[to be continued.]
["WHAT DO THE PANSIES THINK?"]
BY MARY A. BARR.
What do the pansies think, mamma,
When they first come in the spring?
Do they remember the robins,
And the songs they used to sing?
When the butterflies come again,
I wonder if they will say,
"We are ever so glad to see you,
And won't you sit down and stay?"
Will the pansies tell the butterflies
How the snow lay white and deep,
And how beneath it, safe and warm,
They had such a pleasant sleep?
Will the butterflies tell the pansies
How they hid in their cradle bed,
And dreamed away the winter-time,
When people thought they were dead?
And will they talk of the weather,
Just as grown-up people do?
And wish the sun would always shine,
And the skies be always blue?
Speak of the lilies dressed in white,
And the daffodils dressed in gold,
And say that they think the tulips
Are exceedingly gay and bold?
I fancy the purple pansies are proud;
I fancy the yellow are gay.
Oh! I wish I could know just what they think;
I wish I could hear them say,
"Here comes our dear little Lucy,
The kind little girl in pink,
Who used to visit us every day—
And that's what we pansies think."
[HOW JELLY-FISH LIVE AND MOVE.]
BY SARAH COOPER.
When jelly-fish are seen lying in shapeless masses upon the beach, where they have been washed by the tide, their appearance is not attractive. If, however, we can watch them from the side of a boat, or from a long pier, as they dart through the water with their tentacles trailing after them, we shall soon learn to admire their graceful movements and their elegant colors. There is something very interesting too in these little inhabitants of the great deep. They are such soft and helpless little things, and yet they live and have their own good times if only the boisterous waves do not catch them and fling them too harshly against the rough shore.
Fig. 1.—Section of Jelly-Fish showing Tubes and Mouth.
Jelly-fish consist of a single bell-shaped mass of jelly, from the inner surface of which hangs the body of the animal, with the mouth in the centre. The mouth opens directly into the stomach, from which several hollow tubes (usually four) extend to a circular tube around the edge of the bell. In the jelly-fish, Fig. 1, a, the side next to us has been removed that we may see the tubes and the mouth hanging in the centre; b shows us the same viewed from below.
The eggs of jelly-fish are formed in large quantities in the tubes leading from the centre. In Fig. 1 you will see the enlarged cavities containing eggs. At certain seasons of the year great clusters of bright-colored eggs may be seen through the transparent flesh. A few jelly-fish are thought to produce young ones resembling themselves, without passing through the strange forms we noticed in studying hydroids.
Hydroids, about which I told you in Young People March 14, No. 124, you will remember, are abundant in all oceans. So are jelly-fish, and they are often found floating in large companies. Jelly-fish are propelled by alternately taking in and throwing out water under the bell. This gives them a jerking movement, which looks as if it were caused by breathing. They come to the surface chiefly when the water is quiet, and, as they like the warm sun, you will not see many of them at an early hour in the day. They are easily alarmed. If they meet with an obstacle in their course, or if they are touched by an enemy, the bell contracts, the tentacles are instantly drawn up, and the creature sinks in the water.
Upon the outer edge of the bell there are bright-colored specks and solid spots, which are thought to be the beginnings of eyes and ears. Although they never grow to be perfect eyes and ears in the jelly-fish, they promise that Nature has in store for her children the precious gifts of sight and hearing. Such imperfect organs are called by the wise men rudimentary organs. This is the lowest animal in which anything corresponding to our nerves is found.
Fig. 2.—Lasso Cells from a Fresh-water Hydroid (Magnified).
Delicate fringes and tentacles hang from the lower edge of the bell, adding greatly to its beauty. The tentacles are often many feet long, yet the animal has the power of drawing them up so that they are not visible. This curious power of contracting and expanding the tentacles belongs to many humble sea creatures, and you will be greatly interested in watching their movements. Sometimes, while we are still wondering at their disappearance, they lengthen again as if by magic.
The tentacles of jelly-fish are covered with a great many lasso cells. These lasso cells are too small to be seen without a microscope; still, they are powerful weapons in their way, and are quite sufficient to enable the jelly-fish to catch its food. Many of you know how the skillful hunter uses a lasso for catching wild cattle. The jelly-fish uses its lasso in quite a different manner, but it may be equally unfailing.
