Kitabı oku: «Birds and Nature Vol. 11 No. 3 [March 1902]», sayfa 5

THE CROCUS

 
“Rest, little sister,” her sisters said —
Violet purple and wild-rose red —
“Rest, dear, yet, till the sun comes out,
Till the hedges bud, and the grass blades sprout.
We are safe in the kindly earth, and warm —
In the upper world there is sleet and storm.
Oh, wait for the robin’s true, clear note,
For the sound of a drifting wing afloat;
For the laughter bright of an April shower
To call and wake you, sweet Crocus flower.”
 
 
But brave-heart Crocus said never a word,
Nor paused to listen for note of bird,
Or laugh of raindrop * * * In rough green vest
And golden bonnet, herself she dressed
By the light of a glow worm’s friendly spark,
And softly crept up the stairway dark,
Out through the portal of frozen mold
Into the wide world, bleak and cold.
But somehow a sunbeam found the place
Where the snow made room for her lifted face.
 

– Madeline S. Bridges, in Ladies’ Home Journal.

MARCH

 
The stormy March is come at last,
With wind and cloud and changing skies;
I hear the rushing of the blast,
That through the snowy valley flies.
 
 
Ah, passing few are they who speak,
Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee;
Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,
Thou art welcome month to me.
 
 
For thou, to Northern lands again,
The glad and glorious sun dost bring,
And thou hast joined the gentle train
And wear’st the gentle name of Spring.
 
 
And, in thy reign of blast and storm,
Smiles many a long, bright sunny day,
When the changed winds are soft and warm,
And heaven puts on the blue of May.
 
 
Then sing aloud the gushing rills
And the full springs, from frosts set free,
That, brightly leaping down the hills,
Are just sent out to meet the sea.
 
 
The year’s departing beauty hides
Of wintry storms the sullen threat;
But in thy sternest frown abides
A look of kindly promise yet.
 
 
Thou bring’st the hope of those calm skies,
And that soft time of many showers,
When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,
Seems of a brighter world than ours.
 

– Royal Arcanum.

THE DOMESTIC SHEEP
(Ovis aries.)

It was a little strip of fur which adorned a lady’s cloak. It was soft and warm and black and curly. The lady called it astrakhan, but the sheep, whose lamb met an early death that its pleasing fine coat might become the covering of someone in far away America, still lives on the steppes of the Far East. Her master and herder belong to one of the wandering tribes which roam about Central Asia. Had the lamb lived to maturity its beautiful fine coat would have changed to coarse hair, very unlike the wool of the sheep we find in America. It would have grown to a large size; it would have had short horns, a very short, flat tail, with great bunches of fat on the haunches at either side.

There would have been among its companions some sheep entirely white; others white with black heads; but in its immediate family all would have been black throughout.

Imagine the little lamb taking the journey across the Eastern continent! Should we follow it in its journey we would find many interesting varieties of its kind. In crossing Syria and Asia Minor we would find the curious, flat-tailed sheep; their tails are most remarkable to one unaccustomed to the sight, for they are long masses of fat, sometimes weighing forty or fifty pounds, and often trailing upon the ground. In this case they are frequently supported by little sledges to relieve the animal of its burden. It seems impossible to understand why these tails should grow to this inconvenient and enormous length, when other breeds near by have practically no tails at all.

Leaving the country of the broad-tailed sheep and passing along the south of Europe, we find in Spain a very important and interesting variety, the Merino sheep. While in the mountains of Spain they are found in the greatest perfection, the breed has spread over many parts of Europe and has been introduced into South Africa, America and Australia. It is noted for the fineness of its wool and is considered by many to be the most profitable of all sheep.

For some reason the Merino sheep has not found favor in the British isles, but we find there many other well known round-tailed varieties.

The Shetland and Orkney breeds have in their fleece soft, fine wool, largely intermixed with hair. They are of small size and horns may be found on both sexes, although they may be lacking in the ewes.

The soft-wooled sheep of Scotland are a breed nearly extinct; they have short horns, lank bodies and short wool.

In Wales we find two races of small size; one lives in the higher mountains, is dark in color, has much hair mixed with soft wool, and horns are found on both sexes. The other race is without horns and is covered with a soft wool. Both varieties are hardy and are noted for their fine flesh.

The Irish Wicklow sheep were originally very similar to the Welsh variety. Among other Irish breeds the Kerry is best known. It is wild in disposition, larger than the Welsh sheep, with the horns frequently absent in the ewes.

The hardiest and boldest of all the British races are the black-faced Heath breed; these have dark colored limbs and faces and coarse and shaggy fleeces.

The Cheviot breed are hornless, with white limbs and faces; they are heavier than the Heath breed, but have less endurance.

The old Norfolk breed of the east of England are strong and active, with horns, which are thick and spiral in the rams; the body and limbs are long, the face and legs black, and the silky wool is of medium length.

