WRENS AND THEIR NESTS.
BY EESUNG EYLISS.
"Uncle Horace, do, please, come out here and look. It is just too funny. When papa was here last summer he left a pair of old boots, and this spring some one threw them out on the pile of rails behind the barn. I was around there a few minutes ago, and I found that two little birds had gone into one of the boots and built a nest there. I looked in, and I saw the nest and three eggs. Do come out and tell me what birds they are. Just now one of them scolded at me very much because he thought I went too close to the boot."
"I think I can tell you before going what the bird is, for there is only one which would fairly be apt to adopt the boot as a place for housekeeping. The birds are probably wrens, Bennie, but we will go and see."
As we were passing around toward the rear of the barn I heard, sure enough, the song of a wren from the branches of a cherry-tree which we passed, and when we reached the "boot," out flew the mate of the songster, and without going further than the nearest fence post, she stopped and began to scold us at a furious rate.
"That is just the way she went on before, Uncle Horace. What a spiteful little thing she is!"
"Oh no, not spiteful, Bennie; she is only standing up for her rights. She evidently thinks that the boot belongs to her, and that we have no business here."
"But is it not queer that they should take such a place for their nest? An old boot!"
"No, it is not queer, Ben; it is precisely the sort of thing you might expect. When you mentioned the place of the nest, I felt at once tolerably sure that a pair of wrens must be the builders, for they seem to have a special fancy for odd places. When we go into the house again I will show you Mr. Audubon's plate of this species, and you will see that he represents them as having built their nest in an old torn hat which had been hung on a branch of a tree. I saw a wren's nest once in a pickle jar, and at another time a pair had taken possession of a tomato can which some boys had hung on a fence stake and used as a mark for shooting till it was full of shot-holes. They often go into empty boxes, and it is curious how much work they will do in filling up a box when it is too large for their little nest. I recollect one case where a pair of wrens took a fancy to a soap box which was more than a foot long, and rather than leave any part of it vacant they actually worked away till they had piled grass, etc., into it clear down to the very hole by which they entered, and there they built their nest right down close to the entrance. These were all American wrens; but here is a beautiful drawing of another species never seen in this country."
"Oh, Uncle Horace, what a cunning little fellow, one up above and one looking out of that hole in the nest! You say he never comes to this country; where does he live, then?"
"That drawing represents the common wren of England and of France, Bennie. In fact, the bird is found in most parts of southern and western Europe, and is just as familiar in its habit of coming about houses there as our wren is here. They all of them seem to like the idea of being where people are, and yet they are timid and retiring little things after all. The genus to which they belong is called in the books Troglodytes, which you must pronounce in four syllables, not three. It sounds like a harsh name for such a delicate bird; it means a dweller in caves."
"Why, Uncle Horace, you did not say anything about their living in caves."
"No, I did not, Bennie, nor do I think they ever go into caves. Still, the name is a very correct one, as applying to their habits. If you will carefully watch this pair out here behind the barn, you will see for yourself. There is no nook or corner about there which you will not see them prying into."
"Here comes one of them now, Uncle Horace, out through the stone fence. He is going to scold us for being here to watch him. You need not mind it, little fellow; we shall not hurt you. But what makes him keep his tail held up so straight? Some of the time he almost lays it over on his back."
"I was about to call your attention to that very thing. That is one of their singular peculiarities. All of this tribe of the wrens have that curious habit. By 'this tribe,' I mean those species which so much resemble the common wren of Europe or the house wren of America, for there are others which are quite distinct from them, and which do not carry their tails in that manner. Look at the drawing, and you will see that the bird on the top of the nest has his tail raised, though scarcely so remarkably as our friend here on the fence, but still it is enough to show his tendency. Now we have here, in our Northern and Eastern States especially, another species which commonly comes to us only in the winter instead of being here, as this bird is, during the summer. Though he lives more in the woods, and does not very often come about houses, yet they are very similar to the house wren, and you would notice them at once because of this habit of carrying the tail erect; and it would be the same with the wood wren, and also with the queer little fellows who live in the marshes, the marsh wrens."
