tube is split open along part of its length and laid out as
a more or less flattened sheet, while the lower part re-

1 Where an after-shaft is to be formed two lines of weakness
and two thick ridges form.

THE STRUCTURE OF A FEATHER 269

mains tubular, there must be an orifice where the tube
and the sheet join. This orifice exists in every feather,
and is called the umbilicus ; it is usually choked up
by a tissue which will be noticed a little later. The
apex of the feather is formed first, and may be quite
complete while the base is still pulpy ; it becomes
gradually pushed upwards by the new growth at its
base. The outermost epidermic layer forms a cylin-
drical sheet enclosing the future feather ; it adheres
strongly to the barrel, but is free from the vane. When
the feather first appears above the surface it is
enclosed within this outer sheath, from the summit of
which a pencil-like bunch of barbs projects. The
sheath afterwards dries, and gradually crumbles away
from the top downwards, exposing the feathers.

While the growth of the feather is in progress the
papilla is relatively large and highly vascular, but
shortly before the completion of the barrel, which is
the last part to be formed, the papilla begins to shrink.
During its retreat from the barrel the papilla leaves
behind it successive layers of dry and horny substance,
once charged with living protoplasm, and abounding
in vessels, but now shrunk to hollow capsules, super-
posed upon one another. These capsules form a chain,
which extends from the base of the barrel to the
umbilicus, and in young, unworn feathers may often
be seen to project through the umbilical orifice at the
base of the vane. At length the feather is completed,
and the formative papilla comes to rest. It will
however renew its activity periodically during the
whole life of the Bird, forming fresh feathers which
push out the old ones at the seasons of moult. The

27o ROUND THE YEAR

papilla also revives whenever a feather is accidentally
lost.

Feathers formed in the egg are usually much
smaller and simpler in structure than those which are
afterwards developed ; they form a soft, downy
covering in many fledglings.

The colours of feathers are due in part to pigment,
but very largely to minute structural peculiarities,
such as close-ruled grooves or ridges, which give rise
to interference colours, like those of mother-of-pearl
or Barton's buttons. That the colours of such
iridescent bodies are due to the form of the surface
was proved by Brewster, who took casts in black wax,
and found that they exhibited the same play of
colour. The pigments of feathers are mostly black,
brown, red or yellow. Green pigment is extremely
uncommon in feathers. The green plumage of a
Parrot, if held against the light, or crushed, in some
cases if thoroughly wetted with water, turns brown,
grey or yellow (Gadow). No blue pigment is known
to occur in feathers. White feathers are white because
of a multitude of reflecting surfaces, never because of
the presence of a white pigment.1

THE FALL OF THE LEAF.

Chill October puts an end to the activity of the
leaves of our deciduous trees. They cease to be useful

1 The article on " Feathers " by Dr. Gadow, in Newton's
Dictionary of Birds, and " The Interlocking of the Barbs of
Feathers," by W. P. Pycraft (Natural Science, Sept. 1893), may
be recommended to those who are able to pursue the subject
further.

THE FALL OF THE LEAF 271

as food-formers, and it becomes important for the tree
to get rid of them quickly and without violence. If
the leaves were merely to die in their place, nothing
short of a gale of wind would strip the tree,. and
probably no ordinary gale would suffice, as a fact
shortly to be mentioned concerning the Oak and
Beech seems to prove. A whole gale, sweeping over
a leafy tree, would be attended with loss of twigs as
well as of leaves. We see what damage is done by a
high wind in summer, when the tree is clothed with
firmly adhering leaves. It is much better that the
leaf should fall of its own accord in still weather,
and return its substance to the soil about the
roots, instead of being whirled to a distance. Most
of our trees are able to shed their leaves without
waiting for them to be torn off, but there are a few
unexplained exceptions. The Oak and the Beech
keep their leaves long, especially when young. The
Turkey Oak keeps its leaves even when it has grown
into a large tree. Are these trees adapted to more
sheltered situations than others, or are their branches
better able to withstand a strain ? It is well to put
these questions, but I must confess that I cannot
answer them.

