BIRDS IN THEIR RELATION TO AGRICULTURE

(FROM THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE NEBRASKA ORNITHOLOGISTS' UNION JANUARY, 1901.)[4]

BY LAURENCE BRUNER.

[4] By permission.



When civilized man takes possession of new regions and begins cultivating the soil and establishes his sovereignty there, the equilibrium as it existed upon his arrival is very quickly disturbed. One or more of the many forms of life—plant and animal—that were previously held within certain limits gain ascendency. The introduction of new crops that furnish an abundance of the proper food for some insect, enables this form to increase out of all proportions and harm soon results. The killing off of certain other forms of life that naturally keep still others in check also assists in disturbing the equilibrium further. The cutting down and clearing away of forests removes the shelter and homes of others, as does also the turning under of prairie grasses. Then, too, many of the natural residents of primeval forests and virgin prairies shun the sight of man, hence they gradually withdraw from the region, and their influence for good or evil goes with them. Since the majority of such forms are timid and inoffensive creatures, their withdrawal only adds that much more to the already overbalanced conditions. Year by year the gap which at first was scarcely noticeable becomes widened, so that frequent inroads are made and harm results. Instead of trying to ascertain the true cause for all this trouble perhaps exactly the wrong thing is done by the settlers. This of course only has the effect of further widening the gap between safety and danger. Since an insect or other animal becomes noticeably harmful only when present in alarming numbers, it stands to reason that anything which favors such an abnormal increase is a factor in disturbing nature and should be quickly rectified where possible. In order that these disturbances should be looked after the all-wise God of the universe created birds and gave them the power of flight that they might the more readily move about rapidly from place to place, where their services might be needed in balancing affairs. Hence birds have naturally and rightfully been called the "balancers" in nature. This being true, let us see just what their relations are to agriculture.

The farmer sows in order that he may reap an increased measure of what he has sown. In doing this he must first turn over the soil. This destroys many existing plants as well as animals that depend upon them for food. The plants thus turned down cannot regain their position and must of necessity die. Not so with many of the animals, however, which soon work their way to the surface. Some of these attack the growing plants which have been made to occupy the place of those destroyed by the plough. Others take wing and seek suitable food in adjoining districts where they add to the numbers already drawing upon the vegetation up to the point of possible continued supply. Here, then, the scales begin to vibrate. In the field the new and tender crop entices the ever-shifting individuals of myriads of forms that have been crowded out elsewhere. The result here too is, or would be, very disastrous were it not for the timely visit of flocks of birds likewise in search of food.

It is during the period of first settlement of a country, when the fields are small, few and widely separated, that injury may and frequently does result from birds. It is then a problem that needs careful consideration, not only for the time being, but also for the future welfare of that country. If animal life is destroyed indiscriminately and without intelligent forethought, calamities unforeseen are sure to follow in the not distant future.

Birds can be useful to man in many ways. They can benefit him by carrying the seeds of various plants from place to place so as to assist him in establishing new groves in which to find shelter from the cold in winter and refuge from the heat of the noonday sun in summer. They plant various shrubs by the wayside that spring up and later are laden with luscious fruit. They also carry the spawn of fishes and small crustaceans among their feathers into new waters, and feed upon the countless seeds of weeds that are scattered broadcast over the face of the earth. Some kinds live almost exclusively upon insects, while others hunt out the small rodents that would, if left to themselves, destroy great quantities of grain and other vegetation. Still other birds benefit mankind by acting as scavengers in the removal of putrid and other offensive matter which would endanger our health. In addition to all these varied direct benefits which are brought about by the presence of birds, man is further indebted to these creatures for the cheer which their gay music, bright plumage and pleasant manners bring to him. The birds form a carefully organized army of police which is engaged in keeping affairs balanced in nature.

But we can go even further summing up the benefits that men may derive from the birds. A great many kinds make excellent food, while others furnish sport and pleasure to a large number of men and boys who seem to require a certain kind of entertainment while accompanied with dog and gun. Dead birds when embalmed as mummies and attached to the head-gear worn by some girls and women are also claimed to cause much happiness.

Birds as Enemies.—It would be ridiculous for me to assert here that no injury ever results from the presence of birds on the farm or in the orchard. Quite a number of different species are continually stepping over to the wrong side of the "ledger" as it were, and committing depredations of various kinds which if considered alone would render the perpetrators liable to severe punishment—in some cases even unto death. Some of the crimes that can be charged to the feathered tribe are cherry and berry-stealing, grape-puncturing, apple-pecking, corn-pulling, grain-eating, the unintentional carrying from place to place of some kinds of scale insects that happen to crawl on their legs and feet, the possible spreading of hog cholera by crows and buzzards, the robbing of the poultry yard, and lastly some birds are accused of making noises that awaken us from our slumbers in the morning.

Some of these crimes are genuine and are to be deplored, while others are more imaginary than real. A few of them could be prevented in part or altogether, while others might be diminished if we were inclined to take the trouble to do it.

After all that can be said pro and con concerning the usefulness of birds in general there remains no doubt, in the minds of thinking people at least, as to the value of these creatures. It is only the vicious, biased, and thoughtless persons who continue ruthlessly to destroy birds indiscriminately without first pausing to consider whether or not it is a proper thing to do, whether it is right or wrong.

Food habits.—So varied is this task of evening up in nature that if attended to properly the workers must be numerous in individuals and possess widely different habits. That such is the case can readily be seen by the following brief account of the various groups of our Nebraska birds, along with brief statements of their food habits.

The Grebes and Loons feed chiefly upon snails and other aquatic animals such as are found about their haunts. They also capture many grasshoppers and similar insects that happen in their way. They cannot, therefore, be classed among the especially beneficial birds, neither can they be termed injurious on account of what they eat.

The Gulls, provided as they are with long wings and great powers for flight, are not confined to the seacoast, hence they reach far inland in their migrations, feeding extensively upon insects like locusts, June-beetles, crickets, etc., large numbers of which they destroy annually. Several kinds of these birds are known to follow the plough and pick up the white grubs and other insects that are turned up and laid bare. In early days, when grasshoppers did much harm in this state, numerous flocks of these birds were seen to feed upon these insects.

The Cormorants and Pelicans are chiefly destroyers of fishes and frogs, hence can hardly be classed among the most beneficial forms; but whether or not they do any more than to maintain the necessary equilibrium in that particular part of the vast field of nature it is difficult to judge without time for investigation.

The various Ducks and Geese which are also nearly as aquatic in their habits as some of the foregoing, frequently leave their haunts and make excursions into the surrounding country where in summer they feed upon locusts, beetles, and other injurious insects. They also partake of considerable quantities of vegetable food, as grains, weed seeds, grasses, and other herbage. While not included among the insectivorous forms these birds do much towards diminishing the ever increasing horde of creeping and jumping things. Ducks and geese on the other hand are largely utilized by us as food: while their feathers make comfortable pillows and coverlets.

The Herons, Cranes, and Rails are frequenters of marshes and the margins of streams and bodies of water, where they assist in keeping the various forms among the animal life balanced. Fishes, frogs, snails, insects, and crustaceans are alike devoured by them.

The Snipe, Sandpipers, Plovers, Phalaropes, Curlews, etc., are great destroyers of insects. Moving as many of them do in great flocks and spreading out over the meadows, pastures, and hillsides, as well as among the cultivated fields, they do a large amount of careful police service in arresting the culprits among insects. They even pry them out of burrows and crevices in the earth where these creatures lurk during daytime only to come forth after nightfall to destroy vegetation. The large flocks of Eskimo Curlews that formerly passed through eastern Nebraska did magnificent work during years when the Rocky Mountain Locust was with us, as did also the equally large flocks of Golden Plovers. The Bartramian Sandpiper even now is a great factor each summer in checking the increasing locusts on our prairies.

