Part 21

"I then tried my third and last Running Toad. I began to keep him on Sept. 13th. He was a very fine specimen, and larger than the two former. He fed well, and amused me exceedingly. He was very tame, and would sit on my hand quite quiet, and enjoy my stroking him gently down his head and back. Soon after I got him he began to cast his skin. I helped him to get rid of it by stripping it down each side, which he seemed to like much, and sat very quiet during the operation. The new skin was quite beautiful, and shone as if varnished. This Toad lived in a crystal palace, or glass jar, where I had kept all the others before him. He took food freely, and his appetite was so good that in one day he ate seven large flies and three bees without stings. He was particularly fond of woodlice and earwigs, but would take centipedes, moths, and even butterflies. Being more active than common Toads, he often made great efforts to get out of his glass jar. I used to let him run about the room nearly every day for a short time, and often treated him to a run in the garden. Toads make a slight noise sometimes in the evenings, uttering a short sound like 'coo,' but I never heard them croak. Before wet weather, and during its continuance, my Toad was disinclined for food, and took no notice of flies even walking over his nose. He would then burrow and hide himself in the moss at the bottom of his glass palace. Thus I kept him, and found him very tame and amusing. But after about two months he became more impatient of confinement, and refused to take any food. I did not perceive that he fell away, though his feet and toes turned of a dark colour, which I knew was a sign of being out of condition; and, on the 10th of November, I found him dead. I have now tried three of this sort, and have come to the conclusion that the Running Toad will not live in captivity. This I much regret, as its habits are interesting, and its ways very amusing.

"F. C. Husenbeth, D.D."

* * * * *

FROG AND TOAD CONCERTS.

It would be hard to believe the stories of the vocal powers of Frogs and Toads were they not related by trustworthy travellers, who tell of animal concerts,

"Wild as the marsh, and tuneful as the harp."

Mr. Priest, the traveller in America, who was himself a musician, records:--"Prepared as I was to hear something extraordinary from these animals, I confess the first _Frog Concert_ I heard in America was so much beyond anything I could conceive of the power of these musicians, that I was truly astonished. This performance was _al fresco_, and took place on the eighteenth of April, in a large swamp, where there were at least 10,000 performers; and I really believe not two exactly in the same pitch, if the octave can possibly admit of so many divisions, or shades of semitones."

Professor and Mrs. Louis Agassiz, in their recent "Journey in Brazil," record:--"We must not leave Parà without alluding to our evening concerts from the adjoining woods and swamps. When I first heard this strange confusion of sounds, I thought it came from a crowd of men shouting loudly, though at a little distance. To my surprise. I found that the rioters were the frogs and toads in the neighbourhood. I hardly know how to describe this Babel of woodland noises; and, if I could do it justice, I am afraid my account would hardly be believed. At moments it seems like the barking of dogs, then like the calling of many voices on different keys; but all loud, rapid, excited, full of emphasis and variety. I think these frogs, like ours, must be silent at certain seasons of the year, for on our first visit to Parà we were not struck by this singular music, with which the woods now resound at nightfall."

SONG OF THE CICADA.

The Greeks have been scoffed at for rendering in deathless verse the song of so insignificant an insect as the Cicada; and hence it has been asserted that their love for such slender music must have been either exaggerated or simulated. It is pleasant, however, to hear an independent observer in the other hemisphere confirm their testimony. Mr. Lord tells us that in British Colombia there is one sound or song which is clearer, shriller, and _more singularly tuneful than any other_. It never appears to cease, and it comes from everywhere--from the tops of the trees, from the trembling leaves of the cotton-wood, from the stunted under-brush, from the flowers, the grass, the rocks and boulders--nay, the very stream itself seems vocal with hidden minstrels, all chanting the same refrain.

