[to be continued.]
[THE NATIONAL FLOWER OF JAPAN.]
BY WILLIAM ELIOT GRIFFIS.
The cherry blossom is the national flower of Japan, as the rose is of England, the lily of France, the thistle of Scotland, and the shamrock of Ireland. On the Mikado's flags, papers, and carriages, and on the soldiers' caps and uniform, you will see the open chrysanthemum. But the flower of the people and of the nation is the flower of the blossoming cherry-tree.
"Do not all cherry-trees blossom?" you will ask.
Yes; but the Japanese cultivate all over Japan, by the millions, the sakura-tree, which is valued only for the beauty of its blossoms. Botanists call it Prunus pseudocerasus. From an entire tree you could not get ripe cherries enough to make a pie; but the blooms are massed together on the boughs like clouds, and the blooms are often as large as a rose. Picnics in Japan are called, "Going to see the flowers." In June, millions of the people go out to sing and sport and laugh and play under the cherry-trees, or to catch "the snow-showers that do not fall from the skies." There are tens of thousands of stanzas of poetry about the cherry-tree. Some of the people become so enchanted with the lovely blossoms that they actually say their prayers under them, or even worship the famous old trees. Here is an instance, which the artist has told by his pencil. A sacred cherry-tree has been carefully surrounded by a fence of bamboo, and two old gentlemen are worshipping the tree, while one young fellow is snickering at them from around the corner, and the other's mouth is wide open with astonishment, and he is probably saying, "Naru hodo" (Well, I declare!).
[PUSSY WILLOW.]
BY MARIAN DOUGLAS.
The brook is brimmed with melted snow,
The maple sap is running,
And on the highest elm a crow
His big black wings is sunning.
A close green bud the May-flower lies
Upon its mossy pillow;
And sweet and low the South Wind blows,
And through the brown fields calling goes,
"Come, Pussy! Pussy Willow!
Within your close brown wrapper stir;
Come out and show your silver fur;
Come, Pussy! Pussy Willow!"
Soon red will bud the maple-trees,
The bluebirds will be singing,
And yellow tassels in the breeze
Be from the poplars swinging;
And rosy will the May-flower lie
Upon its mossy pillow,
But you must come the first of all.
"Come, Pussy!" is the South Wind's call—
"Come, Pussy! Pussy Willow!"
A fairy gift to children dear,
The downy firstling of the year—
Come, Pussy! Pussy Willow!
[THE ANTS AT HOME.]
BY CHARLES MORRIS.
The brook that ran merrily by the garden of Woodbine Cottage, prattling like a happy child on a holiday, grew sober and quiet further down, spreading into a broad sheet of gleaming water, through whose liquid surface glistened the silvery sands that adorned its bed.
Here the soft green verdure spread like a rich carpet, and Harry and Willie Mason lay buried in the deep grasses until only their heads appeared above the waving blades. On the bank of the brook sat their uncle Ben, his kindly face turned with a pleasant smile to the questioning boys.
"So you want to hear some more queer stories about ants?" he said. "Why, I thought we were well done with the subject."
"But you said, you know, that there was a lot more of odd things," replied Harry, "and Willie wants ever so much to hear them. Don't you, Willie?"
"I guess you does," retorted Willie, with a sly gesture.
Uncle Ben laughed heartily. "So it is one word for Willie, and two for yourself," he said. "But what shall I tell you about? Shall I describe that strange tree which keeps up a standing army of ants to preserve it from injury, while it in return finds the ants in food and shelter?"
"A tree!" cried Harry, with a shout of laughter. "It must be a thinking tree, then."
"I suppose so—in its way. Not just in our way, of course. One can hardly believe such things of a tree."
"I don't b'lieve it," said Willie, sturdily.
"What a born critic you are!" replied his uncle, with a quizzical look at the little doubter. "It is true, nevertheless. The tree in question is called the bull's-horn acacia. A species of ants lives upon it, and protects it from insects which would injure its foliage, such as slugs and caterpillars. But the odd thing is the mode in which the tree manages to provide for these ant soldiers."
"Is they the soldiers you kept talking 'bout?" asked Willie.
"Oh no; those were soldier ants who went out in armies, and fought battles with other ant armies, or attacked the nests of the negro ants and carried off their young to bring them up as slaves. These soldiers only fight for the good of the tree."