The various members of the Grouse family, while belonging to a grain-eating group, are certainly quite prominent as insect destroyers. Especially is this so with respect to the Quail, Prairie Hen, Sharptailed Grouse, and Wild Turkey, all of which are occupied most of the summer months in capturing and destroying vast numbers of such insects as are found on the prairies. Grasshoppers, locusts, crickets, caterpillars, and similar insects comprise the bulk of their insect food—forms that are all among the most numerous as well as destructive species. In writing about these birds as insect destroyers Prof. Samuel Aughey writes: "I happened to be in the Republican Valley, in south-western Nebraska, in August, 1874, when the locust invaded that region. Prairie chickens and quails, that previous to their coming had a large number of seeds in their stomachs, when dissected, seemed now for a time to abandon all other kinds of food. At least from this onward for a month little else than locusts were found in their stomachs. All the birds seemed now to live solely on locusts for a while." In winter and at other times of the year when insect life is scarce and difficult to obtain, these birds feed more or less extensively upon seeds and other kinds of vegetation. Some even enter cultivated grounds and seek food that belongs to the farmer, thereby doing more or less direct injury. The extent of such injury, of course, depends upon the number of birds engaged in the depredations, and also on the time over which it is allowed to extend. If corn and other grain is harvested at the proper time, but little damage ensues; but if allowed to remain in the field throughout winter, much of the crop is liable to be taken by the birds.



Perhaps no other bird that frequents the farm pays higher prices for the grain it eats than does the Quail. Living about the hedgerows, groves, and ravines, where insect enemies gather and lurk during the greater part of the year, this bird not only seizes large numbers of these enemies daily during the summer months when they are "abroad in the land," but all winter through it scratches among the fallen leaves and other rubbish that accumulates about its haunts seeking for hibernating insects of various kinds. Being a timid little creature, the Quail seldom leaves cover to feed openly in the fields, and therefore does but little actual harm in the way of destroying grain. In fact it only takes stray kernels that otherwise might be lost. This bird is one of the few that feeds upon that unsavory insect, the chinch-bug; and the number of this pest that occasionally are destroyed by it is really astonishing. No farmer or fruit-grower should ever kill a quail himself nor allow anyone else to hunt it on his premises.

Our domestic fowls, save ducks and geese, from which so much direct income is derived throughout the year, belong here. It would be folly on my part to assert that they are useless to the farmer. Besides furnishing eggs and meat for the table, they are great aids in keeping down a variety of noxious insects during spring, summer, and fall.

The various species of Doves or Pigeons are not, as a rule, thought of as being especially harmful, yet repeated examinations of their stomach contents would indicate that their food seldom, if ever, consists of anything but grains and various kinds of seeds along with other particles of vegetation. The good done by these birds as destroyers of weed seeds more than pays for the harm done by them as grain-eaters.

Recent careful study with reference to the food habits of Hawks and Owls carried on by the United States Department of Agriculture go to show that these birds, with but few exceptions, are the farmer's friends rather than his enemies. It appears that the good which they accomplish in the way of destroying mice, gophers, rabbits and other small mammals along with great quantities of noxious insects far exceeds the possible harm they do by the occasional destruction of poultry and other birds. A critical examination of the actual contents of about twenty-seven hundred stomachs of these birds showed that only six of the seventy-three species found in the United States are injurious. Three of these are so rare that they need not be considered. Of the remaining three the Fish Hawk is only indirectly injurious: hence but two remain to be considered, viz., the Sharp-shinned and Cooper's Hawks. "Omitting the six species that feed largely on poultry and game, 2,212 stomachs were examined, of which 56 per cent contained mice and other small mammals, 27 per cent insects, and only 31/2 per cent poultry and game birds."

The food habits of both the Turkey Vulture and Carrion Crow, or Black Vulture, are of such a nature that the destruction of these birds should be prohibited. In fact, in many of the states this is done by law. They live almost exclusively upon carrion or decomposing animal matter, and in this manner aid in the prevention of diseases that might result from the presence of such filth. They may, however, be the cause of indirectly spreading hog cholera where animals that have died from this disease are left unburied or unburned.

The Cuckoos are among the few birds that habitually feed upon hairy caterpillars, such as the various "tent-making" species. They also destroy large numbers of other caterpillars, and do not object to beetles and other insects which they find among the foliage of trees. Although shy birds they are frequently seen in cities, where they do their share in protecting the shade trees from the ravages of insect defoliators.



Taking the Woodpeckers as a family, there are few persons but who will readily admit that these birds comprise a very useful group. Feeding, in fact, as most of them do, upon the larvae of wood-boring insects, they can readily do much greater good for the actual number of insects destroyed than if they destroyed only those that feed upon the foliage of trees. Not unfrequently will a single borer kill an entire tree if left to itself, while hundreds of foliage-feeding caterpillars of the same size have but little effect upon the appearance, to say nothing of the health, of the same tree.

Mr. M. L. Beal, assistant in the Division of Ornithology and Mammalogy of the United States Department of Agriculture, in summing up the results obtained from the examination of six hundred and seventy-nine stomachs of these birds, writes as follows:

"In reviewing the results of these investigations and comparing one species with another, without losing sight of the fact that comparative good is not necessarily positive good, it appears that of seven species considered the Downy Woodpecker is the most beneficial." He then goes on to give the food habits based on contents of the stomachs of our most common species. "Judged by the stomach examinations of the Downy and Hairy Woodpecker and Flicker it would be hard to find three other species of our common birds with fewer harmful qualities."

The Flicker is one of our most common woodpeckers in Nebraska and does much towards keeping down a number of different kinds of insects. It is very fond of ants as a diet, in fact is partial to them, and this element forms almost half of its entire food-supply during the year. It also occasionally feeds upon the chinch-bug, as can be attested by the fact that the stomach of a specimen killed near Lincoln contained in the vicinity of one thousand of these bugs. It is also a fruit-eater to the extent of about one-quarter of its entire bill of fare, but nature, not man, furnishes the supply. It takes the wild kinds in preference to those that are cultivated.

The Whippoorwill, Night Hawk, and Swifts feed entirely on insects, and must consequently be classed among the beneficial birds. They all capture their prey while upon the wing, and naturally destroy large numbers of troublesome kinds.

The various species of Flycatchers, as the name implies, destroy insects which they capture for the most part while on the wing. Flies and allied insects are quite prominent on their bill of fare; but these by no means are the only kinds of insects destroyed by them. Many a luckless locust, butterfly, moth or even beetle is snapped up and devoured by the different species of the family. The Bee-bird, or Kingbird as it is more frequently called, sometimes even catches bees. These latter, however, consist largely of drones, hence comparatively little harm is done.

One should be unprejudiced in order to write a fair biography of even a bird, or group of birds. To say that I am without such prejudice with reference to some of the members of the family of birds now to be considered, would be a falsehood. Still, I shall endeavor to give as unbiased testimony as possible with reference to their food-habits at least, and let the reader judge for himself as to what would be the proper treatment for these birds. Taking the family as a whole that which is made up of birds like the Crows, Ravens, Magpies, Jays, Nut-crackers, "Camp-robbers," etc., though some of them have unenviable names and reputations at least, are not at all as bad as we are sometimes requested to believe them to be.

The Crows, Ravens, Magpies, and immediate relatives are what might be termed "omnivorous" in food-habits, eating everything that comes their way. Crows, however, have been shown to feed largely on insects, which in great measure at least, offsets the harm done in other directions. They also feed on various substances, the removal of which is for the general good.

The Raven is too rare a bird in this state to be taken into consideration in respect to food-habits, and the Magpie certainly can be put out of the question of doing any possible harm for the same reason. This leaves then to be considered, the Jays, of which we seem to have six or seven distinct kinds; but only two of these are at all common. The Blue Jay is found over the entire state, and is familiar to everybody. The second species is found only in the western and north-western portions among the pine forests, and is known as the Pinon Jay or "Camp-robber"—the latter name not very flattering to the bird I must confess.

The Blue Jay does much of the mischief that is laid at the door of the Robin, orioles, thrushes, and other birds, and then sneaks away unobserved. He also destroys large numbers of insects and robs the nest of some small birds.

In the Bobolink, Meadowlark, Orioles, and Black-birds, we have some of the most important insect destroyers among the feathered tribes. The Bobolink is with us only during the summer months when it is entirely insectivorous; and the same can be said of the Cowbird, although the latter has the bad habit of compelling other birds to rear its young.