Leaves about to fall commonly change colour. The
chlorophyll either disappears, or is converted into new
colouring-matters. The supply of water and sap is
arrested, and both leaf and leaf-stalk shrivel. At the
base of the leaf-stalk is an enlargement or cushion,
and in compound leaves there is often such a cushion
to every leaflet. Though the rest of the leaf and leaf-
stalk shrink, the cushion remains plump. Let us stop

272 ROUND THE YEAR

for a moment to consider what is the special use of the
cushion to the active leaf.

It is an organ of movement. By means of the
cushion the leaf changes its attitude, inclines its
surface to catch the light, droops at night, and in some
cases droops when touched. The delicate adjustments
by which the leaf sets itself in the best position both
with respect to light or neighbouring leaves are
effected by the cushion. The mechanism of adjust-
ment depends upon the turgidity (distention by water)
of the cellular cushion. The cells can either absorb
water from neighbouring tissues, or give it out, and
swelling or contraction follows. There may be
swelling on one side and contraction on the other ;
the swelling may be either temporary or permanent.
Swelling on one side causes a leaf-stalk or young stem
to incline to the opposite side. Sometimes the cellular
tissues of a shoot swell on every side in succession.
Then the shoot sweeps round and round in a regular
nutation, bowing to every point of the compass in the
course of its revolution.

The cushion plays an important part in the fall of
the leaf. Here the block takes place, which cuts off
the supply of water passing upwards from the stem
and roots to the leaf. Here too the separating
layer forms, which at length severs the leaf from the
branch.

The separating layer ends by producing a transverse
cut through all the cellular tissues of the leaf-stalk,
sparing only the vessels and fibres, though these too
it will ultimately break through. The parting of the
cellular tissues greatly increases the ease with which

THE FALL OF THE LEAF 273

the vessels and fibres snap across. Let us suppose
that we hold in our hand a slender fishing-rod, and
switch it to and fro. It sways in gentle and continuous
curves, and unless it is loaded, it will not easily break.
Now suppose that we case the rod in a layer of plaster

FIG. 66.— Section through leaf-base of Horse Chestnut, before fall of the leaf.
X25- -us, wood ; Is to Is, leaf-stalk ; ->&, vascular bundles ; s, corky layer.

of Paris an inch thick, which is ringed, or cut com-
pletely through, in one place. What effect will the
plaster casing have upon the strength of the rod, and
upon its power to resist fracture by bending? Our
first thought will probably be that the plaster may

T

274 ROUND THE YEAR

increase, but cannot possibly diminish, the strength of
the rod. Actual trial, however, proves that this very
natural supposition is wrong. The cased rod, ringed
in one place, will not stand vigorous and sudden
bending, but will snap across at the ring. Rigidity
everywhere but in one place is highly unfavourable
to that nearly uniform curvature which enables the
rod to endure a bending strain without fracture. All
the bending is now concentrated upon one place
instead of being distributed throughout the whole
length of the rod. Mechanical engineers have long
recognised that abrupt changes of section greatly
increase the tendency of axles and shafts to break
across.

The separating layer will therefore weaken the leaf-
stalk, and predispose it to part at one particular place,
although it does not pass through the vessels and
fibres, which are the principal means of attachment of
the leaf. But this is not all. The separating layer
contains a mechanism for producing a positive thrust,
which comes in aid of the pull of gravity and wind-
pressure, and suffices to part the leaf from the branch,
even when it is supported and kept in a perfectly still
atmosphere. How this is accomplished I shall try to
explain a little later on.

