Part 2

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. William Cullen Bryant.

THE BABY LIONS.

Girard, a great lion-hunter, once took home with him two baby lions which were a month old. The lioness was about as large as a cat and the lion a third larger.

The little lioness was very timid. If anyone tried to caress her she would repay him with a few blows from her little paws. Her brother, whom they named Hubert, was quite different. He would sit quiet, looking with some astonishment at all that passed, but was not cross. He was idolized by the children, who were ever fond of petting him. The lioness could not be induced to take sufficient food, and she finally died. Hubert got along nicely and was as healthy and strong as if he had been reared in the forest.

He was taken to a camp of soldiers, where he became the idol of the regiment. He was always present at parade and would play with the men during leisure hours.

As he grew older his capers became somewhat serious. He showed a liking for sheep and donkeys, which made it necessary for him to be chained. Finally, after he had killed a horse and dangerously wounded two men he had to be caged.

Girard still continued to pet him, however. Every night he would open the cage, and Hubert would spring out joyously, playing with him at hide-and-seek, embracing him with an ardor that was more affectionate than agreeable.

One night as they played Hubert came very near strangling his master, and probably would have succeeded if the soldiers had not beaten him away. That was the last time they played hide-and-seek together.

Hubert was afterward sent to Paris. Some time later Girard went to see him. Hubert was lying half asleep, not taking much notice of the visitors. Suddenly he raised his head, his eyes enlarged and there was a nervous twitching of the muscles of his face. He swung his tail from side to side, showing that the sight of the well-known uniform had aroused him. He knew the uniform, but had not yet recognized his old master. Girard approached and thrust his hand into the cage. It was a touching scene which followed. The lion, without taking his eyes from his master, put his nose to the outstretched hand and began to breathe deeply. With every breath his eyes became more affectionate, and when Girard said to him:

"Well, Hubert, my old soldier!" he made a terrible bound against the bars of his cage, which trembled beneath his weight. He stood up, pressed against the bars and tried to break through them. He licked his old master's hand with joy.

If anyone else came near the cage he became very angry. At last Girard went away, and when he was out of sight Hubert made the cage tremble with his cries and bounds.

SUNFLOWERS AND DAISIES.

The dayesye or elles the eye of day, The emperice and flour of floures alle. --_Chaucer, Good Women, l. 184._

The sunflowers are mostly large, erect, perennial herbs, with the flowers characteristic of the order Compositae. They are natives of tropical America, but have become widely distributed in cultivation, appreciated on account of their large yellow flowers. They not only thrive very luxuriantly under cultivation, but spread very quickly spontaneously. Every one is familiar with the sunflower as it appears in cultivation, hence no special description shall be given of it. It is kin to the iron weed, the dandelion, the golden rods, the asters and the daisies.

It would be impracticable to describe or mention all the species and varieties of sunflowers and their numerous relatives. We shall refer very briefly to a few of the more common kinds. Helianthus annuus is a commonly cultivated species. The seeds of this plant furnish a very useful oil; the flowers yield honey and a useful dye; the stalks a textile fabric and the leaves fodder. The seeds of this and other species are also used as food, and as a surrogate for coffee. The carefully dried and prepared leaves have been used as a substitute for tobacco in cigars. Poultry eat the seeds very greedily and thrive well upon them, due to the oil present. It is also maintained that a large number of sunflowers about a dwelling place will serve as a protection against malaria. An infusion of the stem is said to be anti-malarial.

H. tuberosus, known as the Jerusalem artichoke, has large tuberous roots which are sometimes eaten when cooked or pickled. Several species are said to have decided medicinal properties. H. odora is said to be carminative, diuretic, stimulant and antemetic. H. rigida is tonic and astringent. H. virgaurea of both continents is also astringent and tonic. In the eclectic school of medicine the infusion of seeds is used as a mild expectorant, and the expressed oil as a diuretic. The diuretic properties are said to be due to nitre, which occurs most plentifully in the central pith of the stalks.

The medicinal virtues of the sunflowers are very limited and uncertain. Their principal use is that of a showy garden plant. That they check or prevent malaria is quite probable, because of their draining effect upon the soil rather than any medicinal property residing in the plants themselves.

The daisies, of which the ox-eye daisy is a well-known example, are garden and field favorites. As already indicated, they are kin to the sunflowers. The word daisy is a contraction of the old English words "dayes eye," that is, the eye of day, meaning the sun, as indicated in the verse from Chaucer. There are a great many flowers known as daisies and again a given one has a number of popular names. For instance, Rudbeckia hirta (see illustration) is variously designated yellow daisy, black-eyed Susan, nigger head, golden Jerusalem and ox-eye daisy.