In the Red-winged Blackbird we have a friend that we little dream of when we see the large flocks gathering about our corn-fields during late summer, and early fall. During the balance of the year it is engaged most of the time in waging war on various insect pests, including such forms as the "grub-worms," cut-worms, grasshoppers, army worm, beet caterpillar, etc. Even when it visits our corn-fields it more than pays for the corn it eats by the destruction of the worms that lurk under the husks of a large per cent of the ears in every field.



Several years ago the beet fields in the vicinity of Grand Island were threatened great injury by a certain caterpillar that had nearly defoliated all the beets growing in many of them. At about this time large flocks of this bird appeared and after a week's sojourn the caterpillar plague had vanished, it having been converted into bird tissues. Numerous other records of the efficiency of their labor as destroyers of insect pests might be quoted in favor of this bird, but I do not believe this to be necessary, although considerable evidence has been recorded of its destroying both fruits and grains.

The Baltimore Oriole has received such a bad reputation here in Nebraska as a grape thief during the past few years that I feel inclined to give extra time and space in endeavoring to "clear him" of such an unenviable charge. This, however, I hardly think necessary when the facts in the case are known. As insect destroyers both this bird and the Orchard Oriole have had an undisputed reputation for many years: and the kinds of insects destroyed by both are of such a class as to count greatly in their favor. Caterpillars and beetles belonging to injurious species comprising ninety-six per cent of the food of three specimens killed is the record we have in their favor. On the other hand, grapes have been punctured only "presumably by this bird, since he has so frequently been found in the vineyard and must be the culprit." Now I myself have seen the Oriole in apple orchards under compromising circumstances, and have heard pretty strong evidence to the effect that it will occasionally puncture ripe apples. It also belongs in the same family with some generally accepted "rascals" hence I will admit that possibly some of the charges with which he is credited may be true; but I still believe that most of the injuries to grapes in this and other states must be laid to the English Sparrow.



If we take pains to water our birds during the dry seasons they will be much less apt to seek this supply from the juices of fruits that are so temptingly near at hand. Place little pans of water in the orchard and vineyard where the birds can visit them without fear of being seized by the house cat or knocked over by a missile from the alert "small boy," and I am sure that the injury to fruit, to a great extent at least, will cease.

Recent investigations tend to prove that the Grackle or Crow-Blackbird does more good than harm and should be protected.

Our Sparrows and their allies, taken together, form a very extensive family of very beautiful as well as useful birds. Like the warblers, they occupy themselves with searching for and destroying insects all summer long; but this is not all they do that is good. In fall, winter, and early spring, when Mother Earth has lost her brilliant green and rests in sombre browns or beneath ice and snow, the longspurs, Snow Bunting, Snowbird, and some of the sparrows that have remained with us are busily engaged in gathering for themselves a living. They hop and fly about from place to place searching for and picking up little seeds of grass, grain and weeds, of shrubs and trees, and appropriating the same to their use, chirping merrily as they work away. The European House Sparrow, or the English Sparrow as it is more commonly called, has the worst reputation of the entire family. But even this bird has some redeeming traits.

The Tanagers are insect destroyers, feeding for the most part on such forms as attack the foliage of trees.

All of our Swallows are insect destroyers, capturing such forms as gnats, flies, etc., which they seize while on the wing. The large colonies of different species of these birds that breed within the state, as well as those that pass through during their migrations, destroy great numbers of these insects. They should be protected.

The Waxwings, both the Cedar Bird and Bohemian Waxwing, feed principally upon berries, etc., which they find throughout the year. Still, in his studies of the food contents of the stomachs of a variety of birds taken in a certain orchard that was overrun with canker worms, Professor Forbes found that the seven specimens of the Ceder Waxwing had eaten nothing but canker-worms and a few dung beetles, the latter in such small numbers as to scarcely count. The number of caterpillars eaten by each bird ranged from 70 to 101.

The Shrikes or "Butcher Birds" are known as veritable "brigands" or "pirates" when it comes to the destruction of other forms of life. They are true to their name, and "butcher" for pastime large numbers of insects, mice, lizards, small snakes, and even a few birds. They then fly to some thorn bush or barbed-wire fence and impale the luckless victim and leave it for future use, or to dry up and finally blow away. The good they do will outweigh the harm.

The food of the various Greenlets or Vireos is made up almost entirely of insects, of which a large per cent are caterpillars, such as infest shade trees and the larger shrubs. They should be protected and encouraged, about the orchard in particular.

In the words of that pleasing writer, Dr. Elliott Coues,[5] "The Warblers have we always with us, all in their own good time; they come out of the south, pass on, return, and are away again, their appearance and withdrawal scarcely less than a mystery; many stay with us all summer long, and some brave the winters in our midst. Some of these slight creatures, guided by unerring instinct, travel true to the meridian in the hours of darkness, slipping past like a 'thief in the night,' stopping at daybreak from their lofty nights to rest and recruit for the next stage of the journey. Others pass more leisurely from tree to tree, in a ceaseless tide of migration, gleaning as they go; the hardier males, in full song and plumage, lead the way for the weaker females and yearlings. With tireless industry do the warblers befriend the human race; their unconscious zeal plays due part in the nice adjustment of nature's forces, helping to bring about the balance of vegetable and insect life without which agriculture would be in vain. They visit the orchard when the apple and pear, the peach, plum, and cherry are in bloom, seeming to revel carelessly amid the sweet-scented and delicately-tinted blossoms, but never faltering in their good work. They peer into the crevices of the bark, scrutinize each leaf, and explore the very heart of the buds, to detect, drag forth, and destroy those tiny creatures, singly insignificant, collectively a scourge, which prey upon the hopes of the fruit-grower, and which, if undisturbed, would bring his care to naught. Some warblers flit incessantly in the terminal foliage of the tallest trees; others hug close to the scored trunks and gnarled boughs of the forest kings; some peep from the thicket, coppice, the impenetrable mantle of shrubbery that decks tiny water-courses, playing at hide-and-seek with all comers; others more humble still, descend to the ground, where they glide with pretty mincing steps and affected turning of the head this way and that, their delicate flesh-tinted feet just stirring the layer of withered leaves with which a past season carpeted the ground. We may seek warblers everywhere in the season; we shall find them a continued surprise; all mood and circumstance is theirs."

[5] Key to North American Birds, p. 288.

Much could be written concerning the food-habits of the various members of the group of Thrushes, Mocking-birds and Wrens. Three of the species at least are known to be more or less destructive to fruits, viz., Catbird, Brown Thrasher, and Mocking-bird. Still, if we take into account what these birds eat during the entire time spent within the state, the balance sheet stands in favor of the birds as insect destroyers. The wrens are pre-eminently insect destroyers, and the others are not much behind them in this respect.

The members of the family of Nuthatches and Tits feed for the most part on insects. But we lack very definite figures regarding the kinds and numbers of insects that each destroys. We can be sure, however, that any favors shown them will not be thrown away.

The Thrushes, Solitaires, Bluebirds, etc., are all beneficial as insect destroyers, and might be well compared with the Robin, which is described quite fully beyond, only they are even less liable to commit injuries to fruits.

The Robin has certainly been accused often enough of being a first-class rascal to warrant the belief that there must be at least some grounds for such accusations being made. In his examination of one hundred and fourteen stomachs of this bird, taken during ten months of the year, Professor Forbes, of Illinois, found the contents to consist of sixty-five per cent insects and thirty-four per cent of fruits and seeds. In the estimates of these food percentages taken by the Robin, as well as by other birds, bulk for bulk is taken, i.e., a quart of caterpillars or other insects is equivalent to a quart of cherries or a quart of berries. Professor Forbes asks this question: "Will the destruction of seventeen quarts of average caterpillars, including at least eight quarts of cut-worms, pay for twenty-four quarts of cherries, blackberries, currents, and grapes?" and then answers it in these words: "To this question I, for my own part, can only reply that I do not believe that the horticulturist can sell his small fruits anywhere in the ordinary markets of the world at so high a price as to the Robin, provided that he uses proper diligence that the little huckster doesn't overreach him in the bargain."

Much more might be said in favor of the Robin had I the time and space at my command.