"Which takes care of them in return?" asked Harry.
"Precisely. There are certain cavities in its outer surface which serve as barracks for these regiments of ants. But the most curious feature is the mode in which the tree provides food for its defenders. When the leaves are young, and in danger from insects, there opens a little gland at their base, which is filled with a honey-like liquid. The ants are very fond of this, and lap it up greedily. They run from one gland to another, and are thus kept constantly about the young leaves. And these little chaps bite shrewdly, so that no other creeping thing dares to venture near the leaves."
"Well, that is certainly very curious," said Harry, raising himself on one arm half out of his grassy bed.
"But that is only part of the provision," continued his uncle. "The leaf is what is called a compound leaf, consisting of a number of leaflets on one stem. When this compound leaf first unfolds, there appears at its base a little yellow fruit-like body, attached by a fine point to the leaf. It is a beautiful object through the microscope, looking like a little golden pear. It is not quite ripe when the leaf first opens, and the ants may be seen busily running from one to another to see if any are ripe. Whenever one is found to be ripe, the ant bites it off at the small point of attachment, and carries it eagerly away to its nest. But they do not ripen all at once, so that the ants are kept about the leaves until these are old enough to be out of danger."
"Well, I never heard anything quite so queer about trees!" exclaimed Harry.
"There are many strange instances of trees being aided by insects," remarked Uncle Ben; "but I doubt if there is any stranger than this. There is one tree, of the genus Triplaris, whose trunk, limbs, and even its smallest twigs, are hollow. If any person happens to break or even to shake one of these twigs, he might well imagine that the tree was alive, for he will instantly find it covered with multitudes of creeping brown creatures, which bite furiously. It is, in fact, inhabited by myriads of ants, which occupy the whole interior, and which protect the tree from its enemies by their vicious bite."
"I hardly think I would like to break switches from that tree," laughed Harry.
"I's mighty sure I wouldn't," said Willie.
"There is another tree, called the trumpet-tree," continued their uncle. "This has a hollow stem, divided by partitions, like the reeds which grow on our river shores. Ants get into this tree by boring a hole from the outside. They then bore through the partitions, and get the run of the whole interior. Every cell made by the partitions serves them as a separate apartment, some being devoted to eggs, and some to their young in different stages of growth. One cell is kept as the home of the queen, this royal lady having an apartment of her own."
"Do the ants protect this tree too?" asked Harry.
"Oh yes; they rush out in millions if the tree is shaken, and are very apt to make things uncomfortable for intruders."
"Don't feed 'em on pears, does it?" asked Willie.
"Not exactly; they do not get their living directly from the tree; but they feed on it indirectly. The fact is, this species keeps a kind of ant cows. These are minute insects, which attach themselves to the interior of the tree, and live on its juices. They give out a honey-like liquid, of which the ants are very fond, and lap up with great eagerness. You see thus that there are various ways in which plants feed the ants which protect them from other insects."
"Are there any other ants that live on trees?" asked Harry.
"Yes, indeed. Ants are very apt to take possession of hollow trees. They build thin partitions, which divide the interior of the tree into halls, galleries, and saloons, and they live there thoroughly sheltered from the weather. The Ethiopian ants hollow out long galleries, and use the finely powdered wood which has fallen to the bottom of the tree to stop up every chink in the floors, to make partitions, and to fill up useless apartments. There are also yellow ants which construct entire stories of this decayed wood. They mix it with a little earth and spider's web, and thus make it into a sort of papier-maché."
"Don't think that's so awful smart," protested Willie. "Jess don't the wasps an' the hornets make paper nests too?"
"Very true," replied his uncle. "There is another curious ant, though, which makes its nest out of leaves. These are large, strong leaves, but the little creatures somehow draw their edges together, and gum them fast, so that they make themselves a close, roomy shelter inside. They have been seen at work, thousands of them tugging away for dear life at the edges of the leaves. If they are startled, and made to loose their hold of the edge, it flies back so strongly that it is a marvel how they ever drew it in."
"Don't they sometimes build very large nests on the ground," asked Harry—"much larger than the little ant-hills we see about here?"
