OUR 'OLOGY PAGE. BY A NATURALIST 66 THESE are days, my dear boys and girls, of wonderful educational activity. My greengrocer's errand lad tells me that he has "learned at least half a dozen of the natural sciences, which he has imbibed in a concentrated form (like Liebig's Essence," or "Parrish's Chemical Food") during a brief career at the Board School round the corner; while his sister Polly, who is being "trained" for a pupil-teacher, hears lectures, whose range is yet more alarmingly extensive, only that the said sciences get somehow "mixed" up in the dear child's "knowledge-box." Of course, then, you will expect an "Ology Page" in YOUNG ENGLAND, sooner or later. Not that your magazine is designed to give formal lessons in any department of science, since hand-books and manuals-good, cheap, and well illustrated with cuts-may be obtained by all who really desire them. I only wish it had been so when I was a lad with an inquiring mind. But there is such a thing as 'ology for amusement-the recreative side of science; and this, we think, ought to find a place in a young people's journal. In any of these branches of knowledge may be found an endless supply of interest and diversion for leisure hours, if only taken up heartily and pursued in the right way. "But what is the right way?" The way I think the best, is just to let books and diagrams alone for the while, and go straight into Dame Nature's big schoolroom, and see what she has got there to show you. There is no Professor like her, and no experiments so "jolly" as those which she is constantly performing on that great wide lecture-table which we call the world. Haven't you read Longfellow's lines about this? "Come, wander with me,' she said, "And whenever the way seemed long, But that is only poetry, you know? book has a meaning also. I once heard Mr. Babbage (the late eminent mathematician) declare, in the presence of a gathering of members of the Geological Society, that every pebble and fragment of rock had its history written upon it, if we only had the power to read the hieroglyphics; and, undoubtedly, there is very much that we may learn to interpret of Nature's picture-writing. A lady, who had long been an invalid, and suffered all an invalid's weariness, for want of occupation, found just what The Chase. she required near at hand. A fresh sod of earth was brought to her room every morning and placed on her table; then with the point of a knife she would dig in this little garden and bring to light every tiny plant, and seed, and land-shell that it contained. When restored to health, she was accustomed to say that her recovery was largely due to this simple recreation. It does not matter where you begin, and you want neither lectures, nor manual, nor apparatus. A friendly helper, or a companion or two like-minded with yourself, are not to be undervalued, but they are not essential. you observe, in a Note Book. 3. CULTIVATE A TEACHABLE SPIRIT be ready to learn. from everybody and everything. OBSERVE this made Newton, John Hunter, and Darwin what they were. RECORD never mind how roughly; if you trust to memory you will forget your best facts. BE TEACHABLE I think will go on well I shall also try the manner which you growing plants would grow well in the case. also a place or recomend in the Magazine. Could you tell me what small where I could procure or finde the Chrysalis or caterpillars of the following insects Purple Emperor, Painted Lady, Swallow Tail Butterflies also the Puss Moth Silver Queen and Marsh Fritillay also the name of those reptiles which could be kept in confinement where the could be procured & it also the best way to cultivate ferns and mosses and Mulberry trees also which of the Magazines have either about insects or ferns in also whether those papers for amusements can be obtained or plublised in the ones for which a prize was offered for I mean, also the manner to obtain Skeleton Leaves and dried ones, and to obtain a collection of all sorts of insects birds eggs botanicle specemines fossil &c also what papers are there in the Maga Comma Butterfly, Caterpillar, and Chrysalis on an Elm Branch. -never be afraid to ask questions. The humblest can tell you something you did not know before. Let your mind be open to the light of truth from all quarters. Talking of questions reminds me of a letter which I received from a schoolboy some time ago, and which I transcribe here, just as it was written, as an example of what I call "an inquiring mind." A BOY'S LETTER ABOUT NATURAL HISTORY. "DEAR SIR,-I hope you will not be offended at receiveing another letter from me but your letter give me such a great help that I again write to you. I have a case which at present zine also will there be any papers in your Magazine this year also wether it would be possiable to keep fish and reptiles together and what sort of cases are the best for reptiles I shall be much oblidged for an answer in a day or two as soon as possiable for which a stamped envelope is enclosed. R. H. T." Our young friend's spelling and composition were certainly open to improvement; but such a lad would be sure to gather information rapidly. LOOK UP AND LOOK DOWN. I am quite ready to admit that