After having carefully scanned the foregoing notes concerning the food-habits of our birds we cannot afford to continue indifferent to our treatment of them, nor can we even allow our neighbors to kill them though we ourselves have decided to reform in this respect. We must work for a change of heart in our neighbors also.



THE SCISSOR BEAK

(FROM A JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES, ETC.)

BY CHARLES DARWIN.



It has short legs, web feet, extremely long—pointed wings, and is about the size of a tern. The beak is flattened laterally, that is, in a plane at right angles to that of a spoonbill or duck. It is as flat and elastic as an ivory paper-cutter, and the lower mandible, differently from every other bird, is an inch and a half longer than the upper. In a lake near Maldonado, from which the water had been nearly drained, and which, in consequence, swarmed with small fry, I saw several of these birds, generally in small flocks, flying rapidly backwards and forwards close to the surface of the lake. They kept their bills wide open, and the lower mandible half buried in the water. Thus skimming the surface, they ploughed it in their course; the water was quite smooth, and it formed a most curious spectacle to behold a flock, each bird leaving its narrow wake on the mirror-like surface. In their flight they frequently twist about with extreme quickness, and dexterously manage with their projecting lower mandible to plough up small fish, which are secured by the upper and shorter half of their scissor-like bills. This fact I repeatedly saw, as, like swallows, they continued to fly backwards and forwards close before me. Occasionally when leaving the surface of the water their flight was wild, irregular and rapid; then they uttered loud harsh cries. When these birds are fishing, the advantage of the long primary feathers of their wings, in keeping them dry, is very evident. When thus employed, their forms resemble the symbol by which many artists represent marine birds. Their tails are much used in steering their irregular course.

These birds are common far inland along the course of the Rio Parana; it is said that they remain here during the whole year, and breed in the marshes. During the day they rest in flocks on the grassy plains, at some distance from the water. Being at anchor, as I have said, in one of the deep creeks between the islands of Parana, as the evening drew to a close, one of these scissor-beaks suddenly appeared. The water was quite still, and many little fish were rising. The bird continued for a long time to skim the surface, flying in its wild and irregular manner up and down the narrow canal, now dark with the growing night and the shadows of the overhanging trees. At Montevideo, I observed that some large flocks during the day remained on the mud-banks at the head of the harbor, in the same manner as on the grassy plains near the Parana; and every evening they took flight seaward. From these facts I suspect that the Rhynchops generally fishes by night, at which time many of the lower animals come most abundantly to the surface. M. Lesson states that he has seen these birds opening the shells of the mactrae buried in the sandbanks on the coast of Chile; from their weak bills, with the lower mandible so much projecting, their short legs and long wings, it is very improbable that this can be a general habit.



THE CONDOR

(FROM A JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES, ETC.)

BY CHARLES DARWIN.



This day I shot a condor. It measured from tip to tip of the wings eight and a half feet, and from beak to tail, four feet. This bird is known to have a wide geographical range, being found on the west coast of South America, from the Strait of Magellan along the Cordillera as far as eight degrees north of the equator. The steep cliff near the mouth of the Rio Negro is its northern limit on the Patagonian coast; and they have there wandered about four hundred miles from the great central line of their habitation in the Andes. Further south, among the bold precipices at the head of Port Desire, the condor is not uncommon; yet only a few stragglers occasionally visit the seacoast. A line of cliff near the mouth of the Santa Cruz is frequented by these birds, and about eighty miles up the river, where the sides of the valley are formed by steep basaltic precipices, the condor reappears. From these facts, it seems that the condors require perpendicular cliffs. In Chile, they haunt, during the greater part of the year, the lower country near the shores of the Pacific, and at night several roost together in one tree; but in the early part of summer, they retire to the most inaccessible parts of the inner Cordilleras, there to breed in peace.

With respect to their propagation, I was told by the country people in Chile, that the condor makes no sort of nest, but in the months of November and December lays two large white eggs on a shelf of bare rock. It is said that the young condors cannot fly for an entire year; and long after they are able, they continue to roost by night, and hunt with their parents. The old birds generally live in pairs; but among the inland basaltic cliffs of the Santa Cruz, I found a spot, where scores must usually haunt. On coming suddenly to the brow of the precipice, it was a grand spectacle to see between twenty and thirty of these birds start heavily from their resting-place, and wheel away in majestic circles. From the quantity of dung on the rocks, they must long have frequented this place for roosting and breeding. Having gorged themselves with carrion on the plains below, they retire to these favorite ledges to digest their food. From these facts, the condor, like the gallinazo, must to a certain degree be considered as a gregarious bird. In this part of the country they live altogether on the guanacos which have died a natural death, or, as more commonly happens, have been killed by the pumas. I believe, from what I saw in Patagonia, they do not on ordinary occasions extend their daily excursions to any great distance from their regular sleeping-places.

The condors may oftentimes be seen at a great height, soaring over a certain spot in the most graceful circles. On some occasions I am sure that they do this only for pleasure, but on others, the Chileno countryman tells you that they are watching a dying animal, or the puma devouring its prey. If the condors glide down, and then suddenly all rise together, the Chileno knows that it is the puma which, watching the carcass, has sprung out to drive away the robbers. Besides feeding on carrion, the condors frequently attack young goats and lambs; and the shepherd dogs are trained, whenever they pass over, to run out, and looking upwards to bark violently. The Chilenos destroy and catch numbers. Two methods are used; one is to place a carcass on a level piece of ground within an enclosure of sticks with an opening, and when the condors are gorged, to gallop up on horseback to the entrance, and thus enclose them; for when this bird has not space to run, it cannot give its body sufficient momentum to rise from the ground. The second method is to mark the trees in which, frequently to the number of five or six together, they roost, and then at night to climb up and noose them. They are such heavy sleepers, as I have myself witnessed, that this is not a difficult task. At Valpariso, I have seen a living condor sold for sixpence, but the common price is eight or ten shillings. One which I saw brought in had been tied with rope, and was much injured; yet, the moment the line was cut by which its bill was secured, although surrounded by people, it began ravenously to tear a piece of carrion. In a garden at the same place, between twenty and thirty were kept alive. They were fed only once a week, but they appeared in pretty good health. The Chileno countrymen assert that the condor will live, and retain its vigor, between five and six weeks without eating; I cannot answer for the truth of this, but it is a cruel experiment, which very likely has been tried.

When an animal is killed in the country, it is well known that the condors, like other carrion-vultures, soon gain intelligence of it, and congregate in an inexplicable manner. In most cases it must not be overlooked, that the birds have discovered their prey, and have picked the skeleton clean, before the flesh is in the least degree tainted. Remembering the experiments of M. Audubon, on the little smelling powers of carrion-hawks, I tried in the above-mentioned garden the following experiment: the condors were tied, each by a rope, in a long row at the bottom of a wall; and having folded up a piece of meat in white paper, I walked backwards and forwards, carrying it in my hand at the distance of about three yards from them, but no notice whatever was taken. I then threw it on the ground, within one yard of an old male bird; he looked at it for a moment with attention, but then regarded it no more. With a stick I pushed it closer and closer, until at last he touched it with his beak; the paper was then instantly torn off with fury, and at the same moment, every bird in the long row began struggling and flapping its wings. Under the same circumstances, it would have been quite impossible to have deceived a dog. The evidence in favor of and against the acute smelling powers of carrion-vultures is singularly balanced. Professor Owen has demonstrated that the olfactory nerves of the turkey-buzzard (Cathartes aura) are highly developed; and on the evening when Mr. Owen's paper was read at the Zooelogical Society, it was mentioned by a gentleman that he had seen the carrion-hawks in the West Indies on two occasions collect on the roof of a house, when a corpse had become offensive from not having been buried: in this case, the intelligence could hardly have been acquired by sight. On the other hand, besides the experiments of Audubon and that one by myself, Mr. Bachman has tried in the United States many varied plans, showing that neither the turkey-buzzard (the species dissected by Professor Owen) nor the gallinazo find their food by smell. He covered portions of highly offensive offal with a thin canvas cloth, and strewed pieces of meat on it; these the carrion-vultures ate up, and then remained quietly standing, with their beaks within the eighth of an inch of the putrid mass, without discovering it. A small rent was made in the canvas, and the offal was immediately discovered; the canvas was replaced by a fresh piece, and meat again put on it, and was again devoured by the vultures without their discovering the hidden mass on which they were trampling. These facts are attested by the signatures of six gentlemen, besides that of Mr. Bachman.