An especial feature of the Cicada's song is, that it increases in intensity when the sun is hottest; and one of the later Latin poets mentions the time when its music is at its highest, as an alternative expression for noon. Mr. Tennyson, inadvertently, speaks in "Ænone" of the Grasshopper being silent in the grass, and of the Cicada sleeping when the noonday quiet holds the hill. Keats sings more truly:--

"When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead: That is the Grasshopper's."

Then the Greek poets show us how intimately the song of the Cicada is associated with the hottest hours of the day. Aristophanes describes it as mad for the love of the sun; and Theocritus, as scorched by the sun. When all things are parched with the heat (says Alcæus), then from among the leaves issues the song of the sweet Cicada. His shrill melody is heard in the full glow of noontide, and the vertical rays of a torrid sun fire him to sing. Over and over again Mr. Lord met with allusions to the same peculiarity.

Cicadæ are regularly sold for food in the markets of South America. They are not eaten now, like they were at Athens, as a whet to the appetite; but they are dried in the sun, powdered, and made into a cake.

STORIES ABOUT THE BARNACLE GOOSE.

"As barnacles turn Poland geese In th' islands of the Orcades."--_Hudibras._

One of the earliest references to this popular error is in the "Natural Magic" of Baptista Porta, who says:--"Late writers report that not only in Scotland, but also in the river of Thames by London, there is a kind of shell-fish in a two-leaved shell, that hath a foot full of plaits and wrinkles.... They commonly stick to the keel of some old ship. Some say they come of worms, some of the boughs of trees which fall into the sea; if any of them be cast upon shore, they die; but they which are swallowed still into the sea, live and get out of their shells, and grow to be ducks, or such-like birds."

Professor Max Müller, in a learned lecture, enters fully into the origin of the different stories about the Barnacle Goose. He quotes from the "Philosophical Transactions" of 1678 a full account by Sir Robert Moray, who declared that he had seen within the barnacle shell, as through a concave or diminishing glass, the bill, eyes, head, neck, breast, wings, tail, feet, and feathers of the Barnacle Goose. The next witness was John Gerarde, Master in Chirurgerie, who, in 1597, declared that he had seen the actual metamorphosis of the muscle into the bird, describing how--

"The shell gapeth open, and the first thing that appeareth is the fore said lace or string; next come the leg of the birde hanging out, and as it groweth greater, it openeth the shell by degrees, till at length it is all come forth, and hangeth only by the bill, and falleth into the sea, when it gathereth feathers and groweth to a foule, bigger than a mallart; for the truth hereof, if any doubt, may it please them to repair unto me, and I shall satisfie them by the testimonies of good witnesses."

As far back as the thirteenth century, the same story is traced in the writings of Giraldus Cambrensis. This great divine does not deny the truth of the miraculous origin of the Barnacle Geese, but he warns the Irish priests against dining off them during Lent on the plea that they were not flesh, but fish. For, he writes, "If a man during Lent were to dine off a leg of Adam, who was not born of flesh either, we should not consider him innocent of having eaten what is flesh." This modern myth, which, in spite of the protests of such men as Albertus Magnus, Æneas Sylvius, and others, maintained its ground for many centuries, and was defended, as late as 1629, in a book by Count Maier, "De volucri arborea," with arguments, physical, metaphysical, and theological, owed its origin to a play of words. The muscle shells are called _Bernaculæ_ from the Latin _perna_, the mediæval Latin _berna_; the birds are called _Hibernicæ_ or _Hiberniculæ_, abbreviated to _Berniculæ_. As their names seem one, the creatures are supposed to be one, and everything conspires to confirm the first mistake, and to invest what was originally a good Irish story--a mere _canard_--with all the dignity of scientific, and all the solemnity of theological truth. The myth continued to live until the age of Newton. Specimens of _Lepadidæ_, prepared by Professor Rolleston of Oxford, show how the outward appearance of the _Anatifera_ could have supported the popular superstition which derived the _Bernicla_, the goose, from the _Bernicula_, the shell.