there are stronger inducements to ask questions of Nature amidst the exuberoverflowing ant, wealth of the summer time than in the bare, cold, and often depressing winter months. But an "observing eye" will always find enough to observe, and a genuine inquiring mind (like "R. H. T.'s ") would ask questions (and get answers too) all the year round. "O look up to the heavens above" on a clear night in November (and such nights there are), and mark the silent hosts of glittering stars, the occasional bursts of flashing meteors, and the ever-changing form and hue of the moving clouds, with, perhaps, the ruddy flush of the Aurora Borealis. There is no dreary waste above us, and none below. In spite of fog or frost, there is many a quiet page of Creation's volume to be turned over. MOSSES AND LICHENS, The MOSSES, with their tiny urns of tinier fruit, balanced on thread-like stalks, shine fresh and ruddy on the top of many an old wall, when nearly all the flowers are faded and gone. A dear friend of mine, now studying with enlarged mind (I doubt not), in a nobler state of existence than this, wrote of the Moss tribe as follows:-" Mosses are found all around us; on the bare sides of mountain rocks, on the tiles of housetops, on the tops of walls, on the bare ground, on the branches and trunks of trees, on stones in running streams, on bogs and morasses, on the ground, in woods, and indeed well-nigh everywhere. Their foliage (for mosses have leaves, and very beautiful they appear when magnified) "derives much of its richness from the moisture of the (winter) season, and their comparatively minute forms are not then concealed by the thick summer mantle of foliage, while many live only in winter, their spores (seeds of flowerless plants are so called) lying dormant in summer." "Have you never seen" (an American writer asks) "upon old walls or vines a moss which is most curious in shape? It grows luxuriantly, and looks very much like velvet in its richness-the very walls, as well as decayed trunks of trees, made green and fresh by this mossy covering, giving the woods the aspect of new life in the midst of winter. This is the Screw Moss. To examine it, you would believe mounted on thin cards, to view with the graphoscope, and very effective they are. A PLANT METHUSELAH. In striking contrast to flowers which perish year by year is the history of such a plant as the justly celebrated chesnut tree at Tortworth, Gloucestershire, on the estate of Earl Ducie. "It is believed to be more than a thousand years old, and is, in all probability, the oldest tree of its kind in England. In an account of it, published in 1825, it is stated that even in the year 1150 it was called the great or the old Chesnut of Tortworth, a statement which would agree with Gilpin's information that it was a boundary tree in the time of King John,' or even in the earlier reign of Stephen. In 1720 it measured fifty-one feet in girth at six feet from the ground. In 1779 it had measured fifty-four feet in girth. An exact measurement of the Tortworth Chesnut at the present time is as follows:-Girth, at three feet from the ground, forty-nine feet; at six feet from the ground, fifty feet; north and south, eighty-six feet through; east and west, eighty-eight feet through." it to be crowned with fruit, having a little skull-cap over it, which upon being lifted shows you a sort of brush which some writer has likened to one that the fairies might use to sweep out the flowers.' On putting this apparent brush in water it will open and display the seed within." Mosses are easily found, easily mounted on paper or cardboard, preserve their colours well when dried, and will at any time, if moistened, reveal their minuter beauties under a magnifying glass, forming a pleasant amusement for an "evening at home." So with the LICHENS-white, gray, brown, or green -which hang their rough tapestries on the bare tree trunks in winter time. A lady friend of mine has a very pretty collection of these lowly plants An Animal Methuselah. There are short and long livers among animals as among plants. Probably the tortoise may be regarded as the Methuselah of the animal kingdom, though it is of course difficult to get reliable statistics. In the Bishop's palace at Peterborough the shell of one of these slow-going reptiles is preserved, with an inscription, giving some particulars of the deceased, and stating that its age must have exceeded a hundred and twenty years. Each year, in or about October, it used to bury itself in a particular spot in the garden, and sleep until the following April. "But if he slept half of each year he ought only to be reckoned as sixty years old when he died?" Perhaps so; but in that case, if you sleep away twelve hours out of the twenty-four you will be but ten years and a half old when you come to man's (or woman's) estate. Remember that, when you are tempted to lie too long in bed in the morning. SLEEPING IN WINTER. Tortoises, or other reptiles, are far from being the only animals which sleep-through-the-winter-hybernate is the right word to use, instead of those four. Those whose food disappears with the cold weather must do one of four things:-(1) migrate to other countries; (2) store