Often when lying down to rest on the open plains, on looking upwards, I have seen carrion-hawks sailing through the air at a great height. When the country is level I do not believe a space of the heavens, of more than fifteen degrees above the horizon, is commonly viewed with any attention by a person either walking or on horseback. If such be the case, and the vulture is on the wing at a height of between three or four thousand feet, before it could come within the range of vision, its distance in a straight line from the beholder's eye, would be rather more than two British miles. Might it not thus readily be overlooked? When an animal is killed by the sportsman in a lonely valley, may he not all the while be watched from above by the sharp-sighted bird? And will not the manner of its descent proclaim throughout the district to the whole family of carrion feeders, that their prey is at hand?

When the condors are wheeling in a flock round and round any spot, their flight is beautiful. Except when rising from the ground, I do not recollect ever having seen one of these birds flap its wings. Near Lima, I watched several for nearly half an hour, without once taking off my eyes; they moved in large curves, sweeping in circles, descending and ascending without giving a single flap. As they glided close over my head, I intently watched from an oblique position, the outlines of the separate and great terminal feathers of each wing; and these separate feathers, if there had been the least vibratory movement, would have appeared as if blended together; for they were seen distinct against the blue sky. The head and neck were moved frequently, and apparently with force; and the extended wings seemed to form the fulcrum on which the movements of the neck, body, and tail acted. If the bird wished to descend, the wings were for a moment collapsed; and when again expanded with an altered inclination, the momentum gained by the rapid descent seemed to urge the bird upwards with the even and steady movement of a paper kite. In the case of any bird soaring, its motion must be sufficiently rapid, so that the action of the inclined surface of its body on the atmosphere may counterbalance its gravity. The force to keep up the momentum of a body moving in a horizontal plane in the air (in which there is so little friction) cannot be great, and this force is all that is wanted. The movement of the neck and body of the condor, we must suppose, is sufficient for this. However this may be, it is truly wonderful and beautiful to see so great a horde, hour after hour, without any apparent exertion, wheeling and gliding over mountain and river.



THE UMBRELLA BIRD

(FROM TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON.)

BY SIR A. R. WALLACE.



This singular bird is about the size of a raven, and is of a similar color, but its feathers have a more scaly appearance, from being margined with a different shade of glossy blue. It is also allied to the crows in its structure, being very similar to them in its feet and bill. On its head it bears a crest, different from that of any other bird. It is formed of feathers more than two inches long, very thickly set, and with hairy plumes curving over at the end. These can be laid back so as to be hardly visible, or can be erected and spread out on every side, forming a hemi-spherical, or rather a hemi-ellipsoidal dome, completely covering the head, and even reaching beyond the point of the beak: the individual feathers then stand out something like the down-bearing seeds of the dandelion. Besides this, there is another ornamental appendage on the breast, formed by a fleshy tubercle, as thick as a quill and an inch and a half long, which hangs down from the neck, and is thickly covered with glossy feathers, forming a large pendant plume or tassel. This also the bird can either press to its breast, so as to be scarcely visible, or can swell out, so as almost to conceal the forepart of its body. In the female the crest and the neck-plume are less developed, and she is altogether a smaller and much less handsome bird. It inhabits the flooded islands of the Rio Negro and the Solimoes, never appearing on the mainland. It feeds on fruits, and utters a loud, hoarse cry, like some deep musical instrument; whence its Indian name, Uera-mimbe, "trumpet-bird." The whole of the neck, where the plume of feathers springs from, is covered internally with a thick coat of hard, muscular fat, very difficult to be cleaned away,—which in preparing the skins, must be done, as it would putrefy, and cause the feathers to drop off. The birds are tolerably abundant, but are shy, and perch on the highest trees, and, being very muscular, will not fall unless severely wounded.



HUMMING BIRDS

(FROM THE NATURALIST IN NICARAGUA.)

BY THOMAS G. BELT, F.G.S.



Soon after crossing the muddy Artigua below Pavon, a beautifully clear and sparkling brook is reached, coming down to join its pure waters with the soiled river below. In the evening this was a favorite resort of many birds that came to drink at the pellucid stream, or catch insects playing above the water. Amongst the last was the beautiful blue, green and white humming-bird; the head and neck deep metallic-blue, bordered on the back by a pure white collar over the shoulders, followed by deep metallic-green; on the underside the blue neck is succeeded by green, the green from the centre of the breast to the end of the tail by pure white; the tail can be expanded to a half circle, and each feather widening towards the end makes the semicircle complete around the edge. When catching the ephemeridae that play above the water, the tail is not expanded: it is reserved for times of courtship. I have seen the female sitting quietly on a branch, and two males displaying their charms in front of her. One would shoot up like a rocket, than suddenly expanding the snow-white tail like an inverted parachute, slowly descend in front of her, turning round gradually to show off both back and front. The effect was heightened by the wings being invisible from a distance of a few yards, both from their great velocity of movement and from not having the metallic lustre of the rest of the body. The expanded white tail covered more space than all the rest of the bird, and was evidently the grand feature in the performance. Whilst one was descending, the other would shoot up and come slowly down expanded. The entertainment would end in a fight between the two performers; but whether the most beautiful or the most pugnacious was the accepted suitor, I know not. Another fine humming-bird seen about this brook was the long-billed, fire-throated Heliomaster pallidiceps, Gould, generally seen probing long, narrow-throated red flowers, forming, with their attractive nectar, complete traps for the small insects on which the humming-birds feed, the bird returning the favor by carrying the pollen of one flower to another. A third species, also seen at this brook, Petasophora delphinae, Less., is of a dull brown color, with brilliant ear-feathers and metallic-green throat. Both it and the Florisuga mellivora are short billed, generally catching flying insects, and do not frequent flowers so much as other humming-birds. I have seen the Petasophora fly into the centre of a dancing column of midges and rapidly darting first at one end then at another secure half a dozen of the tiny flies before the column was broken up; then retire to a branch and wait until it was re-formed, when it made another sudden descent on them.... I have no doubt many humming-birds suck the honey from flowers, as I have seen it exude from their bills when shot; but others do not frequent them; and the principal food of all is small insects. I have examined scores of them, and never without finding insects in their crops. Their generally long bills have been spoken of by some naturalists as tubes into which they suck the honey by a piston-like movement of the tongue; but suction in the usual way would be just as effective; and I am satisfied that this is not the primary use of the tongue, nor of the mechanism which enables it to be exerted to a great length beyond the end of the bill. The tongue, for one-half of its length, is semi-horny and cleft in two, the two halves are laid flat against each other when at rest, but can be separated at the will of the bird and form a delicate pliable pair of forceps, most admirably adapted for picking out minute insects from amongst the stamens of the flowers.



THE FOUNDATIONS OF A WONDERFUL CITY

(FROM THE LIFE OF THE BEES.)

BY MAURICE MAETERLINCK.

(TRANSLATED BY MARIE JOSEPHINE WELSH.)



Here in their new home there is nothing—not a drop of honey nor a single landmark in the shape of a piece of wax. The bee has no data and no starting-point; he has nothing but the desolate nakedness of the walls and the roof of an immense building. The walls are round and smooth, but all is dark within.... The bee does not understand useless regrets, or if he does, he does not encumber himself with them. Far from being discouraged by the conditions which now confront him, he is more determined than ever. The hive is no sooner set up in its proper place than the disorder of the crowd begins to diminish, and one sees in the swarming multitude clear and definite divisions which take shape in a most unexpected manner. The larger part of the bees, acting precisely like an army which is obeying the definite orders of its officer, at once begins to form thick columns along the whole length of the vertical partitions of the hive. The first to arrive at the top hang on to the arch by the claws of their hind legs, those who come after attach themselves to the first, and so on till long chains are formed which serve as bridges for the ever mounting crowd to pass over. Little by little these chains are multiplied with indefinite re-enforcements and interlacing each other become garlands, which, owing to the enormous and uninterrupted mounting of the bees upon them, are transformed into a thick triangular curtain, or rather into a sort of compact reversed cone, the point of which is attached to the top of the hive; the base of which is about two-thirds of the total height of the hive. Then the last bee, which would appear to be summoned by some interior voice to join this group, mounts this curtain, which is hung in the darkness, and little by little every movement among the vast crowd ceases, and this strange reversed cone remains for many hours in a silence which might be called religious, and in a statuesqueness which in such a mass of life is almost startling, waiting for the arrival of the mystery of the wax.