"And then are there others which are not like them—not what you call of the same 'tribe'?"
"Yes, in our Southern States, and even no further south than Delaware, we find a species decidedly larger than our house wren, and having no resemblance to it as far as familiarity with men and houses is concerned. It is the great Carolina wren, and from seeing this species now before us you would scarcely imagine that to be a wren at all. He lives in the woods, he carries his tail as a robin or a bluebird does, and his song is not like the few trilling and twittering notes of the house wren. He pours out a flood of music that is similar to that of a thrush; you can scarcely believe when you see him that so much power of notes can come from a body so small."
"I see in this drawing, Uncle Horace, that the European species makes a nest with only a hole in the side. I have seen a robin's nest, and several swallows' nests, and sparrows' nests, and they were all open on the top, like a cup; they were not covered."
"No, that is very true, Ben. That is the way in which the greater number of birds build. But many of the wrens have the propensity to arch their nests over. The one in the drawing is represented correctly. They always seem determined to have an arch, even if it is not needed—if there is an arch there already. One pair, I recollect, built their nest inside a small gourd shell. The top of the shell arched over so close that the back of the bird as she sat in the nest almost touched the shell, but she had not been contented without having an arch of her own, and she had actually made one no thicker than fine paper. It seemed to me that it was only one layer of fine fibres, hair, grass etc. But there it was, an arch, and she was doubtless contented."
"What did you mean by the marsh wrens being queer little fellows?"
"They are queer fellows, sure enough. Queer in their nests, queer in their song, queer in the places they choose for their homes. They are of two species, quite closely resembling each other, and yet one will never live where the water is fresh, and the other will live only where it is fresh. The first is seen only on the salt-marshes, and yet its habits are almost the same as those of the fresh-water bird. They build nests almost alike, and yet they never put them in similar places. In going across a salt-marsh you often see a tuft of the tall coarse grasses, of which the stems have been woven and bound together into a sort of column, and then in their top, two or three feet from the ground, is a large coarse ball of long leaves and fibres, of the size of a child's head. This is the nest of a marsh wren. Now you may cross the fresh-water marshes all day long, and you will see no such thing, and yet you will see numbers of the short-billed marsh wrens, and you will pass many of their nests, and the nests will look almost exactly like those perched up in the tops of the salt-water grasses, but you will not see them unless you know where to look. Why? Because instead of being away up on the grasses, they are placed at the roots. Can you tell why they differ so in their nest-building? I can not. Each nest, of either species, is a coarse ball, as already mentioned, with a round hole on the side, and inside is the real nest, a beautifully smooth and comfortable place for the bird and her young."
"Is the nest like this one in the drawing? This has a hole in the side."
"Somewhat like it, but it is built commonly of coarser materials. I mentioned also that the marsh wrens of either the salt or fresh water species were peculiar in their notes, for you can scarcely call it a song. It is a series of short sounds, seeming almost like the bubbling of air through water—somewhat like the noise which your feet make in stepping on the marshy ground, and yet it has a musical effect which is very pleasant."
[A FLYING SHIP.]
BY ELLA RODMAN CHURCH.
Almost every one has read of Ezekiel Green and his flying machine, and a great many boys and men have been quite sure that they could manufacture wings which would enable them to fly.
As long ago as the reign of James IV. of Scotland an Italian who pretended to be able to change common metals into gold, and who wasted a great deal of the King's money in this way, but all to no purpose, "took in hand to fly with wings" as far as France, and to be there before the King's ambassadors, who travelled in the ordinary way. He had a pair of wings made of feathers, and when these had been fastened upon him he flew off the wall of Stirling Castle, but only to fall heavily to the ground, and break his thigh-bone.
The abbot of Tarryland (for so he had been created by the credulous King) declared that the blame of this failure should be laid upon the fact that there were hen feathers in the wings, and that hens are more inclined to the barn-yard than the skies—a very ingenious way of defending himself; but it could not quiet the twinges in his broken limb.