up provisions for the winter; (8) hybernate, or else, of course, (4) die. Now, we live on an island, hence none of our land animals can migrate, except the birds; some are storers, such as squirrels and bees; many of the lower tribes perish as the cold increases; but yet a large number do not, but hybernate, re-appearing with singular punctuality in the spring or early summer. BUTTERFLIES. The study of these hybernating animals offers a wide field of investigation, but one very partially explored even in these days of activity in research. Take the insect world, for example. It is not known, for instance, where all our sixty-four or five native butterflies pass the winter months. Some few hide in out-of-the-way nooks and corners, and astonish the tyro in such matters by emerging on a fine sunny day in February. Forthwith a paragraph headed "Signs of an Early Spring" is sent to a local paper. The sun goes in, the frost returns, and the butterfly returns too, and slumbers (perhaps laughing to himself as he composes his wings and legs) until another delusive fine day affords him the chance of a few hours' exercise. Ten species of butterflies are said to sleep through the winter in their perfect state. I give their English names: -The Large and Small Tortoiseshell, Admiral, Painted Lady, Peacock, Comma, Brimstone, Clouded Yellow, Pale Clouded Yellow, and the rare Camberwell Beauty. pillars (larca is the technical term), or as chrysalides (we do not say chrysalises, and pupa is shorter, and means the same thing). A few pass the winter in the still more tranquil condition of an egg, in which we might call them yolk-fellows. But information is lacking concerning a number of these "children of the sun." Who will find out? SNAILS OF THE LAND AND WATER. We have in this country about a hundred and twenty different species of land and fresh water shells. Naturalists call the inhabitants of such shells MOLLUSKS (or soft-bodied animals), whether they live on land or in fresh or salt water. Of these "real natives," about seventy-five dwell on land, and fortyfive in ponds, ditches, rivers, and streams. Now they are not "annuals," and hence must winter somewhere, asleep or awake. The common garden snail hybernates in companies in snug corners where there are no draughts, and appears to be a rather delicate and susceptible darling, retiring early in the season. A large light brown species, called the Apple or Roman Snail, and found in chalk districts, excavates an underground vault for itself as winter approaches, plasters the inside, then forms two or three layers of that paper-like membrane that everyone has noticed in the garden snail, so as to close up the mouth of its shell with warm partitions, and sleeps safe and sound till "hard times" are over. But I think you will be saying that "Our 'Ology Most of the butterfly tribe hybernate as cater- Page" has been sufficiently filled for this month. ALISON BRAND'S BATTLE IN LIFE. CHAPTER IV. BY JULIA GODDARD. T was a sunny day in autumn. Alison leaned listlessly against a porch covered with clematis and bright-hued Virginian creeper. The air was fragrant with the breath of many flowers, and everything was fair and golden all around, but the girl looked wearied. "Beaten without a fight!" The words fell involuntarily from her lips. And then Alison Brand clasped her hands tightly together, as if a sharp pain had suddenly shot through her, and she was trying to bear it without a cry. "I don't know if I can or not," she muttered; "sometimes I do, and it is very hard, very, very hard. And sometimes I feel as if I were glad to be free, free with the world before me." And her eyes gave a flash. "I wish Aunt Miriam were here!" she added. As if in answer to her wish, a maid appeared to say that the postman had brought the letters, and that Mrs. Brand wished to know if there was anything especial in one that was in Miss Brand's handwriting. Alison flew, tore open the letter, and exclaimed"Aunt Miriam will be here this afternoon." Then she rushed about the house, from room to room, making a little alteration here, or putting flowers there, where Aunt Miriam loved to see them. Last of all, she arranged an easy-chair, with a footstool beside it, in the pleasant bay window of the library, where she and her aunt had had many a chat together. Then she had nothing else to do, and looked at the clock and wondered if the time would ever go: the day seemed interminable. Yet in due time the hours went by, and Aunt Miriam drove up to the door. "I am so glad! I am so glad!" said Alison, as she greeted her. The very presence of Miss Brand seemed to give her comfort. She could not talk over her troubles and perplexities with her mother, for that would have revealed to her anxious parent how much her daughter had suffered; and Mrs. Brand had already anxieties enough in the state of her husband's health, for he had sunk into a condition of hopeless imbecility, in which he might linger on for many years. "I couldn't have left them, Aunt Miriam, it wouldn't have been right to do it. Lewis thought I did not care enough for him, but I could not leave my mother. Was I right, or was I wrong?" So spoke Alison, as, after having given