Eye Spy Part 7

[Ill.u.s.tration: Spore Surface of an Agaric]

Every fresh species will yield its surprise in the markings and color of the prints.

These spore-deposits are of course fugitive, and will easily rub off at the slightest touch. But inasmuch as many of these specimens, either from their beauty of form or exquisite color, or for educational or scientific purposes, it will be desirable to preserve, I append simple rules for the making of the prints by a process by which they will become effectually "fixed," and thus easily kept without injury.

DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING A MUSHROOM SPORE-PRINT

Take a piece of smooth white writing-paper and coat its surface evenly with a thin solution of gum-arabic, dextrine, or other mucilage, and allow it to dry. Pin this, gummed side uppermost, to a board or table, preferably over a soft cloth, so that it will lie perfectly flat. To insure a good print the mushroom specimen should be fresh and firm, and the gills or spore-surface free from breaks or bruises.

Cut the stem off about level with the gills, then lay the mushroom, spore-surface downward, upon the paper, and cover with a tumbler, finger-bowl, or other vessel with a smooth, even rim, to absolutely exclude the slightest ingress of air.

After a few hours have pa.s.sed by, perhaps even less, the spores will be seen through the gla.s.s on the paper at the extreme edge of the mushroom, their depth of color indicating the density of the deposit.

If we now gently lift the gla.s.s, and with the utmost care remove the fungus, perhaps by the aid of pins previously inserted, in a _perfectly vertical_ direction, without the slightest side motion, the spore-print in all its beauty will be revealed--perhaps a rich brown circular patch with exquisite radiating white lines, marking the direction and edges of the gills, if an Agaric; perhaps a delicate pink, more or less clouded disk, here and there distinctly and finely honey-combed with white lines, indicating that our specimen is one of the polypores, as a Boletus. Other prints will yield rich golden disks, and there will be prints of red, lilac, greens, oranges, salmon-pinks, and browns and purples, variously lined in accordance with the number and nature of the gills or pores. Occasionally we shall look in vain for our print, which may signify that our specimen had already scattered its spores ere we had found it, or, what is more likely, that the spores are _invisible_ upon the paper, owing to their whiteness, in which case a piece of black paper must be subst.i.tuted for the white ground, when the response will be beautifully manifest in a white tracery upon the black background. One of these, from the _Amanita muscarius_, is reproduced in our ill.u.s.tration. If the specimen is left too long, the spore-deposit is continued upward between the gills, and may reach a quarter of an inch in height, in which case, if extreme care in lifting the cap is used, we observe a very realistic counterfeit of the gills of the mushroom in high relief upon the paper. A print of this kind is of course very fragile, and must be handled with care. But a comparatively slight deposit of the spores, without apparent thickness, will give us the most perfect print, while at the same time yielding the full color. Such a print may also be fixed by our present method so as to withstand considerable rough handling, all that is required being to lay the print upon a wet towel until the moisture has penetrated through the paper and reached the gum. The spores are thus set, and, upon drying the paper, are quite securely fixed. Indeed, the moisture often exuded by the confined fungus beneath the gla.s.s proves sufficient to dampen the mucilage and set the spores.

A number of prints may be obtained from a single specimen.

To those of my readers interested in the science of this spore-shower I give sectional ill.u.s.trations of examples of the two more common groups of mushrooms--the Agaric, or gilled mushroom, and the Polyporus, or tube-bearing mushroom. The entire surface of both gills and pores is lined with the spore-bearing membrane, or hymenium, the spores falling directly beneath their point of departure as indicated; in the case of the Agaric, in radiating lines in correspondence with the s.p.a.ces between the gills, and in Polyporus in a tiny pile directly beneath the opening of each pore.

Some Curious Coc.o.o.ns

The t.i.tle of this article will doubtless recall to readers of "Harper's Young People"[1] a paper upon a similar subject which appeared in my calendar series two years ago. With the t.i.tle the resemblance ends, for the coc.o.o.ns which I am about to describe are of a sort that has never been mentioned in any previous article. These curious coc.o.o.ns had been familiar to me since my boyhood, having long excited my wonder before finally revealing their mystery. They have recently been brought freshly to my notice by a letter that I have received, accompanied by a box of specimens, which reads as follows:

DEAR MR. GIBSON,--I have sent you to-day what I take to be three coc.o.o.ns. These with three others I picked up from a gravel-walk in Po'keepsie over a year ago. They seemed connected at the ends, but easily broke apart. I kept them, purposing to see what would emerge, but nothing has rewarded my watch, and they seem now to be shrivelling up. Can you give me any information in regard to them? If so, I shall be very grateful to you.