The two plates illustrate the tall or giant sunflower (H. giganteus) and the daisy just referred to. Albert Schneider.

A TRUE STORY OF A WAYWARD BOB WHITE.

Mother Bob White, with due maternal care, had selected a most appropriately concealed spot for her treasure. The roughly constructed nest was built upon high ground, and was artfully hidden at the base of a tuft of dried grass. That the necessary moisture, which adds vitality and strength to the young should not be lacking, she had deposited her eggs almost upon the bare earth, only a thin, but closely woven mat of dried grass intervening between the nine white eggs and the brown earth. The days of incubation were divided between the two old birds, the cock performing his share of the parent's duties. When the hen was collecting her food he would nestle down upon the eggs with a care equally as great as that bestowed by the mother.

After the chicks were hatched the cock shook himself free of any and all responsibility, and betook himself to the meadows to enjoy the more liberal forage. This desertion was most satisfactory to the mother, for no doubt she wished to have the entire training of the little ones left strictly to her care. She would not lead the chicks forth until sure of his departure. What fluffy little brown beauties they were as they dodged in and out among the weeds and grasses, learning their first lessons in the roughest school of life, the school of experience! They had many dangers to guard against, and they learned that much work was required of them before their insatiable little appetites were satisfied. They must brave attacks from foxes, skunks, weasels and minks upon the ground, and at the same time keep an alert eye upward for the sudden advent of some hungry hawk by day, or the relentless swoop of owls by night. Their nights were spent in anxiety, and, in fact, then they were most insecure, as owls, and foxes especially, appreciate a young quail and exert themselves to capture them. Their caution, however, could not interfere with their obtaining a supply of food and water, so they braved many dangers every hour of their lives, and not many days after their entrance into this world they had gained the assurance which comes from meeting and overcoming difficulties.

Mother Bob White had been carefully guarding her little brown family, leading them forth daily in quest of small bugs and scattered seeds, always upon the lookout for possible enemies, never failing to flutter away, feigning a crippled wing, should I chance to come upon her suddenly. And on such occasions look as quickly and intently as I might I seldom caught a glimpse of those brown bodies that so well obey the parting cry of warning, uttered by the mother as she fluttered just beyond my reach, leading me straight away from her trembling family. Should you wish to find one of the little chicks you may do so by carefully feeling among the tufts of grass and other decayed brown vegetation nearest the spot where one's eye lost them.

Upon one occasion I discovered several of this little brood in a most peculiar and interesting situation. I had startled the mother-bird while she was leading her young ones through a wood, the ground thickly covered with dried leaves, and, as she fluttered away from almost beneath my feet, I dared not move for fear of crushing one of the chicks. They scattered and seemed to have disappeared on all sides near me. Gazing intently upon the mass of brown leaves, I was thinking how I could extricate myself without harming the hidden brood, when my eye caught the slight motion of a leaf almost against my foot. I stooped and gently raised the leaf. It felt wonderfully heavy. This oddity of weight prepared me for the surprise yet in store. When the leaf had been lifted a sufficient distance to enable me to look beneath, I caught a glimpse of a tiny brown rascal clinging desperately. He was in the drollest of positions, clinging feet uppermost.

I soon learned to know about where Mrs. Bob White's brood could be found, and they were quite grateful for the crumbs scattered daily within their reach, usually along an old and dusty wagon road which passed but a short distance from the spot where the nest had been. The mother would lead her flock forth where for a few minutes would be enacted an amusing scene as she attempted their education in the art of dusting themselves. They would stand amazed, watching the cloud of fine dust raised by their teacher, until one by one, they seemed to understand her meaning and then squatting down in a circle, they made feeble imitations of her vigorous motions.

Wayward Bob was one of this family of nine, but as yet he had not been named, and, indeed, had he been, it would have taken a close critic to have distinguished him from his relatives.

Bob, together with his brothers and sisters, was seven days old and had learned quite rapidly to pick small bugs from the weeds and grasses, when a great misfortune befell him and I fear but for my timely assistance nine little homeless, motherless quails would have sadly longed for the sturdy care of their affectionate guardian. I had repaired to the old wagon road, to scatter a few crumbs upon the ground and watch the antics of my little friends. This time they were later than usual in coming to their dusting place. No doubt, the mother had given them a wider knowledge of their little world that day.

