Chatterbox, 1906 Part 73

[Ill.u.s.tration: HYDRA Fig. 2.]

You will have noticed that the fresh-water hydra had a wonderfully elastic body, so that when frightened, as by a tap on the bottle, it suddenly pulls itself down into a mere speck of jelly (fig. 2). This feat its sea-dwelling cousins cannot perform, since, frail as they are, some support became necessary when they took to the tree-like habit of growth, and this support is found by encasing the whole body and its branches in an outer coat of a h.o.r.n.y, transparent character, with a hole at the top of each branch expanded to form a cup to guard the long arms.

So then, when alarmed, all they can do is to draw down the arms into the cup. In the ill.u.s.tration (fig. 5) you will see a branch of one of these colonies as it appears when highly magnified. Some of the animals you will note are fully expanded, while others have partly withdrawn themselves into their cups, which are here very small, though in some species they are quite large. A little closer study of this magnified portion of a branch will show you, here and there, little bud-like bodies like unopened flower buds, attached by a short stalk. One of these you will notice is more developed, and resembles a tree ('jelly-fish,' in fig. 5). If you could only watch it in the living colony you would find that one fine day it broke off from its stalk, and sailed away--jelly-fish, such as you see in fig. 3.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JELLY-FISH AFTER LEAVING THE COLONY Fig. 3.]

Probably all of you have found the empty sh.e.l.ls of these wonderful animal-trees dozens and dozens of times on the beach, and many of you will find them in your collections of sea-weeds brought home as treasures to remind you of the summer holidays. The so-called sea-fir is all that is left of such a colony: the little tree-like tufts which you doubtless found attached to rocks and stones represent other forms. Of course, some of your sea-weeds are really what they appear to be--that is to say, they are true plants; but those of which I speak now, though they have a superficial resemblance to plants, are really animals. In fig. 1 you will see some of the commoner forms of these strange animals as they appear in life.

These colonies furnish us with an interesting ill.u.s.tration of the division of labour, for, as you see, they are formed of two very distinct kinds of individuals. The most numerous of these, those with the long arms, have to capture and digest the food for the whole community, including the little buds and bell-like individuals, for they are mouthless. Their life of work begins, however, after they blossom into jelly-fish, and they have a very important duty to perform. With the great wide sea for a playground, they wander for a time at will, warmed by the glorious sun, feeding on the delicious meats to be found at the surface, for which their humble sisters at home must stretch their arms in vain. And so they wander, far from the place which gave them birth, growing bigger and stronger, finally fulfilling the task which they were sent out to perform--the production of eggs from which new colonies are to be started. These eggs grow into a little slipper-shaped creature which swims by means of the rapid waving motion of hair-like elastic rods which cover the whole body. At last, tired out, it settles down, grows into an animal resembling its cousins of the fresh water, and then starts branching out to form a colony like that from which it started.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HYDRA COLONY. Fig. 4.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: BRANCH OF HYDRA COLONY HIGHLY MAGNIFIED Fig. 5.]

This device of fixed and stay-at-home workers and wandering egg-layers is of the greatest use to the species, as a little reflection will show.

If the eggs dropped to the ground and hatched all around the parent colony the neighbourhood would soon become like some human cities--overcrowded, and overcrowding means starvation and disease; but by sending off individuals specially charged with the founding of new colonies on new territory, all these troubles are avoided.

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

NOW.

'Now' is the syllable ticking from the clock of Time. 'Now' is the watchword of the wise. 'Now' is on the banner of the prudent. Whenever anything presents itself to us in the shape of work, whether mental or bodily, we should do it with all our might, remembering that 'now' is the only time for us. It is a sorry way to get through the world by putting off till to-morrow, saying, 'Then' I will do it. 'Now' is ours; 'Then' we may never have.

HOW GORDON KEPT SHOP.

When General Gordon first went to the Soudan, he found that the native chiefs knew nothing about money or its use. All the European traders who had visited the country up to that time had paid the chiefs with a handful of beads, or a few pieces of calico, for any work which they had done, and the chiefs prized the beads and calico far more than copper or silver coins.

Now, General Gordon was not quite satisfied to do merely as other people had done. He thought it was time these grown-up children learned to buy and sell with the help of money. But, as the people themselves wanted none of his money, he was puzzled how to teach them the use of it.

At length he hit upon a rather clever plan. He made a number of little piles or lots of beads, wire, and other things which they valued, and which they usually received as the pay for their labours. But, when pay day arrived, he gave to each man a small coin, equal to an English penny in value. When each man had received his pay, General Gordon, playing at keeping shop, offered to exchange one of his piles of beads or wire for each coin. The men soon saw what was wanted, and thus learned the use of money. Then Gordon put before them other things of greater value, and told them how many coins he would take for each. When the men saw what things were to be bought by saving up a few coins, they refused to buy any more beads. 'No,' they said, 'we will keep the money till we get more, and can buy more expensive things.'

BARNACLES AND GEESE.