[1] Now "Harper's Round Table."

I had barely read half through the brief description when I guessed the nature of the coc.o.o.ns in question, having received similar letters before, as well as verbal queries, from others who had been puzzled by the non-committal specimens. The fact that they were found "on the gravel-walk," and were loosely "connected at the ends," was in itself strong evidence of their questionable nature, and I felt sure that I should recognize the coc.o.o.ns as old friends. And I did.

Upon opening the box, I found three of them packed in a ma.s.s of cotton, two of them still loosely attached at the ends, the third one somewhat disintegrated. Each was about an inch in length, and half an inch in thickness, somewhat egg or coc.o.o.n shaped. Upon being separated, one end of each was seen to be hollowed out, and had thus previously received the pointed end of its fellow in the "connected"

condition in which they had been found. In color they were a mouse gray precisely, and to the careless observer might have appeared to consist of caterpillar silk, though in reality having a substance more like felt. Yes, they might easily be mistaken for coc.o.o.ns if we simply contented ourselves with looking at them.

Who, by a mere glance, could imagine the materials that the little bird called the vireo employs in building her peculiar nest? The reader will remember how we pulled one of those nests apart, and what strange materials we found woven in its fabric.[2] But they were hardly more surprising than we may discover within this sly coc.o.o.n if we dissect it. Now, to begin with, a true coc.o.o.n is not solid to the core, as this one evidently is as we press it between our fingers, nor can you pinch off a tuft of gray hair from the surface of an ordinary coc.o.o.n when you will. True, there are some coc.o.o.ns into whose silk meshes the caterpillar weaves the hair of its body, but the felt thus formed is only a sh.e.l.l, and is intermeshed with silken webs, and one pinch alone will open up the hollow interior and show us the caterpillar or chrysalis within. Such, for instance, is the little brown winter snuggery of the woolly-bear caterpillar which we all know, and whose p.r.i.c.kly coc.o.o.ns may be found beneath stones and logs in the fields.

[2] See "Sharp Eyes,"

But what do we find in these coc.o.o.ns that we now have before us? Not only is there no vestige of silk to be seen, but there are hairs enough in this single coc.o.o.n to have supplied a hundred caterpillars, while we look in vain for any sign of the spinner within. Indeed, there is no within; pinch after pinch reveals nothing but the same gray felt. We are now a quarter of an inch below the surface, when another pinch brings with it a small ma.s.s of white specks like crumbs intermingled with the hair, and in the hollow thus deepened we observe a s.h.i.+ny white object like ivory, with a minute ball at its tip. It certainly looks like a tiny bone. We impatiently break open the coc.o.o.n, when we see in truth a bone--indeed, a compact ma.s.s of bones from some very small animal, whose ident.i.ty we may guess from the mouse-color of the felt. Here is the femur of a field-mouse--two of them--also a part of the fibula, and a dozen or more other bones.

Breaking asunder the ma.s.s further, we find a few tiny teeth; and as we continue the process in the remaining two specimens, we bring to light parts of the skull, ribs, and vertebrae. A strange "coc.o.o.n" indeed.

A further examination of the remaining specimens disclosed similar ingredients, until the entire ma.s.s presented a collection somewhat like that shown in my ill.u.s.tration.

I well remember my first encounter with the queer specimens, and what mysteries they were, though the "coc.o.o.n" idea had never suggested itself to me, the felted ma.s.s having been found in a disintegrated state.

It was on a winter's day, in a walk on the crusted snow, during my early boyhood. Returning by the brink of a stream, I noticed a little gray ma.s.s of fur on the snow, which on examination disclosed numerous bones of what I took to be field-mice and parts of the anatomy of a mole intermingled with the hair. No vestige of flesh appeared in the ma.s.s, and I fell to wondering what manner of disease is this with which the mouse world is afflicted that should consume the flesh and leave nothing but a disjointed skeleton and a tiny pile of fur. Ah, had I only known then what I discovered a year or two later--the secret of that big hollow in the willow-tree above--my little pile of fur and bones would easily have been explained, for there summer after summer sat the little brown screech-owl, blinking in the sun at her doorway, peeping through the tiny cracks of her closed eyelids at noon, and at midnight commanding a view of the entire surrounding sedgy swamp in her eager quest for the first unfortunate shrew or deer-mouse that should peep its nose out of its nest or venture across the ice in the field of her staring vision.