Drayton (1613), in his "Poly-olbion," iii., in connexion with the river Lee, speaks of

"Th' anatomised fish and fowls from planchers sprung;"

to which a note is appended in Southey's edition, p. 609, that such fowls were "Barnacles, a bird breeding upon old ships." A bunch of the shells attached to the ship, or to a piece of floating timber, at a distance appears like flowers in bloom; the foot of the animal has a similitude to the stalk of a plant growing from the ship's sides, the shell resembles a calyx, and the flower consists of the tentacula, or fingers, of the shell-fish. The ancient error was to mistake the foot for the neck of a goose, the shell for its head, and the tentacula for feathers. As to the body, _non est inventus_.

Sir Kenelm Digby was soundly laughed at for relating to a party at the castle of the Governor of Calais, that "the Barnacle, a bird in Jersey, was first a shell-fish to appearance, and, from that striking upon old wood, became in time a bird." In 1807, there was exhibited in Spring-gardens, London, a "Wonderful natural curiosity, called the Goose Tree, Barnacle Tree, or Tree bearing Geese," taken up at sea on January 12th, and more than twenty men could raise out of the water.[26]

Sir J. Emerson Tennent asks whether the ready acceptance and general credence given to so obvious a fable may not have been derived from giving too literal a construction to the text of the passage in the first chapter of Genesis:--

"And God said, Let the _waters bring forth abundantly_ the moving creature that hath life, and the _fowl_ that may fly in the open firmament of heaven."

The Barnacle Goose is a well-known bird, and is eaten on fast-days in France, by virtue of this old belief in its marine origin. The belief in the barnacle origin of the bird still prevails on the west coast of Ireland, and in the Western Highlands of Scotland.

The finding of the Barnacle is thus described by Mr. Sidebotham, to the Microscopical and Natural History Section of the Literary and Philosophical Society:--"In September, I was at Lytham with my family. The day was very stormy, and the previous night there had been a strong south-west wind, and evidences of a very stormy sea outside the banks. Two of my children came running to tell me of a very strange creature that had been washed up on the shore. They had seen it from the pier, and pointed it out to a sailor, thinking it was a large dog with long hair. On reaching the shore I found a fine mass of Barnacles, _Pentalasinus anatifera_, attached to some staves of a cask, the whole being between four and five feet long. Several sailors had secured the prize, and were getting it on a truck to carry it away. The appearance was most remarkable, the hundreds of long tubes with their curious shells looking like what one would fancy the fabled Gorgon's head with its snaky locks. The curiosity was carried to a yard where it was to be exhibited, and the bellman went round to announce it under the name of the sea-lioness, or the great sea-serpent. Another mass of Barnacles was washed up at Lytham, and also one at Blackpool, the same day or the day following. This mass of Barnacles was evidently just such a one as that seen by Gerard at the Pile of Foulders. It is rare to have such a specimen on our coasts. The sailors at Lytham had never seen anything like it, although some of them were old men who had spent all their lives on the coast."

FOOTNOTE:

[26] "Notes and Queries," No. 201.

LEAVES ABOUT BOOKWORMS.

On paper, leather, and parchment are found various animals, popularly known as "Bookworms." Johnson describes it as a worm or mite that eats holes in books, chiefly when damp; and in the "Guardian" we find this reference to its habits:--"My lion, like a moth or bookworm, feeds upon nothing but paper."

Many years ago an experienced keeper of the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford collected these interesting details of Bookworms:--"The larvæ of _Crambus pinguinalis_ will establish themselves upon the binding of a book, and spinning a robe will do it little injury. A mite, _Acarus eruditus_, eats the paste that fastens the paper over the edges of the binding and so loosens it. The caterpillar of another little moth takes its station in damp old books, between the leaves, and there commits great ravages. The little boring wood-beetle, who attacks books and will even bore through several volumes. An instance is mentioned of twenty-seven folio volumes being perforated in a straight line, by the same insect, in such a manner that by passing a cord through the perfect round hole made by it the twenty-seven volumes could be raised at once. The wood-beetle also destroys prints and drawings, whether framed or kept in a portfolio."