While this is going on, without taking any notice of the wonderful curtain from out of whose folds so magic a gift will come, without even appearing to be tempted to attach themselves to it, the rest of the bees, that is all those who are on the floor of the hive, begin to examine the building and to undertake the work which is necessary to be done. The floor is carefully swept, dead leaves, twigs, grains of sand are transferred to a considerable distance one by one, for bees have an absolute mania for cleanliness; so much is this the case that in the winter, when the extremely cold weather prevents them from taking what bee lovers know as their "flight of cleanliness," rather than soil the interior of the hive they perish in enormous numbers, victims of a disease of the stomach.

After this cleaning up is done these same bees set themselves to work to carefully close up every opening which is round about the lower part of the hive. Finally when every crack has been carefully looked over, filled up and covered with propolis, they begin to varnish the whole of the interior sides. By this time guardians are placed at the entrance of the hive, and very soon a number of the working bees start on their first trip to the fields and begin to come back laden with nectar and pollen....

Let us now lift up, so far as we may, one of the folds of this garlanded curtain in the midst of which the swarm is beginning to produce that strange exudation which is almost as white as snow, and is lighter than the down on a bird's breast. The wax which is now being made does not resemble at all that with which we are acquainted. It is colorless, and may be said to be imponderable. It is the very soul of the honey, which in its turn is the very spirit of the flowers, evolved by the bees in a species of silent and motionless incantation....

* * * * *

It is very difficult to follow the various phases of the secretion and of the manner in which the wax is evolved by the swarm which is just beginning to build. The operation takes place in the midst of a dense crowd which becomes constantly more and more dense, thus producing a temperature favorable to the exudation of the wax in its first stage.

Huber, who was the first to study these operations with marvellous patience, and sometimes not without personal danger, has written more than fifty pages on the subject, but they are very confused. For myself, as I am not writing a scientific book, I shall confine myself to describing what anybody can see if he will watch the movements of a swarm in a glass hive. At the same time I shall not fail to avail myself of Huber's studies whenever they may prove to be of service. We must admit at the very outset that the process by which the honey is transformed into wax in the bodies of this mysterious curtain of bees is still hidden in mystery. All that we know is that after about eighteen or twenty-four hours in a temperature so high that one might almost imagine there was a fire in the hive, small, white, transparent scales appear at the opening of the four little pockets which are to be found on each side of the abdomen of the bee. When the larger part of those who form the reversed cone have their abdomens decorated with these little ivory plates, one of them may be seen, as if under the influence of a sudden inspiration, to detach itself from the crowd and climb over the backs of its passive brethren until it reaches the apex of the cupola of the hive; attaching herself firmly to the top, she immediately sets to work to brush away those of her neighbors who may interfere with her movements. Then she seizes with her mouth one of the eight scales on the side of her abdomen and chews it, clips it, draws it out, steeps it in saliva, kneads it, crushes it, and makes it again into shape as dexterously as a carpenter would handle a piece of veneering. Then when the substance has been treated so as to bring it to the desired size and to the desired consistency, it is affixed to the very summit of the interior of the dome, and thus the first stone is laid of the new city, or rather the key-stone of the new city is placed in the arch, for we are considering a city turned upside down, which descends from the sky and which does not arise from the bosom of the earth as do terrestrial cities. Then she proceeds to apply to this key-stone more of the wax which she takes from her body, and having given to the whole of her part of the work one last finishing stroke, she retires as quickly as she came and is lost in the crowd; another replaces her and immediately takes up the work where she has left it off, adds her own to it, puts that right which appears to her to be not in conformity with the general plan, and disappears in her turn, while a third and a fourth and a fifth succeed her in a series of sudden and inspired apparitions, not one of whom finishes a piece of work, but all bring to it their common share.

Now there hangs from the top of the vault a small block of wax which is yet without form. As soon as it appears to be thick enough there comes out of the group another bee bearing an entirely different aspect from that of those which have preceded it. One may well believe on seeing the certainty, the determination, with which he goes about his work and the manner in which those who stand round about him look on, that he is an expert engineer who has come to construct in space the place which the first cell shall occupy, the cell from which must mathematically depend everything which is afterwards constructed. Whatever he may be, this bee belongs to a class of the sculpturing, of chisel working bees who produce no wax and whose function seems to be to employ the materials with which the others furnish them. This bee then chooses the place of the first cell. She digs for a moment in the block of wax which has already been placed in position, and builds up the side of the cell with the wax that she picks from the cavity. Then in exactly the same way as her predecessors have done, she suddenly leaves the work she has designed; another impatient worker replaces her and carries it on another step, which is finished by a third one. In the meantime others are working round about her according to the same method of division of labor until the outer sides of each wall is finished.

It would almost seem that an essential law of the hive was that every worker should take a pride in its work, and that all the work should be done in common, and so to speak, unanimously, in order that the fraternal spirit should not be disturbed by a sense of jealousy.

Very soon the outline of the comb may be seen. In form it is still lenticular, for the little prismatic tubes of which it is composed are unequally prolonged, and they diminish as they get away from the centre towards the extremities. At this moment it might be compared, both in form and in thickness, to a human tongue hanging down from two of the sides of the hexagonal cells which are placed back to back.

As soon as the first cells are constructed, the workers add a roof to the second and so on to the third and to the fourth. These sets of cells are divided by irregular intervals, and they are calculated in such a manner that when they are made to receive their full complement, the bees always have room enough to move about between the parallel walls of the honeycombs.

It follows then that in making their original plan the different thicknesses of every honeycomb must be fixed upon, and at the same time the alley-ways which separate each must be different in turn, and this width must be twice the height of a bee since they have to pass each other between the upright combs.

But even the bees are not infallible, and they do not always work with exact mechanical certainty. When they find themselves in a difficult place they sometimes make very great blunders. One often finds that they leave too much, and often too little, space between the honeycombs, and they remedy these faults as well as they can—sometimes in finishing the comb which is too near another in an oblique line, or sometimes when they have left too much space they interpose a smaller comb between it.

Reamur, on this subject, says:—"Since bees sometimes make mistakes and rectify them, this must be a proof that they possess the power of reason."



It is known that bees make four different kinds of cells. There are first the "royal cells" which are exceptional and are of acorn shape. Then there are the large cells in which the male bees are reared, and in which provisions are stored when the flowers furnish forth of their abundance. Then there are the little cells which may be called the "cradles of the working bees," which are also employed as ordinary store-rooms. These generally occupy about eight-tenth's of the total surface of the combs in a hive; and finally there are a certain number of what may be called transition cells. Although these latter are inevitably irregular, the dimensions of the second or third type are so well calculated that when the decimal system was first established, and people were seeking an incontestable standard of measurement, it was the cell of the bee which was proposed first of all by Reamur. Each one of these cells is an hexagonal tube placed upon a pyramid form, and each honeycomb is formed of two strata of these tubes, base to base, in such a way that the three lozenges which make the pyramid-like base of one cell form at the same time the pyramid-like bases of the three cells on the other side.



In these prismatic tubes the honey is stored away—and so that the honey shall not trickle out as it would be likely to do if they were built strictly horizontal—they are tilted up at the outer edge of an angle of four or five degrees.

"Besides the saving in wax," says Reamur, speaking of this marvellous building, "which is effected by this arrangement of the cells,—besides the fact that by this plan the comb may be filled without a single gap, there are other advantages in the way of the solidity thus given.... Every possible advantage in the way of the solidity of each cell is brought about by the manner of its construction, and by its place with reference to the rest of the cells in the comb."

"Students of geometry know," says Dr. Reid, "that there are only three shapes that can be employed to divide a surface into, uniform spaces, that shall be regular in shape, and without interstices.