The fall of the leaf is an old subject of enquiry, but
the material facts necessary to a satisfactory ex-
planation were not discovered till the year 1859. It
happened in that year that the eminent botanist, Hugo
von Mohl, spent his long vacation at home instead of
at the seaside or in the mountains, and was thus led
to observe the fall of the leaf with all the advantages

THE FALL OF THE LEAF 275

of a botanical garden and laboratory appliances. The
results of his vacation studies are given in the
Botanische Zcitung for 1860. Mohl discovered the
separating layer by cutting sections through the leaf-
stalk when the fall of the leaf was imminent He found

FIG. 67.— Section through leaf-base of Horse Chestnut. X 150 (part of Fig. 66,
more highly magnified). -•#, vascular bundle ; i, corky layer.

it to be a thin layer of living and active cells, travers-
ing the cushion. It is charged with abundant living
protoplasm, contains many starch grains, and appears
in the midst of cells which are almost empty and well-
nigh dead. The separating layer can often be picked

T 2

276 ROUND THE YEAR

out in sections by the naked eye, especially if iodine
solution, which gives a characteristic blue colour to
starch, is applied. It forms gradually, extending across
the leaf-stalk from without inwards.

The separating layer consists of growing tissue,
which absorbs whatever nourishment it can draw from
the neighbouring cells, and displays a short-lived
activity. New cell-walls, parallel to the direction of
the layer, soon appear, and in a few days or even in a
few hours after its first appearance in a recognisable
form it becomes divided into three tiers of cells. Each
cell is very thin or low, in proportion to its length
and breadth. When the right moment comes, the
middle tier of cells breaks down, the cell-walls being
most likely converted into a kind of thin mucilage by
a change of which many other examples could be
furnished, and thus the cellular tissues of the leaf-
stalk are severed.

Since Mold's discovery further investigation has
brought to light not a few interesting details. Van
Tieghem and Guignard l have pointed out the signifi-
cance of certain peculiar brown cells, previously seen
by Mohl, which stretch across the leaf-stalk near the
separating layer. They are cells which have become
lined with cork, and thus rendered impervious to
water and watery fluids. Before the leaf is shed the
cellular tissues have their supply of water and sap cut
off. The vessels, however, still remain open, for they
are wanted to discharge whatever useful fluids the
worn-out leaf may still contain. After the leaf has
fallen, the vessels too may be sealed by corky sub-
1 Soc. Bot. de France^ torn. 39 (1882).

THE FALL OF THE LEAF 277

stance. The corky layer is often formed months
before the fall of the leaf. It is usually a little lower
down than the separating layer.

Van Tieghem and Guignard also tell us, though I
think that they did not first discover the fact, that the
changes in the leaf which precede its fall may be
artificially induced any time after Midsummer. It is
only necessary to cut a branch, and keep it in a still,
moist atmosphere. Shutting it up in a botanical
collecting-box is a very convenient method, which will
cause the complete formation of a separating layer in
a week or less. It is not, therefore, necessary to stay
at home during the long vacation in order to study the
phenomena of defoliation with all the conveniences of
our own laboratory or study.

Van Tieghem and Guignard observe that when the
middle tier of cells in the separating layer deliquesces,
the exposed cells of the neighbouring tiers begin to
bulge. This points to their turgid condition. Our
authors believe that increasing turgidity at length
causes the two tiers to press against each other with
sufficient force to rupture the vessels and fibres. Thus
the last attachment of the leaf is severed, without
shock and it may be in perfectly still air, and the leaf
falls gently to the ground.

Mohl observed that during a frost in early winter
many leaves fell though the air was perfectly still.
On close examination he found that the sap in the
separating layer had frozen to a thin plate of ice,
which forced the tissues apart, just as ice in the
crevices breaks up the clods. When the ice melted
after sun-rise the leaves fell at once.

278 ROUND THE YEAR

AUTUMN WINDS AND WINTER FLOODS.

Nov. 23. — For weeks past there has been a succes-
sion of south-westerly gales with torrents of rain. The
withered leaves have been whirled away, the roads are
deep in mire, the river is in flood. All through the
autumn the grass has been growing, and flower buds
have been opening months before or after their usual
time.