There is another "Bookworm," which is often confounded with the Death-watch of the vulgar; but is smaller, and instead of beating at intervals, as does the Death-watch, continues its noise for a considerable length of time without intermission. It is usually found in old wood, decayed furniture, museums, and neglected books. The female lays her eggs, which are exceedingly small, in dry, dusty places, where they are least likely to meet with disturbance. They are generally hatched about the beginning of March, a little sooner or later, according to the weather. After leaving the eggs, the insects are so small as to be scarcely discerned without the use of a glass. They remain in this state about two months, somewhat resembling in appearance the mites in cheese, after which they undergo their change into the perfect insect. They feed on dead flies and other insects; and often, from their numbers and voracity, very much deface cabinets of natural history. They subsist on various other substances, and may often be observed carefully hunting for nutritious particles amongst the dust in which they are found, turning it over with their heads, and searching about in the manner of swine. Many live through the winter buried deep in the dust to avoid the frost.

The best mode of destroying the insects which infest books and MSS. has often occupied the attention of the possessors of valuable libraries. Sir Thomas Phillips found the wood of his book-case attacked, particularly where beech had been introduced, and appeared to think that the insect was much attracted by the paste employed in binding. He recommended as preservatives against their attacks spirits of turpentine and a solution of corrosive sublimate, and also the latter substance mixed with paste. In some instances he found the produce of a single impregnated female sufficient to destroy a book. Turpentine and spirit of tar are also recommended for their destruction; but the method pursued in the collections of the British Museum is an abundant supply of camphor, with attention to keeping the rooms dry, warm, and ventilated. Mr. Macleay states it is the _acari_ only which feed on the paste employed in binding books, and the larvæ of the Coleoptera only which pierce the boards and leaves.

The ravages of the Bookworm would be much more destructive had there not been a sort of guardian to the literary treasures in the shape of a spider, who, when examined through a microscope, resembles a knight in armour. This champion of the library follows the Worm into the book-case, discovers the pit he has digged, rushes on his victim, which is about his own size, and devours him. His repast finished, he rests for about a fortnight, and when his digestion is completed, he sets out to break another lance with the enemy.

The Death-watch, already referred to, and which must be acquitted of destroying books, is chiefly known by the noise which he makes behind the wainscoting, where he ticks like a clock or watch. How so loud a noise is produced by so small an insect has never been properly explained; and the ticking has led to many legends. The naturalist Degeer relates that one night, in the autumn of 1809, during an entomological excursion in Brittany, where travellers were scarce and accommodation bad, he sought hospitality at the house of a friend. He was from home, and Degeer found a great deal of trouble in gaining admittance; but at last the peasant who had charge of the house told Degeer that he would give him "the chamber of death," if he liked. As Degeer was much fatigued, he accepted the offer. "The bed is there," said the man, "but no one has slept in it for some time. Every night the spirit of the officer, who was surprised and killed in this room by some chouans, comes back. When the officer was dead, the peasants divided what he had about him, and the officer's watch fell to my uncle, who was delighted with the prize, and brought it home to examine it. However, he soon found out that the watch was broken, and would not go. He then placed it under his pillow, and went to sleep; he awoke in the night, and to his terror heard the ticking of a watch. In vain he sold the watch, and gave the money for masses to be said for the officer's soul, the ticking continued, and has never ceased." Degeer said that he would exorcise the chamber, and the peasant left him, after making the sign of the cross. The naturalist at once guessed the riddle, and, accustomed to the pursuit of insects, soon had a couple of Death-watches shut up in a tin case, and the ticking was reproduced.

Swift has prescribed this destructive remedy by way of ridicule:--

"A Wood-worm That lies in old wood, like a hare in her form: With teeth or with claws it will bite, or will scratch; And chambermaids christen this worm a Death-watch, Because like a watch it always cries click: Then woe be to those in the house that are sick! For, sure as a gun, they will give up the ghost If the maggot cries click when it scratches the post. But a kettle of scalding hot water ejected, Infallibly cures the timber affected: The omen is broken, the danger is over; The maggot will die, the sick will recover."