"They are the equilateral triangle, the square, and the regular hexagon, which latter, in the matter of cell construction, is superior to the two first both from the point of view of strength and utility, and it is just this form that the bees have adopted, precisely as though its advantages were familiar to them.

"Furthermore, the bottoms of the cells form three planes meeting at one point, and it has been demonstrated that both in economy of labor and material this system of construction is the best—again, the angle of the inclination of the planes affects this question of economy: this problem has been solved by the bees and confirmed by Maclaurin by abstruse mathematical calculations published in the "Transactions of the Royal Society of London.""

Of course I do not suppose for a moment that the bees themselves have made these calculations, but on the other hand I do not believe that chance, or accidental circumstance has brought about, these results. The wasps, for instance, have built hexagonal cells, but they have not displayed such ingenuity as the bees have done. Their combs have only one course of cells, and they have not the foundation which serves the bees for their double rows. Hence there is less strength, more irregularity, and a loss of time, of material, and of room, which really means that a quarter of the labor employed and a third of the space occupied is lost. We also find certain other domesticated bees, not so far progressed in civilization, which only build one row of cells for rearing their young, and which support horizontal combs one above another on costly columns of wax. Their food store-cells, are like a row of round pots, and the bees make but a clumsy use of the spaces between them. Indeed, when we compare their City with the Wonderful City of the bees of which we are speaking, it is like comparing a row of huts with a modern laid out city. If the result is not charming, it is severely logical, and demonstrates the genius of the race which is forever fighting to get the most out of matter, space, and time.

Buffon had a theory which has been revived once more, that the bees did not intend to make hexagonal cells, but rather round ones, and that owing to the crowding of the workers all around, the round ones became hexagonal. It is said also that crystals, fish-scales of certain kinds, soap-bubbles, etc., follow the same law, and Buffon advances this experiment to prove it. "Take a vessel and fill it full with peas or any other round grains, pour as much water upon them as will fill the spaces between them, close the vessel tightly, and boil the water. It will be found that the round peas have become six-sided. One sees clearly that this must be so from purely mechanical causes; each one of the round grains tends in the course of swelling as it boils to fill up the utmost space that it can, and by the extension and pressure of all alike they become hexagonal. Each bee wishes to occupy as much room as possible in its allotted space, therefore as the bodies of the bees are round or cylindrical, their cells become hexagonal because of the extension and pressure of all alike."

Here then we see reciprocal obstacles working a wonder, somewhat in the same way perhaps as the vices of men bring about a general virtue, so that the race odious, often so far as individuals are concerned, is tolerable in the mass. Broughman, Kirby, and Spence and others claim that the observations of soap-bubbles and peas prove nothing in this connection, for the effect of compression is only to produce irregular hexagonal forms, and does not explain the earlier form of the base of the cells.

To this one might rejoin that there are more ways than one of dealing with the blind law of necessity, for the wasp and the bumble-bee and many other species in similar circumstances and with the same end in view, arrive at very different, and manifestly inferior, results. Indeed it might be said further that even if the bee-cells did conform to the laws of crystallization as in the case of snow, or Buffon's soap-bubbles, or boiled peas, they show also in their general symmetry, in their well-determined angle of inclination, etc., that there are many other laws not followed by inert matter to which they also conform.

In order to assure myself that the hexagonal form of the cell was the outcome of the bee-brain, I cut out from the centre of a honey-comb a round piece not quite so large as a silver dollar, containing both brood-cells and honey-cells. I cut into this disc, at the point where the pyramidal bases of the cells were joined, and I fixed on the base of the section thus exposed a piece of tin of the same size, and so stout that the bees could not bend or twist it. Then I replaced the disc of comb, with the piece of tin as described. One side of the comb showed, of course, nothing extraordinary, but on the other side was to be seen a hole at the bottom of which was a round piece of tin occupying the place of about thirty cells. At first the bees were disconcerted, and came in crowds to examine and study this wonderful abyss; for some days they wandered about it in agitation without coming to any decision. But as I fed them well every evening, the time soon came when they needed more cells in which to store their provisions. Then most likely the famous engineers, the sculptors, and the waxmakers, were summoned to show the way to fill up this useless chasm.

A heavy curtain, or garland, of the wax-making bees covered the spot so as to develop the necessary heat; others went down into the hole and began the work of solidly fixing the metal in place by means of little claws of wax around its entire circumference, attaching them to the walls of the cells which surrounded it. Then they set to work to make three or four cells in the upper part of the disc, attaching them to these waxen claws. Each of these new cells was more or less unfinished at the top, so as to leave material wherewith to fasten it to the next cell, but below on the piece of tin was always three very clear, and precise angles from which would grow the three upright lines which regularly marked the outline of the first half of the next cell. After about forty-eight hours, although three or four bees at most could work at the same time in the opening, the whole surface of the piece of tin was covered with the outlines of the new cells. They were certainly somewhat less regular than those in an ordinary comb.... But they were all perfectly hexagonal; not a line was bent, not an angle out of shape; nevertheless all the ordinary conditions of bee-life were changed. The cells were not dug out of a block of wax as Huber described, nor were they made according to Darwin, circular at first, and then made into hexagons by the pressure of their neighbors. Here was no question of reciprocal obstacles, seeing that the cells were made one by one, and these first outlines were sketched on a kind of table. It would appear therefore that the hexagonal form is not the result of any mechanical necessity, but that it forms the plan resulting from the experience, the intelligence, and the will of the bee. Another curious thing which I accidentally noticed was that the cells built upon the tin were not provided with any other floor than the tin itself. The engineers of the working party evidently reasoned that the tin was sufficient to retain the liquid honey, and that it was not necessary, therefore, to line it with wax. But a little while after, when some honey was placed in the cell, they probably found that the metal effected some change in it, for upon taking counsel together they covered the surface of the tin with a kind of diaphanous varnish.

If we wish to throw light on all the secrets of this geometrical architecture, we shall find many more interesting questions to examine—for example, that of the form of the first cells, which are attached to the roof of the hive—a form which is modified so that the cells can fit its curve and touch the roof at the greatest possible number of points.

It would be necessary to notice also, not only the direction in which the main streets of the hive run, but the alley-ways and passages which run in and out and around the comb, as much for the circulation of the air as for the traffic; and it should be remarked that these are planned so as to avoid long detours or confusion in the traffic....

Before we leave this subject let us, only for a minute, stop to consider the wonderful and mysterious way in which the bees make their plans and work together when they are occupied in carving out their cells, on both sides of the comb, where neither can see the other. Look through one of these transparent combs, and you will see clearly and sharply cut out in this diaphanous wax a network of prisms arranged in so perfectly fitting a manner that one might think they were stamped out of steel.

Those who have never seen the inside of a hive can have little idea of the appearance of these honeycombs. Let us take a countryman's hive in which the bee has been left free to work as he pleases. This bell-like shape is divided from top to bottom by five, six, eight, and sometimes ten, slices of wax, so to speak, perfectly parallel with each other, which take the exact shape of the curve of the walls of the hive. Between each one of these slices is a space of about half an inch in which the bees move about. When they begin to build one of these slices at the top of the hive, the wall of wax is quite thick, and hides entirely the fifty or sixty bees who are working on one side from the fifty or sixty at work on the other. Unless they have a sight which can pierce the most opaque bodies, neither can see what is doing on the other side. Nevertheless, a bee on one side does not dig a hole or add a fragment of wax which does not correspond exactly with a protuberance or a cavity on the other side. How do they contrive to do this? How does it happen that one does not dig too far, and the other not far enough?

How is it that every angle coincides in such magnificent perfection? Who tells the bee to begin here and to end there? Once again we must be satisfied with the reply that does not answer: "It is one of the mysteries of the hive." Huber has tried to explain it by saying that at certain intervals, by the pressure of their feet or their teeth, they produce a slight projection of the wax on the other side of the comb, or that they can determine the thickness of the block of wax by its flexibility, its elasticity, or some other physical property which it may possess; or, again, that their antennae are able to serve as compasses in enabling them to examine what is going on in the darkness of the other side; or, last of all, he suggests that all the cells mathematically derive their shape and dimensions from those of the first row, which is built without the need of further concert on the part of the workers. But one can easily see that these explanations are not sufficient; the first are guesses which cannot be verified; the others simply change but do not remove the mystery. But if it is good to change a mystery as often as possible, it is never good to flatter one's self that to change it means to remove it!



