Part 5

Our yellow-tinted sparrow has another name, the “Grasshopper Sparrow,” from its insect-like tremolo and chirp. Its song is a chord or two and a long trill on the insect letter, z. It is sung, to the eye, with a hearty abandon of joy, the head thrown back and mouth open, in a fine pose of ecstasy; yet, unless all around is still, and you listen with attention, not a sound will you hear, so small and fine are the vibrating tones. It is said, in a story of the Highlands, that on certain nights, if a man will but lay a couchant ear close to the breast of the earth, he may hear the fine, fine piping of the fairy tunes played in the underworld. Our bird’s song is one of these faint, sweet voices of the earth, like the music that breathes from every clod or leaf when the old world lies dreaming and dozing in a bit of holiday after work is done on a warm, sunny afternoon in autumn, a musical, tremulous, sweet piping everywhere.

Yet not one of these small creatures is forgotten before its Father. When the frost is in the air, and winter is near, the Divine impulse stirs in its breast, and its little wings will bear it far, far away in the long, mysterious journey over sea to the warm islands of the Atlantic. There it will sing for joy with its fellows in the sun, but when April returns, look well. Is there not a stir in the short grass? And listen. The faint, dream-like thrill throbs again in the throat of the sparrow, and our ground-dweller has returned. It is a parable of God’s care for His little ones.

Ella F. Mosby.

SONG OF THE STORMY PETREL.

When in the hollow of His hand All calm doth lie the deep, Alone and out of sight of land, Upon the wave I sleep; Above, the sun resplendent shines; Beneath, old ocean heaves; I feel alike the smile of heaven And some great heart that grieves.

I drift afar by sun and star; I care not where I be So long as throbs the giant flood Of ocean under me. The ancient sea my brother is And well I know his moods; For everywhere with him I fare Throughout his solitudes.

I lay my heart unto his heart, I soothe him with my wing; I kiss the tide as I were bride, And to him low I sing. He speaks to me of mystery, Of days when he was young, Of sorrows old, of tales untold By any other tongue.

I listen, yearn, and much I learn Of nations now no more, Of wrecks that sleep down in the deep Or strew the rocky shore; Of how grim Time makes him to mar Whatever coast he laves. Of how the sea he makes to be So full of nameless graves.

Since goaded long by lashing winds, He rushes forth in ire, And welds as one the ships of Clyde With those of crumbled Tyre; And swallows down the king and clown With equal appetite, And hides them all, both great and small, In his wide tombs of night.

Then screaming I above him fly And hasten where he roars, Within my breast the same unrest As his proud bosom gores. A thousand leagues I go with him And glory in his power, A thousand leagues I herald him Through many a sleepless hour.

Then, calmer grown, we dream again, And in some distant zone A little season are as one, Untroubled and alone. For I am brother to the sea And where he goes go I, And when at last my days are past, Within his breast I lie.

And I shall ever haunt his paths About this aging earth, And he to me, and I to him, Shall sing of woe and mirth Until gray Time shall be no more, And every wave that weeps Has learned to laugh and laughing, thrills The bosom of the deeps. —_C. G. B. in “The Chicago Record.”_

THE SPIDER MONKEY. (_Ateles hypoxanthus._)

With his native guides a gentleman was traveling one day through one of the wonderfully luxuriant tropical forests of eastern Brazil. They had left the Amazon river and had come southeast to the province of Maranhao, where the roots, grasses and plants sometimes weave themselves into vegetable bridges so solid that a man may go some distance without discovering that he has left the firm earth.

They had just passed over one of these natural bridges and had evidently reached the edge of the hidden pool, as they came to a dense growth of rosewood trees, and there they saw a most unique and peculiar sight. The gentleman, being a stranger in Brazil, exclaimed with astonishment, for hanging from the branches by their tails only, were a whole troop of monkeys.

They were of slender build, with long, thin, sprawling limbs and small heads, and they were indeed a most laughable and comical sight.

As soon as the gentleman recovered from his surprise he fired upon the troop and succeeded in slightly wounding one which so maimed it that, uttering a loud yell, it fell to the ground and he was able to secure it. The others, frightened, quickly vanished, for their movements were of surprising agility; they threw their long limbs about in the queerest sort of a manner, using their tails in climbing more than their limbs, seeming to feel their way with the tip of the tail and finding a place for support, they swung themselves rapidly to the extreme tree tops and were out of sight in less time than it takes to describe their flight.