The new-fallen snow would doubtless show as many telltales of midnight tragedies among the little bead-eyed folk--the tiny trail terminating in a drop of blood, and a suggestive ruffling of the surrounding snow, with its plain witness of the fatal swoop of "owl on m.u.f.fled wing"

from its vantage-ground here in the willow-tree. To-night our little deer-mouse ventured too far from its nest among the tussocks.

To-morrow night all that will be left of its sprightly squeaking ident.i.ty will be a tiny pile of fur and bones disgorged in the form of pellets from the open beak of the owl on the willow-tree.

In regard to these specimen pellets which my correspondent has sent to me for identification, I am not prepared to affirm that they are from the digestive laboratory of the owl. Something in their size suggests that a hawk is equally likely to be responsible for them, all the birds of prey having this same singular habit of ejecting the indigestible portions of animals which they devour. A pet red-tailed hawk which I kept during the past summer littered its pen with pellets of a similar size and consistency to these, varied on one occasion with a number composed entirely of gra.s.s, which explained a singular puzzle of the day previous, when I descried my hawk with its craw largely distended, and wondered what squirrel or chipmonk or snake had been thus caught napping in my absence.

Nettle-leaf Tent-builders

Very few of our readers will need an introduction to the nettle. It is, perhaps, the one plant which may claim the largest number of intimate acquaintances. It was Dr. Culpepper, the old-time herbalist, I believe, who claimed, moreover, that it was one of the easiest of plants to distinguish, in proof of which he affirmed that "it could be found even on the darkest night by simply feeling for it." Even those most ignorant of botany, after having once "sc.r.a.ped acquaintance," as it were, with the nettle, find it to their interest to keep its memory green.

It is partly because it _is_ so well known, and partly because so few people use their eyes a.n.a.lytically, that a certain little mystery of the plant is so well guarded. For almost any bed of nettles may well tempt the young entomologist to tarry, while he forgets the tingling fingers as he fills his collecting-box with welcome specimens.

We are sure to have company if we linger long about our nettles. There is a small brood of b.u.t.terflies which we can always count upon. Here is one of them coming over the meadow. It has a sharp eye for nettles, and is even now on the lookout for them. In a moment more its beautiful black, scarlet-bordered and white-spotted wings are seen fluttering among the leaves, alighting now here, now there, each brief visit leaving a visible witness if we care to look for it. It has now settled upon a leaf within easy reach. Creeping along its edge, it is soon hanging beneath, but only for a second, and is off again on the wing. Let us pluck the leaf. Upon looking beneath it we may see the pretty token of the Red Admiral, a tiny egg which we may well preserve for our microscope.

We shall not wait long before another b.u.t.terfly visitor arrives, smaller than the last, and with its deep orange, black-spotted wings conspicuously jagged at the edges--one of the "angle-wings," which immediately announces his name as he alights with wings folded close above his back, disclosing the silver "comma" in the midst of the dull brown of the nether surface. Many are the tiny tokens which she also leaves behind her as she flutters away in search of a new nettle-clump.

We have been closely observing these two b.u.t.terflies perhaps for half an hour, and during that time our eyes have rested a dozen times upon a condition of things here among the leaves which certainly should have immediately arrested our attention. Almost within touch of our hand, upon one stalk, are three leaves which certainly do not hang like their fellows. One of them has been drawn up at the edges, and fully one-half of its lower portion is gone, while its angle of drooping indicates more than the mere weight of the leaf. "A spider's nest, of course," you remark. As such it has been pa.s.sed a thousand times even by young and enthusiastic entomological students who would have risked their lives for a "cecropia" or a "bull's-eye"

caterpillar, or stung their hands mercilessly as they swept their b.u.t.terfly net among those very stinging leaves. It is interesting to gather a few of these "spider's nests," and examine the cause of their heavy droop, which proves to be a healthy-looking gray caterpillar an inch or more in length, covered with formidable spines, perpetuating as it were the tendency of its fosterplant. Only yesterday he built himself this tent, having abandoned the remnant tent just below, for he eats himself out of house and home every couple of days. About five weeks ago he began his career, his first meal consisting, perhaps, of the iridescent sh.e.l.l of a tiny egg--precisely such a one as our first b.u.t.terfly visitor has just left, for this is the caterpillar of the Atalanta or Red Admiral.