When examined, each lasso cell, or little sac, is found to contain a long slender thread, coiled within it, somewhat like a lasso, and floating in a fluid. The cell is filled so full of the fluid that it bursts with the slightest touch, and as the fluid squirts out, it carries with it the slender lasso armed with sharp stings. In this way lassoes are darted out to capture many little crabs or fish that brush too near in passing.
Fig. 3.—Jelly-Fish, showing Tentacles.
The sting of the lasso seems to paralyze the unfortunate creatures, and they make no effort to escape as the tentacles coil round them and carry them to the mouth of the greedy jelly-fish. In Fig. 2 you will see a group of lasso cells highly magnified. The cell at a has not yet burst, and through its thin walls we see the barbed dart at the end of the lasso. At b the lasso has been thrown out only a short distance, while at c the long slender lasso still carries the dart at the end, and the curious little bladder is much larger than it was inside the cell. The lasso cells of this specimen are exceedingly delicate and simple, but in some animals the lasso may be seen coiled within the cell; and when thrust out it bristles with sharp stings. Is it not a dainty weapon to be used in the continual warfare carried on by these innocent-looking creatures? Small as the lasso cells are, they serve to protect the soft-bodied animals from their numerous enemies.
Jelly-fish would hot hesitate in the least to use these tiny weapons upon us if we should touch their soft, pretty tentacles with too much familiarity. The irritation produced in the flesh by the numerous sharp points on the lassoes is similar to the stinging of nettles. For this reason jelly-fish are often called sea-nettles. The correct name, however, which you will find in scientific books, is "Medusæ."
Jelly-fish vary greatly in size. Some are mere dots, so extremely small that we should not notice them in the water, while one species is said to be seven feet in diameter, with tentacles measuring fifty feet (Fig. 3). The parent of this huge jelly-fish was a hydroid only half an inch high. Its children will be the same. What do you think its grandchildren will be?
Fig. 4.—Mushrooms of the Sea.
The size of jelly-fish is greatly enlarged by the water they absorb; indeed, the substance of which they are composed consists largely of water. A specimen weighing several pounds when alive will shrink away to almost nothing if exposed to the sun and the wind. As the body contains no bones or other solid matter, it all perishes together, and no trace is left of its former beautiful shape. You will see that jelly-fish are in no way like real fish. One writer found them so much like a familiar vegetable that he called them "Mushrooms of the Sea."
It would be impossible to describe to you the varied colors of jelly-fish, as they include almost every hue, the beautiful tints being probably due to their transparency. Some are purely white and as clear as glass, while all shades are to be found, from pale blue and pink, to bright red and yellow. Those found in tropical seas are of a deeper color than ours.
In striking contrast with these brilliant jelly-fish is one species which is so delicate and transparent that as it floats upon the water we can scarcely see the substance of which it is composed. The only parts that strike the eye are the circular tube around the edge and the four radiating tubes with their large clusters of eggs. The tubes look as if they were held together by some slight web. The movements of this jelly-fish are languid, and it sometimes remains perfectly quiet in the bright sunshine for hours, not even moving its tentacles.
Fig. 5.—Fixed Jelly-Fish.
You have probably noticed a great difference in the movements of people. So with jelly-fish: some are much more active and energetic than others. While some kinds appear to delight in darting through the water, until one might suppose from their frisky motions that they are having a great deal of fun and frolic, others prefer to make no exertion, and to drift idly with the waves. There have even been found "fixed jelly-fish" (Fig. 5)—those so fond of a settled resting-place that they have put out suckers by which they attach themselves permanently to some rock or stone.
Although jelly-fish are so brilliant in the daytime, they have a different beauty at night, when they throw out a golden light slightly tinged with green, resembling the light of a glow-worm. Vast numbers of small animals in the sea have this power of throwing out light from their bodies. The light is called phosphorescence. As it may be seen at anytime of the year illuminating air oceans, it is an unfailing source of delight to voyagers. It is most conspicuous on a dark night, when the water is agitated by the motion of a boat, or by the breaking-waves, because the disturbance of the water excites the little animals.