The ocean of air which rests upon the earth is a
most unstable thing, sensitive to the slightest change
of temperature. Inequalities of temperature create
movement, and the movement once set up does not
easily subside. The currents of the air, like currents
of water in a deep pool, seldom take a straight course,
but circle, or boil up from the depths and then plunge
down again. The eddies of the air, like those of the
river, have a tendency to keep to certain tracks. Land
and sea are fixed things, and these determine to some
extent the distribution of the temperature and the set
of the winds. For weeks together cyclones go whirling
along from S.W. to N.E. between Spain and Iceland,
nearly always passing to the north of our islands, but
swerving a little from time to time. They bring with
them the moisture of the ocean-air, and something of
the warmth of lower latitudes.

A week ago the rivers rose to an unusual height.
The banks were swept bare in many places. Trees
were uprooted, and felled trees set afloat. Standing
on a bridge to watch the rushing torrent I could see
trunk after trunk shoot past. The stream has now
fallen again, and I have been to watch the effects of

AUTUMN WINDS AND WINTER FLOODS 279

the flood. On one low flat near the river I found
great patches of refuse, broken twigs, cases of caddis
worms, here and there a chrysalis or a cocoon, and
abundance of seeds. Among many unknown fruits
and seeds I could see a great many Alder-nuts, which
happen to be familiar to me.

Alder grows by preference on the banks of streams,
and during the gales of autumn and winter the ripe
nuts are shaken out of the cones. Many of them
must fall from the overhanging boughs into the water,
and be swept down the stream. Do they sink or
swim in water? It was a simple thing to try. I
threw a number of the nuts into a beaker of water,
and found that they all floated. They went on floating
all through the winter, and many of them germinated
on the surface in spring or earlier. Do all seeds swim
in water ? I went to a seedsman and bought a dozen
packets of flower-seeds, taking the first which came to
hand without selection. All sank in water except a small
proportion of each sort (probably dead seeds) which
contained air and floated. Among the rest were the
so-called seeds of two Composites, which floated.
But these were not mere seeds. They were fruits
invested by the withered husks, which enclosed plenty
of air.

On cutting open an Alder-nut the wall was found
to be excavated by numerous small cavities. I wished
to ascertain whether these were air-tight compartments
or not. I therefore exhausted the air from a receiver
which contained some entire and some broken Alder-
nuts floating on water. None of them sank, though
the air was kept exhausted for a long time. I

28o ROUND THE YEAR

concluded that the cavities were separate and air-
tight.

The long flotation of Alder-nuts on water suggested
that they contained some
resinous or other water-
repelling substance. Dr. J.
B. Cohen, of the Yorkshire
College, was good enough
to examine them for me.
He says : — " About 4^
grams of Alder seeds were
dried in a steam-oven and
extracted with ether. They
lost in the first process 17-1
per cent, of water, and in
the second 2-4 per cent, of
extractive matter. The sub-
stance extracted formed a
perfectly solid and brittle,
light-yellow mass. It gave
none of the reactions for
resin, but on heating melted
and evolved a smell closely
resembling that of hot lin-
seed soil. The seeds freed
from oil floated on water,

FIG. 68-Section through Alder-nut, *>Ut SOme of them Sank

*Z£&S£^£Stt after a time. The majority,
however, floated after four

days' soaking. On the other hand, when the seeds
freed from oil were cut in halves, and soaked
in water, and the air then extracted by exhaust-

AUTUMN WINDS AND WINTER FLOODS 281

ing the vessel under the air-pump, all the seeds
without exception sank after twenty-four hours." The
long-continued flotation of Alder-nuts is therefore to
be attributed to the numerous air-tight compartments
of the wall or shell, and to the oily matter which
renders them incapable of wetting. We shall shortly
see that both precautions are employed in the case of
another fruit which is dispersed by water.

I next turned to Dr. H. B. Guppy's paper on the

FIG. 69. — Part of the porous husk of an Alder-nut, highly magnified The dark
spaces are filled with air.