When they came, I caught sight of them some distance from the side of the road, wending their way through a tangle of weeds near a large pile of stones. As I looked a weasel darted from under those concealing rocks. I cried aloud, and rushed forward but my assistance came too late for the heroic little mother; and thus nine little orphans were thrust upon me for support. The young ones were so terrified by the suddenness of their affliction that they gathered in a helpless knot by the scene of the tragedy. I gently lifted eight of the fluffy chicks and deposited them in my hat. There was yet one more to be cared for. He looked up with an expression of trust and fear commingled. I reached forth my hand to take him, but, being a sturdy little fellow he decided to take his chances in the wide world, so he quickly darted from my hand and disappeared among the many weeds close by. I finally captured the willful son, and fearing lest he should again elude me, I carried him in one hand apart from those in the hat. This is how a little quail came to live with me, and he received the sturdy name of Bob because of its aptness to his nature.

Bob's brothers and sisters were given to a bantam hen, who had made a failure with her own brood. She was happy to receive these new cares, and this time accomplished her maternal duties to her entire satisfaction, rearing all to their full growth. But Bob went with me. I placed a box in my room for him, and devoted many pleasant moments to feeding him, watching his growth, and training his belligerent ways.

My little friend became a great mischief as he grew older. He was allowed full freedom that summer and fall and his favorite pastime was annoying a brood of late hatched chickens. Down he would fly among those chicks, pecking at them spitefully, until the mother forced him to beat a hasty retreat.

One noon as the dining-room door stood ajar, Bob entered with a whirr, alighting upon the table when luncheon was being served. The visitor helped himself daintily from the contents of a platter. I reached my hand toward the pretty offender, but his fear of my touch caused him to fly quickly aside. In doing this he collided with a cup of tea, thus upsetting it, and causing the contents to fall upon my mother's gown. This act barred him from the dining-room, and he then contented himself by pursuing flies and grasshoppers upon the lawn.

One day a large grasshopper alighted upon my window. Bob's alert form came a moment later, and he made a dart for the coveted morsel. The grasshopper flew across the room, alighting behind a picture which was standing upon a table. Bob, nothing daunted by his late failure, flew rapidly across the room, and against the picture. He had the grasshopper this time, and it disappeared rapidly down his brown throat; but that was not the end, for the picture toppled forward and fell, breaking the delicate frame work and damaging a much prized portrait. This act brought Bob disgrace and punishment. He was not again allowed the full liberty of the house.

My pet grew large and strong during the fall and winter and I spent many pleasant moments watching his mischievous pranks and quaint actions.

Spring came at last, and the summer songsters were arriving, treating us to many a happy anthem. The blue bird flitted by unnoticed. The robins were building their nests, and that gaudy summer visitor, the red-breasted grosbeak, had arrived in the gorgeous splendor of his spring plumage, when far away across the sweetly scented meadows echoed the bob white of my little pet's relatives. Bob would listen with head alert to this call, and then he would pace up and down his box just as you have seen wild animals do in a zoological garden. With all my kindness I had failed to deaden his love for the wild life of his kind. One day, when Bob was perched upon my window sill, there came from across the orchard a sharp and clear bob white! This was more than my little friend could withstand. He walked up and down, seeking vainly for a way to escape. In his sturdy body the varied emotions of a captive were contending. There was anxiety and hope, anger and fear, love and hate, commingled in his every motion.

Moved by my pet's desire for freedom, I threw open the sash. Out he flew, with a joyous whirr of his wings, and alighting upon the garden fence, with his characteristic energy, he uttered his first bob white! clear and strong.

He remained near home, giving me a good opportunity to watch his habits. He daily came to the house for food, and never was he disappointed, as I regularly placed a handful of wheat where he could reach it.

One day a great happiness entered the life of my little friend. He was uttering his call with the sweet tremulous notes of a love-sick life. Borne from the upper orchard there came an answering call from another lover in search of a bride. Bob's head went up higher and higher; he hurried along on an old rail fence, sending his challenge for combat across to his rival, for lurking near was a little brown form watching Bob's sturdy mien with piqued interest. He sped quickly to her side, she retreating farther and farther away across the orchard to the place where the other lover was watching and waiting for the rival who had gained favor in her eyes. Bob and his rival met face to face in the dusty wagon road near the spot where my pet's early life was spent. Then there was a duel for love, with the little modest brown lady-bird as umpire and prize.

The rivals chased each other up and down the dusty lane. At last Bob was victorious, and his rival quickly took wing, followed by the angry victor. Presently Bob returned alone, and approached his bride. She had laid a scheme to test his love, and was now ready to abide by the result of the conflict.