Another experiment, which was made three hundred years later, was more successful. It was tried on a convict from the galleys, whose life was not thought too valuable to risk, and when ready for flight he must have been an object capable of frightening all the birds of the air. He was "surrounded with whirls of feathers, curiously interlaced, and extending gradually at suitable distances in a horizontal direction from his feet to his neck." When first launched from a height of seventy feet, his feelings could not have been enviable, and the great mass of spectators watched him in almost breathless silence. But instead of falling, he went down slowly, and landed on his feet, with no inconvenience except a feeling of sea-sickness.
Nothing seems to have come of it, as men are not flying through the air yet; but the Flying Ship may possibly have led to the balloon. This strange scheme made quite a sensation in the year 1709, and the first account of it was written in Portuguese. It was invented by a Brazilian priest, who wanted the King of Portugal to adopt it.
In an ancient document purporting to be an address made to this monarch we read: "Father Bartholomew Laurent says that he has found out an Invention, by the Help of which one may more speedily travel through the Air than any other Way either by Sea or Land, so that one may go 200 Miles in 24 Hours; send Orders and Conclusions of Councils to Generals, in a manner, as soon as they are determined in private Cabinets; which will be so much the more Advantageous to your Majesty, as your Dominions lie far remote from one another, and which for want of Councils cannot be maintained nor augmented in Revenues and Extent.
"Merchants may have their Merchandize, and send Letters and Packets more conveniently. Places besieged may be Supply'd with Necessaries and Succours. Moreover, we may transport out of such Places what we please, and the Enemy cannot hinder it."
This remarkable ship was made as nearly in the form of a bird as possible; the tail (not quite true to nature) being the stern, and the head the figure-head of the vessel. At the bottom were two queerly shaped wings "to keep the ship upright"; at the top, the sails, which rounded over like the body of the bird; the light body of the ship was scalloped at both ends, and in the cavity of each was a pair of bellows, to be blown when there was no wind; and there were globes of heaven and earth, two load-stones, and "a good number of large amber beads fastened in an iron wire net, which, by a secret operation, would help to keep the ship aloft."
The strange vehicle was supposed to accommodate ten or eleven men "besides the artist," and this last personage, "by the help of the celestial globe, a sea map and compass, takes the height of the sun, thereby to find out the spot of land over which they are on the globe of the earth." It was a very funny affair, but quite ingenious, considering how little the laws of gravitation, and many other things connected with the art of flying, were then understood; yet no such object has been seen making its way through the air, and a flying ship would be very apt to find itself on the ground or in the water.
[THE NATIONAL GAME.]
BY SHERWOOD RYSE.
A GAME OF BASE-BALL AT THE POLO GROUNDS, NEW YORK CITY, ON DECORATION-DAY—YALE VS. PRINCETON.
Base-ball has long been recognized as the national game of this country, and if any one has any idea that cricket or lawn tennis or lacrosse is likely to put it into the background, that person should have been one of the twelve thousand persons who witnessed the great game between Princeton and Yale Colleges on Decoration-day.
If the play might have been better, the weather could not, and the enthusiasm and enjoyment of the immense crowd of spectators knew no bounds. Almost every one was decorated either with the blue of Yale or the orange of Princeton, for, as every boy who lives in the neighborhood of New York knows, the population of that great city and the neighboring cities, towns, and villages is divided into two parties, which are as enthusiastic about their favorite colleges as Republicans and Democrats are for their candidates at a Presidential election. "Are you Yale or Princeton?" one boy asks of another, and then, if the two boys prove to be of different parties, there follows a long argument about the merits of the two colleges, and however strong may be the facts brought forward, it always ends by one of the boys being convinced—that the other does not know much about foot-ball or base-ball, as the case may be, anyhow.