The Dartmoor and Exmoor sheep are “the breeds of the older forests, commons and chases.” They are of small size, may or may not have horns, have dark or gray faces and have wool of medium length.

The well known Southdowns have no horns; they have dark brown faces, ears and limbs; the head is always comparatively small, the lower jaws are thin and fine and the space between the ears is well covered with wool.

The Dorset and pink-nosed Somerset breed are in the southwest of England. They are known by their long white limbs and their white faces; the muzzle is sometimes flesh-colored and the wool is of medium length.

Then there are the various long-wooled sheep of which the new Leicester breed is considered first in respect to form and ability to fatten readily. Other long-wooled sheep are the Lincolnshire, the Romney Marsh, the Cotswold, the Devonshire, the Notts and the long-wooled Irish breeds.

There are other breeds less well known and less important, but the breeds of the British isles are by no means confined to that locality. They have been taken to the United States and to other countries. In fact, some variety of domestic sheep can be found in every land, and no animal is more useful to its owner.

In spite of the various breeds, the characteristics of all domestic sheep are similar. They have not the courage and independence of their cousins, the wild sheep of the mountains. These delight to roam to the highest altitudes, some species being found as high as 22,000 feet above the level of the sea. No other animal save the musk ox and the mountain goat can exist at this height. Doubtless the domestic sheep would thrive better if it could escape the low levels and the plains, for, like the wild sheep, it is a mountain-loving creature. It has adapted itself to the lower altitude, but at a great loss of its original characteristics. It has to an extreme extent become a dependent animal, unable to care for itself, totally lacking in courage and resources, very easily frightened and without marked character. An entire flock is easily startled by any unusual noise; thunder and lightning completely unsettles them, and human efforts to quiet them often prove unavailing.

Brehm tells us that “on the steppes of Russia and Asia the shepherds often have the most arduous tasks in preserving their charges. During a snowstorm or thunderstorm the panicstricken flocks disperse in a wild stampede, rushing out into the wastes of the steppe like senseless creatures, and then resignedly suffer themselves to be snowed under or to freeze without making any attempt to shelter themselves from the storm or even to seek for food.” In Russia a goat is generally used as a leader for a flock of sheep, but even a goat is not always able to keep the stupid animals under proper guidance. During a thunderstorm they huddle together and cannot be made to move. “If lightning strikes into the flock,” says Lenz, “many are killed at once; if fire breaks out in the sheepfold the sheep do not run out, but, on the contrary, sometimes rush into the fire.” The best manner of rescuing sheep from a burning fold or structure is to let the sheep dog to which they are accustomed, drive them out.

To a certain degree, however, the sheep exhibits mental capacity. It learns to know its keeper, obeys his call and displays a certain amount of affection and docility towards him. It seems to have a liking for music, or at least it patiently and passively listens to the bagpipe playing of the shepherd, and it has evidently some premonition of impending changes in the weather.

Sheep thrive best on a diet of various dried plants. The botanist Linnæus states that they “feed on three hundred and twenty-seven of the common Central European plants, avoiding one hundred and forty-one. Ranunculus, cypress spurge, meadow-saffron, shave-grass, wild cabbage or skunk cabbage and rushes are poison to it. It is fond of salt and fresh drinking water is necessary to its well being.”

The mother usually gives birth to but one lamb, although occasionally there are more. The little creature must first have human care, but later they are permitted to follow their mother, which shows great affection for her offspring.

A sheep may live to be fourteen years of age, though at nine or ten years it will lose most of its teeth and cannot maintain itself by grazing.

John Ainslie.

THE BEAUTY OF A STORM

The person standing by the window watching the progress of the storm may see some of its beauty, but he will miss the most vital part – its very spirit.

Perhaps the majority of people looking out of the window this morning exclaimed, “What a disagreeable day!” And so it might seem to those who remained indoors; and, alas! also to many pedestrians who are not attuned to Nature and who have not yet seen the wisdom of providing themselves with suitable attire for stormy weather, instead of foolishly clinging to the old idea that “anything will do to wear on a rainy day.”

These very likely were oblivious to the beauty which surrounded them and failed to be touched by the spirit of the storm.

To many besides myself, however, I hope it was a “beautiful morning.” When I started forth to walk the wind, which was quite strong, was blowing in fitful gusts, while the rain fell heavily, in spite of which state of things the note of a brown creeper smote my ear cheerily, assuring me that one little friend, at least, was sharing my enjoyment.

After about two hours, during which time the rain had not ceased to fall, I set out on my return walk. The first sound to attract attention, on again setting foot out doors, was the crackling of the needles in a tall pine tree, and I was surprised to note that the rain was freezing on the trees. It had not seemed cold enough. Very soon there was sleet mixed with the rain, which changed again presently to snow and sleet. Then the snow and the wind commenced a mad frolic, and Oh! how beautiful they made the world! Who could be deaf to the deep-toned music of the wind roaring through the upper branches of the trees!