My little pet led his mate away through the wavy grasses, a victor and a king over the heart of his loved one. Several weeks later, after a nest had been built and a downy brood hatched, I came upon my old pet. It was a sunny day, and while strolling down an orchard path, Bob flew down in front of me, where he stood, trembling and terrified. Thinking to help my old friend in his distress, I put forth my hand to take him up. I should have known him better. In an instant he was changed. He eyed me with that old keen, distrustful glance, rose quickly from my feet, and flew rapidly away. Hardly had he gone fifty yards when a pigeon hawk that had been waiting and watching, darted forth, and swooped down upon poor Bob while in mid-air. A loud snap as the hawk struck, a sharp cry from the bonny victim, and a few feathers floating slowly down told too pathetically of Bob's awful fate. I gathered up the scattered plumage, a memorial of the little wayward quail I had fed and reared to maturity.

Bob seemed quite a patriot to me, as I reflected upon his decision when he eluded my hand that final time. "Liberty or death," he seemed to say, as he flew rapidly away. He exhibited that trait, in his bird-like way, by which great men have won fame and renown, so he, too, is worthy of having his story related and his life immortalized. Charles Thompson.

THE OSWEGO TEA.

The Labiatae, or family of mints, consists of about one hundred and sixty genera, including the one to which the Oswego Tea of our illustration belongs. Under these genera are classed over three thousand distinct species. Many of these are well-known plants, such as the mints, pennyroyal, anise, bergamot, fennel, catnip, sage, thyme, lavender and rosemary. Representatives of this family are distributed throughout the world in the temperate and tropical regions. In fact, it is one of the most cosmopolitan of the plant families.

The characteristics of the family are very marked. The foliage abounds in volatile oils which generally give off an aromatic odor, especially when the leaves are bruised. The leaves are opposite and usually arise from a four-sided stem. The flowers, as a rule, are strongly two-lipped. This character gives to the family its scientific name, which is derived from a Latin word meaning lip. The stamens are attached to the corolla and are usually four in number, two of which are longer than the others. The ovary is four-lobed, and the resulting fruit consists of four nutlets, each containing one seed.

The Oswego Tea belongs to the genus Monarda, a group of plants named in honor of Nicolas Monardes, a Spanish physician and botanist of the sixteenth century. He wrote a number of valuable papers on the medicinal and other economic plants, especially treating of those from America. This genus includes about ten species, all natives of North America and Mexico.

The Oswego Tea (Monarda didyma) is frequently called Bee Balm, and locally it is often known as Fragrant Balm, Mountain Mint and Indian Plume. This plant prefers a moist soil near the wooded banks of streams and in the hilly and mountainous regions of Canada and the United States, east of the Mississippi River. In North Carolina it is found at an altitude of over five thousand feet.

The leaves are egg-shaped, elongated, taper-pointed and more or less saw-toothed on the margins. The floral leaves are tinged with red of nearly the same shade as that of the bright red and showy flowers. The flowers which appear in July, August and September and are about two inches in length, are massed in a dense, solitary and globular head, which is situated at the end of the flower stalk.

The flowers produce an abundant nectar, which attracts bumblebees, butterflies and humming birds; these by transferring the pollen from flower to flower assist in the fertilization of the developing seeds. The ordinary bees are barred from the sweets of this plant because of their short tongues, though some forms will cut a hole in the side of the corolla and obtain the nectar in this manner.

It is said that certain Indian tribes use this bark in preparing a tea that is nearly as palatable as that made from the ordinary tea of commerce.

FLOWERS AND THEIR UNBIDDEN GUESTS.

In the September number we considered flowers and their invited guests, that is the insects useful in carrying pollen. The very things which attract useful insects to flowers are attractive also to useless insects. For example, nectar in a flower seems just as desirable to an ant as to a butterfly, but the ant is a creeping insect and would be likely to lose the pollen in passing from one plant to another. If useless insects found free access to flowers and carried off their food supplies, the useful insects would soon stop visiting them. It is of great advantage to flowers, therefore, to have some means of warding off the creeping insects. It must not be understood that all plants are equally successful in this matter, or that any plant is always successful, but there are certain things which seem to hinder or discourage the approach of creeping insects to flowers.

Perhaps ants may be taken as the best illustration of the insects whose visits are discouraged by flowers. They are very much attracted to the food supplies in the flower, especially the nectar, and are among the most intelligent of insects, often overcoming the most serious obstacles. They will be considered in this paper, therefore, as the insects which are seeking the nectar and pollen of flowers without invitation. A charming little book upon this subject has been written by Kerner, and translated into English, under the title which appears at the head of this paper. It is in this book that the chief obstacles to such unwelcome guests as ants are clearly stated.