A pail of sea-water carried into a dark room often affords a good opportunity for studying this interesting phenomenon. Although we may not have detected the presence of any animals before, as soon as the water is stirred or jostled we will see the beautiful sparkles of light. The phosphorescence of some animals is of a bluish tint; in others it is red, like flame.
A person will rarely tire of watching a boat as its prow turns up a furrow of liquid fire, and each dip of the oar sends a miniature flash of lightning through the otherwise dark water. It fills us with wonder to think of the countless millions of little creatures required to produce these marvellous effects all over the ocean, and wherever the restless waves break in lines of light, either upon tropical shores or ice-bound rocks.
Crabbe, the English poet, has given us the description of a phosphorescent sea:
"And now your view upon the ocean turn,
And there the splendor of the waves discern;
Cast but a stone, or strike them with an oar,
And you shall flames within the deep explore;
Or scoop the stream phosphoric as you stand,
And the cold flumes shall flash along your hand;
When, lost in wonder, you shall walk and gaze
On weeds that sparkle, and on waves that blaze."
[FALSE COLORS.]
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.
"It's to be what I call fun."
This from Mattie Blake, the eldest of the party, sitting on the bed, and dangling her feet idly.
"Rather risky," said little Joan in her shy voice.
"Risky! how absurd!" Bella Jones exclaimed. And finally I broke in with:
"What will Philip Sydney think of us?"
Mattie, with the superiority of her years, looked very scornfully upon my small figure.
"Philip Sydney will be there, himself, and you may be sure he will be delighted. Now come, Cecilia, don't make any new objections. Remember you promised me last night;" and Mattie's black eyes flashed angrily.
We all remained silent for two or three moments, while the dusk of the spring afternoon gathered in the room. It was a big bare-looking room, with our four beds and four dressing-tables and four chairs, but to my mind the scene of much that was fascinating in our school life at Hillbrow, for there Mattie Blake entertained us on every occasion with thrilling experiences, in which she was usually the successful and admired heroine. Nothing could have been more monotonous than our daily school life, and these hours and Mattie's recitals were looked forward to with romantic interest.
Looking back, I remember Mattie as a tall, thin, black-eyed girl of about fourteen, with saucy, independent ways, and a touch of what I now know was a vulgar love of show about her. In her dress, her profuse jewelry, her crimped hair, and her voice and laugh, she was not really the fine young person we girls thought her. From her own accounts, she led the most bewitching life at home. Her father was a rich railroad man—a widower, who left Mattie to her own devices; and when she descended one winter's morning into our midst she seemed to bring splendor and riches and excitement with her.
How she had happened to select me as a desirable acquaintance I can not say, but the fact was soon known to the school. Mattie's favor was bestowed upon my insignificant self, and I was delighted to be her humble servitor. My own little past seemed very tame in comparison with Mattie's: she had "fun" of the most daring, brilliant kind whenever she was at home; I had led a thoroughly childish life, yet there had been much pleasure in it too; but who could compare it with Mattie's?
My father was a country clergyman, and on my mother's death, dear, dear Aunt Anna had come to live with us, and to make our home very sweet and happy. But for Mattie's influence not a shadow would have fallen on my enjoyment of home pleasures and home duties; but during this one season she had sowed seeds of discontent. Already I was beginning to dread a return to Bridgeley, even though I knew the pleasures that were waiting for me: the rides on my pony, with Philip and Laura Sydney, the Squire's son and daughter; the long days out fishing and sailing; the picnics and the girls' sewing circle; the evenings at home, with papa to read aloud to us; and the quiet sunny Sunday mornings, when I liked to stand beside Miss Sydney at the organ, and hear my voice mingling with the rest in sweet, simple songs of praise to God.
No, Mattie Blake had cast her spell: I wanted to go home with her to North Erie to see "Bob" and "Jim," of whom she talked so much and so foolishly; to ride out to the "Lake"; to dance at the "Bell House," and to stay up until daybreak whenever I chose. And what would papa and Aunt Anna and Philip and Laura think of my latest ambition—the scheme which had brought us together on this afternoon, a thrilled little circle about Mattie, who had been the originator of it?