River Thames as an agent in plant-dispersal,1 which
contains many curious facts. He tells us, as the
result of his long-continued and laborious enquiries,
that not only in autumn but in winter and spring the
rivers carry down much vegetable drift. It is not
usually swept down at once to the sea. Winds
blowing across the river set up a surface-flow, by
which the drift is often lodged among the reeds or
embayed in sheltered creeks. Floods throw the drift
upon the banks, where it may rest for weeks and
months until another flood picks it up. Eddies detain
1 Journ. Linn. Soc., Botany, Vol. XXIX., p. 333 (1893).

282 ROUND THE YEAR

it, perhaps for many days together, in the same place.
In the lower reaches of the river the drift comes under
the influence of the tides, which carry it to and fro
for a long time. During this protracted flotation,
seeds, seed-vessels, and even broken-off fragments
of living plants may retain their power of ger-
mination or renewed growth. Some, like the nuts
of the Alder, float a long time and germinate in
spring at the surface of the water. The seedlings of
such plants would readily establish themselves when-
ever they happened to be stranded in a suitable
place. The seeds and seed-vessels, which float for
months in the river-drift, nearly always float equally
well in sea-water, and afterwards germinate, as Dr.
Guppy ascertained by actual experiment. Ice sends
great numbers to the bottom after the thaw, but many
are not injured even by repeated freezing. Some
seedlings even gain fresh vigour in the ice, and will
put forth their leaves during the daily thaw, though
every night they are frozen up again.

The floating drift by no means includes the seeds
of all the common water-plants of the river. It would
be nearer the truth to say that it includes none of
them. Water-lilies, the Water Persicaria (Polygonum
amphibium\ the Water Ranunculus, the Water forget-
me-not and other plants which live actually in the
water are unrepresented in the drift. Their seeds
have little or no floating-power. These plants prob-
ably owe their dispersal to birds. Charles Darwin
tells us that hard seeds pass uninjured through even
the digestive organs of a Turkey, tie picked up in
his garden twelve kinds of seeds from the droppings

AUTUMN WINDS AND WINTER FLOODS 283

of small birds, and some of these, which were tried,
germinated. The castings of Hawks and Owls often
contain seeds capable of germination. Fishes eat the
seeds of many land and water plants, and are them-
selves often eaten by birds. When seeds were stuffed
into the stomachs of dead fishes, which were afterwards
given to Fishing-eagles, Storks and Pelicans, the seeds
were afterwards thrown up or passed out, and several
of them were able to germinate. Even large insects,
such as Locusts, transport living seeds in their
intestines.1

The winds, which bring the rain and swell the
rivers, are another means of dispersing seeds. The
plumed fruits or seeds of the Thistle, Dandelion,
Willow and Bullrush, the winged fruits of the Elm,
Ash, Sycamore, Lime, Birch and many Umbellifers
are carried over the fields by high winds, and those
which are small and light may be carried very far
indeed. I have seen plumed seeds settle down on the
waves at a distance of more than twenty miles from
shore, and if my opportunities of observation had been
better I could no doubt give much more striking cases.

Less frequent modes of dispersal are entanglement
in feathers, fur or wool (to facilitate which many low
plants have their fruits or seeds hooked), and
mechanical ejection, such as is practised by the
Violets, Geraniums, Furze and many others. Here
the distance to which the seeds can be directly
conveyed is very limited, often only a few feet, but
dense crowding at least is avoided.

1 Origin of Species, ch. xi. Many other facts of the same
order are given in the original.

284 ROUND THE YEAR

The winds which blow steadily over great expanses
of sea set up currents, which often carry floating
objects to great distances. Among these are many
well-known drift-fruits, such as the Coco-de-mer (the
Lodoicea of the Seychelles), the Sea-apples or Sea-
cocoa-nuts of the West Indies (fruits of the Bussu
palm of Trinidad and Brazil), and the Sea-beans
(Entada scandens] which are cast ashore in all parts of
the world. Linnaeus long ago noted that tropical
fruits and seeds, in some cases capable of germination,
were frequently stranded on the coast of Norway.
One drift-fruit, often cast ashore in the West Indies
and elsewhere, is particularly interesting, first because
it exhibits the same structural peculiarities which fit
the Alder nuts for dispersal by water, and secondly
because, though it is often cast up on the sea-shore,
its native country and the tree which yielded it were
only discovered after three centuries of inquiry. In
Nature for Nov. 21, 1895, I find an article entitled " A
Jamaica Drift-fruit," in which Mr. D. Morris, Assist-
ant-director of the Kew Gardens, clears up this
ancient mystery.