The rules of base-ball are very long and elaborate, and moreover, they are frequently altered. If we were to print them all, they would occupy at least six times as much space as this article. That being the case, we will not print them, and even if we did, very few of our readers would care to read them, for every American boy knows the principal rules, even though he may not be able to pass an examination in the whole code. Nor shall we attempt to describe the game as we have done with other less-known games. Like the Constitution, base-ball is one of the institutions of the country, but it has an advantage over that important document in the fact that the citizens of this country have mastered the art and science of base-ball (or think they have) long before they know anything about the Constitution. And so we will not describe or attempt to teach it, and if any of our young readers think that we are not treating them fairly by keeping back the valuable information with which, if the editor would allow it, we could fill the paper, we shall be much obliged if those young gentlemen will send their names and addresses to this office, when we will endeavor to refer them to some good authority on the subject.
Everybody knows by this time that in the great college game played on Decoration-day Yale beat Princeton easily. The fact is, the Princeton men were sadly wanting in sharp fielding, and fielding is the real science of the game. Your good fielder is always on the move. No matter where the ball may be, it will be in-field in a few seconds, and neither basemen nor short-stop must be caught napping.
Each man must be ready to support his fellow, and he must not think that because the ball does not come in his particular part of the field he need not trouble himself about it. Every player plays not for himself alone, but for his side, and it is in the perfect working together of the whole nine that the highest art of ball-playing consists. The basemen have their regular positions, but it must be remembered that the game is where the ball is, and that the fielder who can best reach the ball is the one who should field it.
One of the most important positions is that of short-stop. He is a kind of Jack-of-all-trades. He must be able to do the work of any of the in-fielders, to occupy a baseman's place when that person is fielding a ball, to "back up" the basemen, so as to cover any swift or widely thrown balls which they may be unable to reach, and to back up the pitcher, and so save him extra work in fielding balls returned to him by the catcher. The most eminent positions in a nine are, of course, those of pitcher and catcher, but the short-stop may have just as much enjoyment out of his part, and may do his side as much service as the more prominent players of the "battery."
It is not every one that can be a catcher. Like poets and wicket-keepers at cricket, the catcher is "born, not made." Because there is a catcher on every nine, it does not follow that every ninth man is one of these much-valued creatures whose excellence is due to instinct rather than to education. It is by no means the case that every person who writes verse is a poet, nor that every cricketer who stands behind the wicket is a wicket-keeper. A man may catch, but he is not therefore a catcher. If he has not a hand that acts directly with the eye, and an eye that sees almost before it has time to look—above all, if he shrinks from the swiftly darting ball, or winces as the bat is swung within a very few inches of his head—he will not make a catcher.
The kind of courage required for this position is very peculiar. It is not necessarily the sort of courage that would lead a man to jump into a mill-race to save another from drowning, nor is it especially the calm bravery that carries a soldier up to the ramparts behind which the enemy and perhaps death are lurking. But it is an admirable quality, and the chances are that the man who can control his nerves in the hazardous position of a base-ball catcher would not be found wanting when the time arrived for the exercise of his courage under even more trying circumstances.
The great Duke of Wellington said, as he watched the Eton boys playing cricket, "It was here that the battle of Waterloo was won," and though Waterloo is in Belgium and Eton in England, there was much truth in what the great commander said. The qualities which cricket brings out and educates (and it is fully as much so with base-ball) are qualities that make a man or boy courageous, quick to act in emergency, and loyal. These are the three qualities that are most desired in a soldier, and especially in one who is set over others.
When the American boy shall have become a man, and shall be placed in a position to test himself to see what kind of stuff he is made of, and finds that his courage, his resolution, his faithfulness, do not fail him, he may look back upon those happy afternoons spent on the base-ball field, and think how valuable an education he was working out for himself when he thought he was merely "having a good time."