"I should think so, indeed! Why, the common red ant of England builds a nest of any rubbish it can find, such as straw, leaves, and bits of wood mixed with earth, often as large as a small hay-cock. But this is a trifle, compared with some tropical ant-hills. Travellers in Guiana describe ant-hills which are fifteen or twenty feet high, and thirty or forty feet wide at the base. You might well fancy they were houses for elephants, instead of for ants."
"I should imagine they must be elephantine ants," remarked Harry.
"Not at all. There is a very small ant in New South Wales whose hills are eight or ten feet high. But this is not all; these great mounds are only the upper part of the ant city. It extends as deeply under-ground. There is one ant described that builds a nest of forty stories, twenty above and twenty under ground. These stories are divided into numerous saloons and apartments, with narrow galleries, and inclined planes for stairways. The partitions are usually very thin, but the ceilings are often supported by pillars and buttresses, just like our great halls."
"It must take the ants a long while to build such nests as that," remarked Harry.
"I guesses so," said Willie. "I's seen 'em, many and many a time, running up with their wee little bits of dirt, and I knows they'd jess be ever and ever so long."
"But you do not stop to think what can be done by keeping at it," said Uncle Ben. "They are the very hardest of hard workers. They never seem to tire or lie down to rest, so that it is astonishing what progress they make. It is said that they will finish a complete story to their nest, with all its rooms, galleries, vaulted roofs, and partitions, in seven or eight hours. They use wet clay in the work, and put it together very rapidly."
"I suppose these big nests are built just like the little ones we have here," said Harry, with a questioning look.
"Yes, on much the same principle. In fact, our little mason ants are very expert builders. Some of them only build while it is raining, or while the ground continues wet. If it gets so dry that the earth will not stick together, they pull down their unfinished walls, and heap the earth over the finished portions. The ash-colored mason is very curious in his ways. He begins by bringing a quantity of earth, which he heaps on the roof of his old home. Then he goes to work upon this, excavating galleries, just as a laborer will dig ditches across a field. Finally he roofs over these galleries. But if he should begin a roof before the walls are high enough, he will carefully take it down, and build the walls higher before proceeding with his roof."
"Why, what smart little chaps they are! They must think, anyhow. Don't you believe so, Uncle Ben?"
"One would fancy so, at any rate. They may not be able to think like philosophers, but they certainly think like builders. I could give you other evidences of it. If you saw them carefully closing the doors of their nests at night or in wet weather, and opening them again in the morning, and carrying their young out-of-doors to enjoy the sun on bright days, and a dozen other shrewd habits, you might well imagine they thought it all out. Among the strangest of these ant-philosophers are the driver ants of West Africa, a species which can not endure the hot suns of that region. If they are caught by the fierce rays of the sun when out travelling, they at once build themselves a covered archway of clay—a long tunnel whose sides and roof are cemented by some gummy material from their own bodies. Under this they travel safe from the sun. It is said of the same ants that when they are obliged to cross a stream in their journeys, they will ascend a tree, and run out on a low limb that hangs over the opposite side. From this they drop a line of ants to the earth, each clinging firmly to the one above it. Over this living line the whole army passes. Other travellers relate that if they can not cross the stream in this way, they will drop a line of ants to the water, from which a horizontal line, supported on the water, runs to the other side; forming a living bridge, over which the whole army marches. For my part, I hardly know what to think of these stories, since the driver ants are entirely blind."
"I guesses that's 'nough," said Willie. "Let's go play, Harry. Ants can't do that, anyway. They doesn't do nuffin but work all the time."
"Indeed you are very much mistaken, my young friend," replied his uncle. "They are just as fond of play as you are. They will wrestle with one another, and ride on each other's backs, as if it were the greatest fun in the world. And they have been seen practicing gymnastic sports, climbing, hanging down by one leg, and letting themselves fall from a distance, as if they enjoyed it hugely. In fact, they are up to almost as many pranks and capers as young boys. I doubt, however, if they get into mischief as often. But go on; I won't detain you any longer from your play."
"Maybe you's glad 'nough to get rid of us," said Willie, slyly, as he snatched Harry's cap and ran away with it. In an instant the ants were forgotten, and there was a hot chase across the grassy meadow.
ABDULLAH AND HIS FRIENDS.