Probably the readers of _Chatterbox_, when they have been along the sea-sh.o.r.e as the tide was running out, have noticed a spar, or some other fragment of wood, which the waves threw up, dotted over with a number of odd-looking sh.e.l.ls. This cl.u.s.ter was most likely made up of barnacles, of some sort or other--in fact, a family party.

Some people think barnacles resemble crabs more than they do fishes; they go through changes, and while young possess no sh.e.l.ls. After they have grown to be of some size, they leave the parent barnacles, and swim off, to start colonies elsewhere. The larva has twelve legs or arms, large compound eyes, and suckers enabling it to cling firmly. When of full growth, the barnacle's grip is so strong that it is very difficult to pull it from its hold. Some of the South American barnacles are sought after as a delicacy, having the flavour of a nice crab. One kind of barnacle is shaped rather like an acorn.

The soft part of the common species of barnacle, which occurs along our coast, rather resembles a small bird, and hence arose a curious fancy or fable, some centuries ago. It was believed by many persons whose common sense might have taught them better, that the barnacle was transformed into a bird by a sort of miracle, and the particulars were recorded exactly. People said they had seen it themselves, and others declared they had touched little birds which were found inside sh.e.l.ls. Some described larger ones, but, whether large or small, they called them all barnacle geese, probably because they were plump, and tempting to eat, if they could be caught at the proper time.

One of the strangest things in this old story about sh.e.l.ls producing geese was, that several writers described the sh.e.l.ls as growing upon the branches of live trees near water. This would be convenient for the newly hatched geese, because when they were hatched, they could drop into the water beneath, and swim about. A picture exists, drawn by an old artist, showing the birds hanging by their beaks, just ready to fall, the wings small and not opened out. Of course, barnacles and similar creatures are not found on trees away from the ocean.

Gerard, who wrote a famous book on plants, called the _Herbal_, was a good observer, and yet he believed in the barnacle geese. People living on the coast of Lancashire told him all about them. Upon old and decayed timbers, so he writes, are found sh.e.l.ls like mussels, but whitish and sharp-pointed; the inside of them is soft, like silk lace, but by degrees this takes the form of a bird, which when grown is larger than a duck, and smaller than a goose. 'Those who have seen such birds,' he adds, 'tell me they are black and white, spotted as magpies are, with a black bill and legs.' According to others, the barnacle geese could both run and fly. Whatever were the birds they saw, or fancied they saw, it is certain they were not hatched in the way described.

COUNTING.

Do you remember learning to count? I dare say not. But I am pretty sure you learnt to count on your fingers, or perhaps you were given bright counters or sh.e.l.ls to use instead.

Savages learn to count in just the same ways; most of them use their fingers, and so they learn to count by tens as we do, and some of them give their numbers very funny names. The Indians on the Orinoco call five 'one hand' and ten 'two hands.' But they use their feet as well and call fifteen 'whole foot,' 'sixteen,' 'one to the other foot,' and twenty 'one man.' This plan becomes very complicated with higher figures, for twenty-one is 'one to the hand of the next man.'

The African savages count in much the same way. The Zulu for six, is 'tatisitupa,' which means 'taking the thumb,' that is, the man who is counting has used the five fingers of one hand, and is beginning to use the second hand, starting at the thumb.

Some races use the joints of the finger instead of the fingers themselves, and they are very badly off, for they can only count up to three.

Some Australian tribes count thus--one, two, two-one, two-two, and can go no further. Other races have only three words, 'one,' 'two,' 'a great many.'

But savages sometimes use other things for counting than fingers or joints. Our own word 'calculate' means 'working with pebbles.' One African tribe calls forty 'oG.o.dze,' which means 'string,' because they use cowrie-sh.e.l.ls strung together by forties for counting. Their name for hundred is 'yha,' which means 'heap'--that is, a heap of cowries.

'BILLIKINS.'

Billikins' father was a soldier, and Billikins' father had to go to war.

Billikins wondered why Mother looked so worn and sad, and why Daddy hugged and kissed him very much, one night, as he was going to bed; and why Father's face felt wet. The next morning, when he came to breakfast, no Father was there--only Mother, with tear-swollen eyes, who tried to smile at Billikins, and could not. He felt in his tender little heart that something was wrong, and so he just climbed on Mother's lap, and put both his arms round her neck. Mother pressed him tightly to her heart.

'Oh, little Billikins!' she said. 'Father's little Billikins!'

'Where's Father?' asked Billikins.

Mother began to cry bitterly. 'Father has gone away for a long, long time,' she said, as soon as she could speak.

'Has he gone to the war?' asked Billikins, in an awed voice.

'Yes, dear, to the war. It is very wrong of me to be so silly. I'm a soldier's wife, and I ought not to grudge my husband to his country. And remember, Billikins, _you_ are a soldier's son--always remember that.

You must never run away from a danger; you must face it. A soldier's son must be a brave man.'

'I shall not forget, Mother,' said Billikins.

Mother set him gently on the ground, dried her eyes, and began to bustle about.