The fruit in question was first described and figured
by Clusius in 1605. After that it was repeatedly
discovered as a waif upon tropical shores, and once
(in 1887) in Bigborough Bay in the south of England.
From the large collections preserved at Kew, Mr.
Hillier was at length enabled to infer that the fruit
was probably referable to the small order of
Humiriaceae, which contains trees or shrubs mostly
with balsamic juice, entirely confined to tropical
America, so far as was then known. This led to

AUTUMN WINDS AND WINTER FLOODS 285

further inquiries, and at length to the recognition of
the plant by Mr. Hart, Superintendent of the Botanic
Garden at Trinidad. There the tree still grows. It

FIG. 70. — Fruit of Saccoglottis amazonica. From paper on a Jamaica Drift-fruit

moved,

longi-

.

by D. Morris (Nature, Nov. zi, 1895). i, fruit with fleshy expcarp removed,
-section, showing the numerous cavities. 3,

in drift-fruit
tudinal section.

was botanically described by the former Director of
the Trinidad Botanic Garden, Dr. Criiger, in 1861.
The tree is named Sacoglottis amazonica ; it is rare in

286 ROUND THE YEAR

Trinidad, but more abundant in the delta of the
Amazon.

It is highly satisfactory to be able to trace a long-
known drift-fruit to its native home. The interest is
increased by the peculiar structure of the fruit. It is
covered externally by a thin fleshy envelope, within
which is a shell, excavated by numerous large and

FIG. 71. — Fruit of Saccoglottis amazonica. From Nature, Nov. 21, 1895, after
Cruger.

irregular cysts, which contain air and some resin.
Hence the fruit is very buoyant, easily impelled by
wind, and not easily water-logged. The tree grows
near running water, which can transport the fruits to
the sea, and so to distant shores.

The Sacoglottis-fruit, in spite of its protection from
sinking, decay or destruction by animals, is not known
to have established itself in a new area within recent

AUTUMN WINDS AND WINTER FLOODS 287

times. Its transport from Brazil to Trinidad may
have been effected by flotation, and very likely was,
but proof of the fact is inaccessible. This reminds us
that many things are necessary for establishment in a
new area besides mere transport of the living plant or
animal. Innumerable plants and a considerable
number of animals reach our shores every year from
distant parts of the world, some borne by currents,
some by the wind, many more by man himself. Of
these we may shortly say that none survive when
fresh supplies are cut off. It is just possible indeed
to point to the Anacharis of our ponds and streams as
a casual invader which holds its ground here, but I
know of no second instance. Our experience is how-
ever exceptional. The British Islands are crowded
with dominant species, and there is no room here for
chance immigrants. It would be very different with
the weeds or common animals of a wide continent
which chanced to be cast ashore upon a long-isolated
island. There, the material difficulty of transport
once overcome, the invaders would have a fair chance
of survival. Keeling Island and many other examples
show that wide stretches of sea may be crossed, and
that numerous migrants may at length establish them-
selves permanently in a new soil. The population of
the earth, both animal and vegetable, would be very
different from what we now see, if it were not for the
means of dispersal provided by the winds and waves,
and for that adaptability to external conditions which
enables plants and animals to employ those means for
their own purposes.

288 ROUND THE YEAR

THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR.

Dec. 21. — The sun rises in London at 8 h. 6 m.,
and sets at 3 h. 5 1 m. To-day there is less than eight
hours of full daylight, more than sixteen hours of
night and twilight. Even at noon the sun has little
power. His rays strike us at a low angle, 15° only.
On the longest day he attains a height of 62°, more
than four times as high as at noon on the shortest
day.