BORING MARINE ANIMALS, AND HUMAN ENGINEERS.

Were a young naturalist asked to exemplify what man has learned from the lower animals, he could scarcely adduce a more striking instance than that of a submarine shelly worker teaching him how to execute some of his noblest works. This we have learned from the life and labours of the _Pholas_, of which it has been emphatically said:--"Numerous accounts have been published during the last fourteen years in every civilized country and language of the boring process of the _Pholas_; and machines formed on the model of its mechanism have for years been tunnelling Mont Cenis."

In the Eastern Zoological Gallery of the British Museum, cases 35 and 36, as well as in the Museum of Economic Geology in Piccadilly, may be seen specimens of the above very curious order of _Conchifers_, most of the members of which are distinguished by their habits of boring or digging, a process in which they are assisted by the peculiar formation of the foot, from which they derive their name. Of these ten families one of the most characteristic is that of the Razor-shells, which, when the valves are shut, are of a long, flattened, cylindrical shape, and open at both ends. Projecting its strong pointed foot at one of these ends, the _solen_ can work itself down into the sand with great rapidity, while at the upper end its respiratory tubes are shot out to bring the water to its gills. Of the _Pholadæ_, the shells of which are sometimes called multivalve, because, in addition to the two chief portions, they have a number of smaller accessory pieces, some bore in hard mud, others in wood, and others in rocks. They fix themselves firmly by the powerful foot, and then make the shell revolve; the sharp edges of this commence the perforation, which is afterwards enlarged by the rasp-like action of the rough exterior; and though the shell must be constantly worn down, yet it is replaced by a new formation from the animal, so as never to be unfit for its purpose. The typical bivalve of this family is the _Pholas_, which bores into limestone-rock and other hard material, and commits ravages on the piers, breakwaters, &c., that it selects for a home.

In the same family as the above Dr. Gray ranks the _Teredo_,[27] or wood-boring mollusc, whose ravages on ships, piles, wooden piers, &c., at sea resemble those of the white ant on furniture, joints of houses, &c., on shore. Perforating the timber by exactly the same process as that by which the Pholas perforates the stones, the Teredo advances continually, eating out a contorted tube or gallery, which it lines behind it with calcareous matter, and through which it continues to breathe the water.

The priority of the demonstration of the Pholas and its "boring habits" has been much disputed. The evidence is full of curious details. It appears that Mr. Harper, of Edinburgh, author of "The Sea-side and Aquarium," having claimed the lead. Mr. Robertson, of Brighton, writes to dispute the originality; adding that he publicly exhibited Pholades in the Pavilion at Brighton in July, 1851, perforating chalk rocks by the raspings of their valves and squirtings of their syphons. Professor Flourens (says Mr. Robertson) taught my observations to his class in Paris in 1853; I published them in 1851, and again more fully in the "Journal de Conchyliologie," in 1853; and M. Emile Blanchard illustrated them in the same year in his "Organisation du Règne Animal." I published a popular account of the perforating processes in "Household Words" in 1856. After obtaining the suffrages of the French authorities, I have been recently honoured with those of the British naturalist. (See Woodward's "Recent and Fossil Shells," p. 327. Family, Pholadidæ.) On returning to England last autumn I exhibited perforating Pholades to all the naturalists who cared to watch them. An intelligent lady whom I supplied with Pholades has made a really new and original observation, which I may take this opportunity of communicating to the public. She observed two Pholades whose perforations were bringing them nearer and nearer to each other. Their mutual raspings were wearing away the thin partition which separated their crypts. She was curious to know what they would do when they met, and watched them closely. When the two perforating shell-fish met and found themselves in each other's way, the stronger just bored right through the weaker Pholas.[28]