her aunt due time for rest and refreshment, she drew her into the library, closed the door, and seated herself at her aunt's feet. "It is all over now, Aunt Miriam, it is all over-over without my being able to do any thing. I am here with my hands tied, and all my happiness taken from me." "Has all your happiness gone, Alison?" "I think so. The world will never be the same to me again. There is a blight upon everything, and nothing can ever make up to me for what I have lost. I shall go on drearily to my life's end, and be glad when I die," said Alison, passionately. Aunt Miriam stroked the girl's hair fondly, she knew how sore her heart was, and bided her time for replying. "Lewis might have trusted me," Alison went on. "What could he expect from a wife who did not do her duty to her parents? Aunt Miriam, can't you say something to help me. I shall never be happy again, I know; but I should feel better if I were doing something, like St. Christopher. I don't mind how hard the work, but I must work, I must fight, I must be a good soldier on the battle-field." They also serve who only stand and wait,'" quoted Aunt Miriam. "Wait! wait!" repeated Alison, somewhat contemptuously; "sleep and slumber and apathy. No, Aunt Miriam, it won't suit me." "Does waiting only imply a passive state?" asked Miss Brand; "is there not an element of expectancy, even of hope, in it, and strength and endurance also?" "Hope!" exclaimed Alison. "Yes, hope. The sentinel at his post knows it is his duty to remain there, and he waits for the termination of his watch. The garrison in a blockaded city waits in patience and endurance, but there is hope in the waiting, for relief may come. And, Alison, when earthly matters do not turn out as we would have them, and we have to lie still under the Father's hand, we must try to bear it. Many things that seem hard to us at the moment and impossible to bear, when we look back upon them, we see that they are the very stepping-stones that have helped us to ford the river." Alison shook her head. "I have not come to that yet. I have to live up to the turning-point-to travel up the hill from whence such a view is possible. You think I am wicked and rebellious, Aunt Miriam, and that I distrust the providence of God. But I do not. I know in my heart of hearts that I must have faith, and that it will seem all right in many years time, and that, perhaps, I may even come to be glad about it then. isn't that I don't know and believe it all; but it's just now, this weary, weary time, that I want to battle through, that I want to get over quickly, and I can't. For, Aunt Miriam, I do care-I can't help caring about it all." It Again Miss Brand gently stroked her niece's hair. "You must be brave, Alison." "There's nothing to expend my bravery upon," replied Alison. "There's the hardest foe you have in the world to fight against, and that is yourself. Remember, He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city." "Aunt Miriam, it is all very well in theory," moaned Alison, laying her head in her aunt's lap; "but it's all so fresh with me now, and I can't get over it. Not unless," she added, "not unless I could fight the world as my grandmother did, and struggle and have to work, and not sit with my hands before me, as I am doing.' "Need anyone do that?" asked Miss Brand. "Yes," said Alison, "I need. Here I am, with not a thing to do for myself: servants to do everything for me; money to buy everything I want to buy; nothing that I want that I cannot have-exceptAnd here Alison broke down, and sank on the footstool beside her aunt. "And yet you've been very brave, Alison." Alison looked up in surprise. "Yes," said Aunt Miriam, "I'm not going to let you look entirely at the desponding side. You're no coward, Alison, and you've done what many a girl would not have had courage to do." "Did I do right, Aunt Miriam ?" said Alison, eagerly. "Lewis said it must be 'now or never.' I wanted him to wait just a little. I told him I had not changed, and I begged him to consider that my mother was not strong enough to be left alone. But he was angry and went away, saying that he had been mistaken in me; that he saw I did not care for him as he had cared for me, or I should have been willing to make any sacrifice of my own feelings." "Lewis was wrong; he was selfish." No, child, it could not be now; you were right. There would have been no blessing upon it," she said, after a pause. Alison clasped her aunt's hand tight. These were the first comforting words she had received. "You have begun the battle of life, Alison. It matters not what we have to overcome: the struggle is the same, whether it be privation, poverty, or any other evil. You have fought well in two actions." "Aunt Miriam!" exclaimed Alison. 66 Yes, two-the second has been the conquering of your trouble outwardly, so that your mother may not have the pain of knowing how deeply you suffer." "I did not think of that. I only knew that she could not bear it, so I did not let her know," said Alison, simply. "But, Aunt Miriam, I may tell you everything-you will not mind, you can understand, and it helps me." "I will do all I can to help you, my child," said Aunt Miriam, earnestly. |