It was as follows:
The boys—or should I say "young gentlemen"?—of Barnabas Academy, some six miles distant, had sent us invitations to their "Prize Day": invitations promptly declined by our principal, Miss Harding; for although the day was to be a holiday with us, Miss Harding did not approve of its being spent in the Academy among a party of boys unknown to our friends, and who were always trying to make us break some of our rules. Two or three girls were going with their parents, but our party in "No. 6" had no such opportunity. Vainly had Mattie rebelled. Miss Harding was firm. Then there had entered into the girl's wild head a plan, which she unfolded to us with all her usual eloquence and dramatic energy. We were to get off early in the day on some pretext, and, once out of sight, make our own way to the Academy. Then, as we were invited guests, no one would be the wiser, and as our school was to break up the next day, the chances were that no one would ever betray us to Miss Harding.
"By the time we are back next fall," said Mattie, "it will all be forgotten; and I'll tell you what, girls, Bob and Jim will give us a splendid time. Just you leave it to me."
We trembled, half with fear, half with admiration of Mattie's daring. What were we three mites against her? And then to see the Bob and Jim of her fascinating romances! Bob was described as "perfectly elegant," and Jim was always depicted as "simply superb—one of the most splendid fellows you ever saw." While we talked it over for the last time, I happened to see my own figure and little brown face in the glass, while near it was reflected Mattie's fine brown silk gown, her frizzles and bracelets and rings.
"But, Mattie," I said, suddenly, "how can I go? I've nothing to wear."
"Humph! Let me think," she said, slowly, and added, with her usual impressive air, "Just wait until to-night."
When that decisive period came, it appeared that Mattie had decided to lend me one of her own costumes. It was a last year's white muslin, trimmed with Valenciennes lace, and so much finer than anything I had ever owned that I was completely carried away by the prospect of wearing it. It is true that for a few minutes my sense of refinement was disturbed. In our simple home we would never have dreamed of borrowing any finery.
"Oh, Mattie!" I said, timidly, "I never wore any one else's things. What would papa say?"
Mattie laughed shrilly. "Don't be a goose!" she exclaimed. "Think of my wondering what my father would say to anything I did!"
And so the matter was settled, and by the time I had tried on the muslin dress and a Roman sash, and tied some of Mattie's beads around my neck, I felt no misgivings, and went to bed in high spirits.
And so the 18th of June dawned, and found Mattie waking me up to see what a fine day it was.
"Bella and Joan have backed out," she said, disdainfully. "But I've made them promise not to tell of us. Now, Cecy, you leave the getting away to me. When eleven o'clock strikes, you leave the school-room, slip up here and dress, and put your duster over your dress, while I'm with Miss Harding. Then just march down coolly to the front hall, and you'll see."
"I SEE MYSELF HURRYING INTO MATTIE'S DRESS."
How perfectly I can recall that morning! I see myself now hurrying into Mattie's dress, tying on the sash and beads, and then slipping guiltily down to the front hall, which was quite deserted, and where I stood for a moment trembling, yet excited and happy. And then Mattie appeared from a side door, caught my hand, and putting her finger on her lips, hurried me out, down the garden, and into the road.
Just below the school garden we came upon a rockaway, in which a young girl, very like Mattie in general style, and a tall boy of sixteen were seated.
"Hello!" the boy called out, and Mattie, looking very delighted, said:
"Here's Cecilia Martin, I told you I'd bring. This is Mr. Bob Rivers, Cecilia, and Miss Rivers."
Then this was Bob! I looked, trying to admire; but Bob was not like Philip Sydney in any way. He was stout and red-faced, and decorated like a young man of fashion; and Kate Rivers was a pert miss of fourteen, quite unlike my dear Laura.
These two, it appeared, had arranged with Mattie, and we were to drive with them to the Academy.
After all it seemed like "fun." Anyway, it was one of Mattie's dazzling experiences; so we got in, I feeling quite finely, and prepared to enter into the spirit of everything. Bob drove, and we girls sat inside.