The spirit of the storm entered into my veins and a wild delight seized me. I could have shouted aloud with the mere joy of living. The redbird’s call note was as the greeting of a friend, and the hairy woodpecker’s loud “pique” seemed to say “Hi! down there; this is a world worth living in!”

It is in such moments as these that our unity with Nature is most strongly felt and our co-partnership with the elements realized. We are as much a part of the great and wonderful universe as the stars or the clouds, the mountains or the sea.

Thus may the storm spirit embrace our spirit as the wind and rain and snow encircle our bodies. If the invisible and visible parts of our being be both equally prepared to face the elements, we shall return from our encounter with them exalted in mind and refreshed in body; with new life in our veins, and in our hearts new wonder at the beauty of Nature in her wilder moods.

Anne Wakely Jackson.

 
The snow-plumed angel of the north
Has dropped his icy spear;
Again the mossy earth looks forth,
Again the streams gush clear.
 

– John Greenleaf Whittier.

THE VIOLET

With the exception of the rose, no other plant is so widely distributed and at the same time so universally admired as the Violet. Not alone is it esteemed because of its beauty and fragrance, but a wealth of romance, of historical associations and mythical lore have clustered around the purple blossoms, endearing them to the poet and scientist alike.

The Violet was formally baptized with the ancient Latin name Viola in 1737. Since that time, by some strange oversight, botanists have allowed the name to remain unchanged. Two hundred and fifty species of the Violet have been described, although a more careful study of the genus has reduced the number to one hundred or more species. Three-fourths of these forms are found in the temperate Northern Hemisphere and the balance in the Southern. Under these diverse conditions of growth the plants assume many seemingly unnatural characteristics. Thus, in Brazil a species of Violet is eaten like spinach, while others found in Peru are violent purgatives. Among certain Gaelic tribes the plants are highly esteemed as a cosmetic, and the ancients largely used the flowers to flavor wines.

Whatever other attributes a plant may possess, it is predestined in large measure to waste its fragrance on the desert air, unless it catches the fancy of the minstrel or tips the bolts that fly from Cupid’s bow. In fact, the Violets were originally white, until they were accidentally struck by Cupid’s dart, which was hurled at Diana, and since then the petals have been “purple with love’s wounds.” Hence Shakespeare calls the Violet “Cupid’s flower of purple dye.” Another reason for the change from white to purple is found in the jealousy of Venus, who, envious of Cupid’s admiration of the purity of the flowers, changed them all to blue.

The Greek myth, however, would certainly not be content if it could not more fully account for the origin of the Violet, and so it appears from the classic legend that Ianthea, the most beautiful of Diana’s nymphs, while dancing in the woodlands, was pursued by the sun god, and in order to save her favorite the immortal huntress changed her into a Violet. The name Ion was given to the plants by the Greeks after the nymphs of Ionia presented the flowers to Jupiter. The Thunderer evidently saw something more than a mere blossom in the dainty flowers, for it appears that the Violet became a beautiful priestess in Juno’s temple, known as Io. In order to protect her from the jealousy of his consort, Jupiter was forced to change the young goddess into a heifer, and whenever she lowers her head to feed, the white violet springs from her perfumed breath as it comes in contact with the soil.

Among the ancients the Violet was the flower of honor. It was the sacred flower of the Acropolis, and the “Athenian crowned with Violets” was a distinction much sought after. Pindar writes of “Violet-crowned Athens,” and in the “Cyprea” it is said that Violets were among the perfumes employed by Venus to win from Paris the prize of beauty.

No less esteemed were the purple blossoms among the more rugged people of the North, for a Saxon legend tells how Czernebogh, god of the Vandals, lived with his beautiful daughter in a stately castle. When Christianity swept through Saxony, destroying all evidences of the heathen faiths, the god and his castle were turned into rocks, and the lovely daughter became a Violet, nestling among the crags. Whoever is fortunate enough to discover the hidden flower will restore the maiden and the castle to their original form and may claim this Saxon Flora as his bride.

In Norse mythology the Violet is called Tyr’s flower, and this is the first instance in which the modest plant became disassociated from the realm of love and assumed the guise of war. Tyr’s violet mantle, however, in later years, fell upon the great Napoleon, who adopted the flower as his emblem. He was, in fact, called by his followers Pere de la Violette, and upon going into exile Napoleon assured his friends that he would return with the Violets. Hence the flower became the sacred symbol by which his followers recognized each other. When asked, “Do you like the Violet?” if the reply was “Oui” the answerer was not a confederate. If, however, the reply came, “Eh, bien,” they recognized a brother conspirator and completed the sentence, “It will appear again in the spring.”

During the middle ages the Violet became the chosen symbol to the minstrel and troubadour, of loyalty and faithful love. A blue Violet was the first love token passed by Clemence Isaure through a hole in the wall of her convent garden to her noble lover, Count Raymond, of Toulouse, and in its association as a bridal flower Milton used it to carpet Eve’s bower in Paradise.

Charles S. Raddin.