The sunshine is not only brief but faint, because of
the small elevation of the sun at noon. Take any
definite part of the earth's surface, such as a particular
field. If that were turned full towards the sun it would
receive the greatest possible number of rays ; if turned
edgewise, it would receive none ; for any intermediate
position it would receive more or fewer according to
its inclination, the amount being proportional to the
sine of the angle. At 62° it would receive '883, at 1 5°
only -259 of the full amount, which is taken as unity.

When the sun is low, his rays pass very obliquely
through the earth's atmosphere, and much light and
heat are absorbed. If the depth of the atmosphere is
taken at unity, a ray passing through it at 62° from
the horizontal plane will be 1*133 l°ng» 3 '864 long
at 15°.

The shortest day is not on an average of years the
coldest day, nor the longest day the hottest We
have to take into account the effect of foregoing
temperature. In summer the surface of the earth

THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR 289

warms up steadily day by day, and the maximum
falls a little later than the longest day, viz. about July
14 — 1 6. In winter the surface of the earth cools a
little every day, and the minimum falls about January
8— ii.

The naturalist is little abroad in December. It is
Nature's long vacation, and many works of the sun have
perished or are to all appearance dead. It is the time
to enjoy the works of man. The new books lie in
the shops ; the fireside and the study-lamp shine
bright " now that the fields are dank and ways are
mire." For those who care nothing about books there
are the theatre and concert and ball. Even the street-
lamps and the roll of carriages help to dispel gloom.

No doubt there is much to be seen and studied
after the leaves have fallen and before the blood stirs
again in the veins of Nature. The threads of the
web of Life are being gathered up. Careful packing
and housing there must needs be ; there are seeds to be
protected against frost, pupae to be hidden where the
birds cannot find them ; the soil has to be fertilised
against a fresh crop. In December, dark, cold and
wet, multitudes of living things hold their life some-
what as did the shipwrecked Ulysses, heaped over
with leaves on the Phaeacian shore, " as when a
man has hidden away a firebrand among black ashes
on a lonely farm, where there are no neighbours, care-
fully saving the seed of the fire, that he may not have
to go in search of the kindling spark." l Life is still
warm in the branches that seem so dead, in the fallen
1 Odyssey, end of Book V.

U

290 ROUND THE YEAR

fir-cones, in the invisible eggs of Insects, in countless
particles that we cannot distinguish from dust and
sand and rotting leaves. The very ground, frozen
hard and covered with grey stubble, is rich in hope,
and holds the promise of many a spring to come.

FIG. 72.— Flowering branch of Hazel (see p. 81).

INDEX

INDEX

ADDER'S tongue, i
Alder, flowers of, 73, 76

nuts of, 79, 279

Alpine and maritime plants, 225
Ancients, their sentiment for

scenery, 230
Angora, 39
Animals, cold endured by, 7

recovering after freezing, 6
Ants, 251

Archaeopteryx, feather of, 260
Autumn Winds and Winter Floods,

278

BEAMSLEY Fell, Corn-rigs of, 103
Beech, bud of, 126
Bilberry, 227
Birch, flowers of, 80
fruits of, 74, 86
Birds, fruit-eating, in frost of 1895,

31

in mid-winter, 26
in snowy weather, 27
perishing of cold, 27
which sing in winter, 26

Blooms, Midsummer, 142

Bone, Mechanics of, 155

Botany of a Railway-station, 137
language of, 208

Bryony, 236

Buds, 121

Bulb of Onion, 72

Bulbs, 65

Buried in the Snow, 25

Butterflies, Cabbage White, 1 58
Hair Streak, 179

Peacock, 178

Small tortoise-shell, 178

Swallow-tail, 180

CABBAGES and Turnips, 183

Cabbage White Butterflies, 158

Caddis-worms in Wharfedale, 36

Cat, 38

Caterpillar on Snow, I

Cold endured by animals and

plants, 6

Combs of Animals, 49
Corm of Crocus, 66
Corn-rigs of Beamsley Fell, 103
Cow and Calf, Ilkley, 32
Cranberry, 217
Craven, Agriculture in, 105
Crocuses, 64
Crowberry, 211
Cuckoo, 107
Cup and Ring Marks, 34