When the troop could no longer be seen the gentleman examined his wounded captive and from what he knew of the characteristics of the ape family, to which all monkeys belong, he decided that without question he had secured a specimen of the Spider Monkey.

It was a young mother and the baby monkey was clinging to her with its little arms around her neck and legs around her hips in a way not to impede her motions.

She was carefully examined by her captor and he soon decided that the wound was not dangerous and that with care he might be able to take her with her baby back with him to the United States.

So she now received the best of care. She was secured with a rope attached to a bit of silken handkerchief which was carefully fitted to her leg and soon recovering (for her captor was a skillful surgeon) she became the pet of the company.

In length she was about four feet four inches and she was covered with a dull yellowish woolly fur. Her face was quite brown, which proved that she was still young, for the face grows dark gray in old age. In examining the forepaw, in order to find a thumb, nothing was there except a short stub devoid of a nail; her nose was broad and flat and she had thirty-six teeth.

Surely she was a Miriki Spider Monkey and a fine specimen at that, but as this variety is usually found only farther south in Brazil, her captor was especially pleased to secure her.

It would take a long time to narrate all the interesting things which one could say about her, but I must tell you what a devoted and lovely mother she was to her helpless little baby. It was as funny a little thing as you can imagine, ugly as possible, with proportionately long arms and legs and a face so old looking and wrinkled that it reminded one of an antiquated grandfather rather than of an infant monkey. She would continually pet this little monster, lick its body, hug it and fondle it; she would hold it in both hands as if admiring it and then would rock it to sleep in her arms. The children of royalty could not have more tender care and attention than the little Brazilian monkey gave her offspring.

As it grew she allowed it a little freedom, and usually it was very docile, obeying her every call; but when disobedient she would slap it and give it a box on the ear; but this seldom happened, for a monkey child is a model child and might serve as an example to many human children.

But I think you would have found it extremely odd could you have seen her eat. She would frequently take fruit, or anything offered, with her long, prehensile tail, and curling the end around the object, would convey it to her mouth. She would eat almost everything eaten by her captors, but would not reject an occasional insect, spider, or even a young bird.

Happiest when permitted to hang on the tree boughs, she would drink from the overhanging branches without touching the ground. In fact she was only perfectly at home when climbing around the trees, as she was comparatively awkward when on the ground, walking on all fours in a somewhat clumsy manner. Like all Spider Monkeys, she was of a gentle, teachable disposition, for all South American monkeys lack many of the mischievous and disagreeable traits of their African cousins, though as a rule they are not as bright and vivid in color and are duller and more indolent in their nature.

On the other hand the American monkeys do little damage to man, for the vast forests which form their home (they are found in the warm countries of Mexico, Central and South America, and never in a very high altitude) provide for them so fully that they have no need of man’s help. The natives depend very much on monkey meat as a food and hunt them with bow and arrows, while travelers are often obliged to subsist upon monkey roasts for weeks together and do not find them very bad fare.

Aside from the Miriki Spider Monkey, of which our little mother was so interesting a specimen, the traveling party from time to time encountered other species of the Spider Monkey, of which there are many. All have similar characteristics but vary somewhat in size and color.

You will be interested to know that the monkey mother and her funny baby were finally brought in safety to the United States, where as far as I know, they are still living and are happy and much treasured pets.

John Ainslie.

NOVEMBER.

Though I sorrow it to say, November is a churl alway, Miserly, beside the fire, Just outside the echoing choir, Sits he peevishly, and ponders On this life and all its wonders, Hearing through the grudging screen Organ notes, that slip between Prayers for dead men and dead hopes, While the priests, in ’broidered copes, Sing to heaven; yet not for him Goes up the incense or the hymn. Fie, November! —Walter Thornbury, “The Twelve Brothers.”

Transcriber’s Notes

--Reconstructed the Table of Contents (originally on each issue’s cover).

--Created an eBook cover from elements within the issue.

--Retained copyright notice on the original book (this eBook is public-domain in the country of publication.)

--Silently corrected a few palpable typos.