We may find a number of these tents if we look sharp, and even while gathering them may overlook a still more remarkable roof-tree of another caterpillar, which constructs its pavilion on quite a different plan. This, too, might even deceive a "spider," the edges of the leaves being drawn together _beneath_, and the veins partly severed near the stem, giving it quite a steep pitch. Upon looking beneath, we disclose another p.r.i.c.kly tenant somewhat similar to the first, only that he is yellow and black instead of gray, while he is clothed with the same complementary growth of branching spines.

A single nettle-clump of any size will disclose dozens, perhaps hundreds, of these tent-dwellers. Though armed with formidable _chevaux-de-frise_, these species are stingless, and the caterpillars may be safely gathered. The object of my directing attention to them is not simply to disclose them in their haunts, but to recommend their transfer to our collecting-box, looking to the further beautiful surprise--always a surprise--which they have in store for us. Although they quickly desert their tents in captivity, they continue to feed on the fresh leaves provided from day to day, and suffer little in confinement.

The full-grown caterpillars are about an inch and a half in length, and if our specimens average such dimensions we shall not have many days to wait for our surprise. Perhaps to-morrow, as we open the lid of our box, the caterpillars will be seen to have left the leaves, and to be scattered here and there on the lid or walls of their prison in apparent listlessness. Let us observe this individual here beneath the box cover. Its body is bent in a curve, and a careful inspection reveals a carpet of glistening silk, to which it clings. Now the insect regains confidence, and takes up the thread which it dropped a moment ago when the box was opened, its head moving from side to side in a motion suggesting a figure 8, with variations. Gradually, through the lapse of several minutes, this sweep is concentrated to a more central point, which is at length raised into a minute tuft of silk; and if we wait and watch for a few moments longer, we shall see our spinner turn about and clasp this tuft with its hinder pair of feet.

And this same process has been going on in different parts of our box.

Lifting the lid an hour or two later, we find the interior full of the caterpillars dangling by their tails, each with its body forming a loop.

Twenty-four hours after this suspension a singular feat and a beautiful transformation take place, a revelation which, as I have said, even to those already familiar with it, is always new and surprising. Here, indeed, may we observe "the miraculous in the common."

It is as though our box had met with some enchantment beneath the wand of Midas or Iris; for is it not, indeed, a box of jewels that is now disclosed, a treasury of quaint golden ear-drops of a fas.h.i.+oning unlike any to be seen in a show-case, but which might well serve as a rare model for the mimetic art of the jeweller? When we consider the length to which these exquisite artisans will go for their natural originals--the orchids in gems, beetles in jewelled enamel, b.u.t.terflies in brilliants and emeralds and rubies--need we wonder that this one most significant model of nature's own jewelry, apparently designed as a tempting pendant, should have been ignored by a cla.s.s of designers to whom its claims would seem irresistible? But we forget.

The jeweller is not necessarily an entomologist or naturalist. The b.u.t.terfly, the beetle, the flower, every one sees; how few even dream of these glowing chrysalids (aurelias) which hang beneath the nettle leaves or in unseen coverts among the hop or thistle?

I have looked in vain among all the designs in the shops for any hint of the existence of such a thing as the aurelia of Archippus, comma, semicolon, Red Admiral, Hunters, White J.; and, indeed, even if wrought to imitative perfection, how few would recognize any resemblance to aught on the earth or in the waters under the earth!

I will not attempt to describe this living gem of our "comma." There are degrees in its brilliancy, an occasional specimen being almost a ma.s.s of gold. Indeed, we need scarce wonder that the aurelia should have proved so tempting a lure to the ancient alchemists.

Almost any group of nettles will show us our "comma" caterpillar, but one of its favorite haunts is the wood-nettle, a large-leaved, low variety, which is to be found in moist woods and shady river-banks, and will be recognized by the ill.u.s.tration on the preceding page. I have gathered many of these animated tented leaves in a few moments'

search among the plants.

I have said nothing of the wonderful transformation of the caterpillar to its chrysalis, and the astonis.h.i.+ng trick by which the latter gets out of its skin, and again catches the silken loop with its tail.

This feat is well worth a close study; the authorities in the past have all been at sixes and sevens as to what really takes place. Which of our boys or girls can discover the facts as they _are_, and tell us why the chrysalis does not fall out at the last moment?

The Evening Primrose