WASPS

(FROM THE NATURALIST IN NICARAGUA.)

BY THOMAS G. BELT, F.G.S.



I one day saw a small black and yellow banded wasp hunting for spiders; it approached a web where a spider was stationed in the centre, made a dart towards it—apparently a feint to frighten the spider clear of its web; at any rate it had that effect, for it fell to the ground, and was immediately seized by the wasp, who stung it, then ran quickly backwards, dragging the spider after it, up a branch reaching to the ground until it got high enough, when it flew heavily off with it. It was so small, and the spider so heavy, that it probably could not have raised it from the ground by flight. All over the world there are wasps that store their nests with the bodies of spiders for their young to feed on. In Australia, I often witnessed a wasp combating with a large flat spider that is found on the bark of trees. It would fall to the ground, and lie on its back, so as to be able to grapple with its opponent; but the wasp was always the victor in the encounters I saw, although it was not always allowed to carry off its prey in peace. One day, sitting on the sandbanks on the coast of Hobson's Bay, I saw one dragging along a large spider. Three or four inches above it hovered two minute flies, keeping a little behind, and advancing with it. The wasp seemed much disturbed by the presence of the tiny flies, and twice left its prey to fly up towards them, but they darted away with it. As soon as the wasp returned to the spider, there they were hovering over and following it again. At last, unable to drive away its small tormentors, the wasp reached its burrow and took down the spider, and the two flies stationed themselves one on each side the entrance, and would, doubtless, when the wasp went away to seek another victim, descend and lay their own eggs in the nest.



The variety of wasps, as of all other insects, was very great around Santo Domingo. Many made papery nests, hanging from the undersides of large leaves. Others hung their open cells underneath verandahs and eaves of houses. One large black one was particularly abundant about houses, and many people got stung by them. They also built their pendent nests in the orange and lime trees, and it is not always safe to gather the fruit. Fortunately they are heavy flyers, and can often be struck down or evaded in their attacks. They do good where there are gardens, as they feed their young on caterpillars, and are continually hunting for them. Another species, banded brown and yellow (Polistes carnifex), has similar habits but is not so common. Bates, in his account of the habits of the sand-wasps at Santarem, on the Amazon, gives an interesting account of the way in which they took a few turns in the air around the hole they had made in the sand before leaving to seek for flies in the forest, apparently to mark well the position of the burrow, so that on their return they might find it without difficulty. He remarks that this precaution would be said to be instinctive, but that the instinct is no mysterious and unintelligible agent, but a mental process in each individual differing from the same in man only by its unerring certainty. I had an opportunity of confirming his account of the proceedings of wasps when quitting a locality to which they wished to return, in all but their unerring certainty. I could not help noting how similar they were to the way in which a man would act who wished to return to some spot not easily found out, and with which he was not previously acquainted. A specimen of the Polistes carnifex was hunting about for caterpillars in my garden. I found one about an inch long, and held it out towards it on the point of a stick. It seized it immediately, and commenced biting it from head to tail, soon reducing the soft body to a mass of pulp. It rolled up about one-half of it into a ball, and prepared to carry it off. Being at the time amidst a thick mass of a fine-leaved climbing plant, before flying away, he took note of the place where it was leaving the other half. To do this, it hovered in front of it for a few seconds, then took small circles in front of it, then larger ones round the whole plant. I thought it had gone, but it returned again, and had another look at the opening in the dense foliage down which the other half of the caterpillar lay. It then flew away, but must have left its burden for distribution with its comrades at the nest, for it returned in less than two minutes, and making one circle around the bush, descended to the opening, alighted on a leaf, and ran inside. The green remnant of the caterpillar was lying on another leaf inside, but not connected with the one on which the wasp alighted, so that in running in it missed it, and soon got hopelessly lost in the thick foliage. Coming out again, it took another circle, and pounced down on the same spot again, as soon as it came opposite to it. Three small seed-pods, which here grew close together, formed the marks that I had myself taken to note the place, and these the wasp seemed also to have taken as its guide, for it flew directly down to them, and ran inside; but the small leaf on which the fragment of caterpillar lay, not being directly connected with any on the outside, it again missed it, and again got far away from the object of its search. It then flew out again, and the same process was repeated again and again. Always when in circling round it came in sight of the seed-pods down it pounced, alighted near them, and recommenced its quest on foot. I was surprised at its perseverance, and thought it would have given up the search; but not so, it returned at least half a dozen times, and seemed to get angry, hurrying about with buzzing wings. At last it stumbled across its prey, seized it eagerly, and as there was nothing more to come back for, flew straight off to its nest, without taking any further note of the locality. Such an action is not the result of blind instinct, but of a thinking mind: and it is wonderful to see an insect so differently constructed using a mental process similar to that of man. It is suggestive of the probability of many of the actions of insects that we ascribe to instinct being the result of the possession of reasoning powers.



A WASP AND ITS PREY

(FROM THE INSTINCTS AND HABITS OF THE SOLITARY WASPS.)[6]

BY G. W. AND E. G. PECKHAM.

[6] Reprinted by permission from Bulletin No. 2, Series I, of The Wisconsin Geological and Natural History Survey, 1898.



Most graceful and attractive of all the wasps—as Fabre describes them, the Ammophiles, of all the inhabitants of the garden, hold the first place in our affections. Not so beautiful as the blue Pelopaeus nor so industrious as the little red-girdled Trypoxylon, their intelligence, their distinct individuality, and their obliging tolerance of our society make them an unfailing source of interest. They are, moreover, the most remarkable of all genera in their stinging habits, and few things have given us deeper pleasure than our success in following the activities and penetrating the secrets of their lives. In our neighborhood we have but two species of Ammophila, urnaria Cresson and gracilis Cresson, both of them being very slender bodied wasps of about an inch in length, gracilis all black, and urnaria with a red band around the front end of the abdomen. With two exceptions our observations relate to urnaria.

During the earlier part of the summer we had often seen these wasps feeding upon the nectar of flowers, especially upon that of the sorrel of which they are particularly fond, but at that time we gave them but passing notice. One bright morning in the middle of July, however, we came upon one that was so evidently hunting, and hunting in earnest, that we gave up everything else to follow her. The ground was covered, more or less thickly, with patches of purslane, and it was under these weeds that our Ammophila was eagerly searching for her prey. After thoroughly investigating one plant she would pass to another, running three or four steps and then bounding as though she were made of thistledown and were too light to remain upon the ground. We followed her easily, and as she was in full view nearly all of the time we had every hope of witnessing the capture, but in this we were destined to disappointment. We had been in attendance on her for about a quarter of an hour when, after disappearing for a few moments under the thick purslane leaves, she came out with a green caterpillar. We had missed the wonderful sight of the paralyzer at work, but we had no time to bemoan our loss for she was making off at so rapid a pace that we were well occupied in keeping up with her. She hurried along with the same motion as before, unembarrassed by the weight of her victim. Twice she dropped it and circled over it a moment before taking it again. For sixty feet she kept to open ground, passing between two rows of bushes, but at the end of this division of the garden, she plunged, very much to our dismay, into a field of standing corn. Here we had great difficulty in following her, since far from keeping to her former orderly course, she zigzagged among the plants in the most bewildering fashion, although keeping a general direction of northeast. It seemed quite impossible that she could know where she was going. The corn rose to a height of six feet all around us; the ground was uniform in appearance, and, to our eyes, each group of corn stalks was just like every other group, and yet, without pause or hesitation, the little creature passed quickly along, as we might through the familiar streets of our native town.



At last she paused and laid her burden down. Ah! the power that has led her is not a blind, mechanically perfect instinct, for she has travelled a little too far. She must go back one row into the open space that she has already crossed, although not just at this point. Nothing like a nest is visible to us. The surface of the ground looks all alike, and it is with exclamations of wonder that we see our little guide lift two pellets of earth which have served as a covering to a small opening running down into the ground.