DEPTH to which the ground

freezes, 28
Desert plants, 224
Dog, 38
Duckweed, 192
Dytiscus swimming beneath Ice,

3

EVERGREEN Plants, 226

FALL of the Leaf, 270
Feather, Structure of, 259
" February fill-dyke," 47
Flower-haunting Insects, 248

294

INDEX

Flowering Currant, bud-scale of,

123
Frost, depth to which it reaches,

28

effect on injurious Insects, 32
effect on marine animals, 31
fruit-eating Birds in, 9
Furze in, 31
of 1895, 30
water-mains in, 29
Fruits and seeds dispersed by

currents, 284
Fungi, habitats of, 139
Furze in frost of 1895, 31

GIRDLED pupre, 179

Gossamer, 240

Grasses, 145

Gray's Tour in north of England,

231
Grouse in winter, 27

HABITATS of Fungi, 139

of Insects, 139
Hair-streak Butterfly, 179
Harvey on Insects, 165
Hay-time, 143
Hazel, flowers of, 73, 80

fruit of, 8l, 87
Heather, 211
Hoar-frost, 15, 2 1
Honey-sucking Insects, 249

ICHNEUMONS, 182
Insect-pupje in winter, i
Insects, flower-haunting, 248
habitats of, 139
transformations of, 164
in mid-winter, 3

JENNER, 108

LAGRANGE'S maxims, 199

Landslips, 33

Lapland, cold winds of, 223

Leaf, Fall of the, 272

Leaves of moorland plants, 210

Leprosy, 191

Lilac, bud of, 128

Ling, 211

MACALISTER on mechanics 01
Bone, 155

Malfrighi on Insect-transforma-
tions, 1 66

Maritime and Saline Plants, 225

Mayerne, 165

Meloe, 89

Microgaster, 183

Midsummer Blooms, 142

Mimicry of Bees and Wasps, 252

Moon, 54

Moonwort, 2

Moorland Plants, 208

Moufet's Theatrum Insectorum,
165

Mountains, the Love of, 229

Muscatel, flower-bud of, 135

NARDUS, 215

Negative exceptions, 79, 229

OIL-BEETLE (Meloe), 89

PAI^EARCTIC plants and animals,

206

Paramos, vegetation of, 219
Peacock Butterfly, 198
Petrarch, his ascent of Mont

Ventoux, 230
Plants, cold endured by, 6

RAILWAY-STATION, botany of,

137
Reaumur on pupae of Butterflies,

177

Redbreasts, 26
Reversed Spiral, 236
Rock-crystal of Alps, 24
Rousseau on Swiss scenery, 231
Routine, 199
Ruminant colon, 239
Rush, 218

SACCOGLOTTIS AMAZONICA, 284
Saddleback, ascent of, 232
Scurvy, 191

Shortest Day of the Year, 288
Simon's Seat, 229
Simulium-larvre in winter, 3
Sitaris, 101, 102

INDEX

Snow, air and water in, 24

buried in the, 25

flakes, 1 1
Stipules, 127
Summer twilight, 140
Swammerdam on Insect-trans

formations, 166
Sycamore, 37

buds of, 121

leaf of, 126

TADPOLE, intestine of, 239

Tennyson as a naturalist, 252

Thecla, 179

Tortoise-shell Butterfly, 178

Transformations of Insects, 165

Turnips, 183

Twilight, Summer, 140

UNDER the Crags, 32
Unisexual flowers, 83, £8

WATER-MAINS in frost, 29
Weeds, 201
Wettest months, 47
White, Gilbert, 3, 8
Willow, flowers of, 82

fruits of, 84
Wind, its effect upon leaves, 220

and the dispersal of seeds,
283

XENOPHON on Hunting, 230
Xerophilous plants, 224

YORKSHIRE FOG, 145

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