The Postmistress thinks that every little reader will be interested in the letter from Alberto Dal M., who tells about a visit to Naples. She is very much pleased to hear from little travellers as well as from little stay-at-homes. The poem entitled "A Pansy Show" is the first attempt of the youthful writer. Our Post-office Box is quite sparkling this lovely summer day, with its letters, rhymes, and bits of information. Let nobody fail to read the amusing description of the wedding outfit of a Hindoo bride under the head of C. Y. P. R. U. After a long silence, we are pleased to receive another letter from Mrs. Richardson, of Woodside. We have not forgotten Uncle Pete and his Ida, nor the little school among the pines.
Venice, Italy.
This time I will tell the readers of Young People about my visit to Naples. From our rooms I could see the lovely bay, and in the distance the island of Capri, where there is a beautiful grotto. One morning at seven o'clock I started for Vesuvius in a carriage that had three horses for the mountain roads, and arrived at the Observatory at about half past eleven. I would like to have gone up by the railroad to the crater, but it was considered too dangerous, as there had been an accident a short time before my visit. I went into the Observatory, where visitors are not usually admitted. There I saw many electric wires, one of which showed when Vesuvius was throwing out stones. Even the slightest movement of the mountain could be felt by this wire, which without it would be unnoticed; another showed in which direction the movement was, whether east, west, north, or south; and still another told when the temperature changed.
There were many specimens of the different minerals thrown from Vesuvius. Some were crystallized sulphur, some iron, some salt, and some magnesia. Some of the lava when broken contained in the centre a white substance which had the form of a flower, another piece looked like a butterfly, and there were also some long white sticks which resembled macaroni. I saw the instruments with which they take up the hot lava; one was a kind of shovel, another a long pair of pincers. All that I saw here interested me very much. The view from the Observatory was magnificent. In the distance one could see the whole city of Naples, and the mountain looked like a desert of burnt wood. The lava which had been thrown out from different eruptions covered the ground everywhere, and was in some places heaped up very high in many curious forms. Some of the lava was gray, some red, and some brown. I picked up several pieces to carry home, also a few flowers which I found growing among the lava.
A few days after, I went to visit the ruined city of Pompeii. After passing through one of the old gates of the city, I went into a small museum, where I saw a few petrifactions and other things, but most of the curiosities are at Naples, in the National Museum. The streets of Pompeii are very narrow, paved with large blocks of stone, and I could see the ruts made by the wagons before the city was destroyed. I went into what was once a barber's shop, where there was still a block of marble which had been used as a seat. I saw a shelf there, and was told that a razor, a comb, and pomade were found on it. In a baker's shop I saw an oven where loaves of bread had been found. The houses were but one story high, and each house opened into a court, from which it received its light, as the rooms had no windows. Some of the frescoes on the walls were still fresh.
Alberto Dal M.
Dartmouth, Nova Scotia.
I began to take your paper last May, and like it very much. I often read the letters in Our Post-office Box, and have often thought I would like to write one. I have a little bird named Dicky, and he is very tame. When I call him he will come to me, and often when I am writing he will fly down and perch on my pen. I leave his cage door open all the time, and he goes out and in when he likes. The other day he was sick, and we thought he was going to die, but he got well again the next day. I have a little baby brother a week and three days old. This is my first letter to Young People.
Victor F.
Germantown, Pennsylvania.
I am staying in Germantown with my aunt, and am having a lovely time; and as I have not seen many letters from here, I thought I would write and tell you about our place. We have a good many chickens, six horses, and a very pretty pet cat. His name is Pursius, but we call him Persie for a short name. He climbs up from our back shed to the window-sill, and cries until we open the window and let him in. Does not the Postmistress think him a smart cat, I wonder? He does a good many more cute things, but it would make my letter too long to tell them all. I do not go to school, but study at home. I took lessons of a French mademoiselle in the winter, and can talk a little in French. My favorite stories in Young People are "The Dolls' Dressmaker," "Toby Tyler," "Tim and Tip," and "Phil's Fairies." I forgot to say that the woods are only five minutes' walk from the house, and the apple-trees are all in bloom, and I often take my little basket over to the woods and gather it full of apple blossoms and dogwood flowers. My papa gave me a pretty little watch on my last birthday.
Margaret J.