CALIFORNIA

NOTES ON THE BIRDS OF THE NORTH-WEST. JOHN MACOUN, M.A., F.L.S, Official Naturalist and Explorer (Government of Canada), late Professor of Botany, Albert University, Belleville. The Thrushes are represented by seven species, which have their homes either in the thick forest or in the thickets bordering on the prairie. The Cat-bird, Robin, and Hermit Thrush are very common, and are found everywhere. The Shore Lark and Lapland Longspur are very common on the prairies in September and October, and are frequently taken for Snow Buntings. While passing along the trail, the traveller will see these birds running before him in the ruts; and when he approaches too near they rise up and fly some distance ahead, keeping this up for miles.

While going up or down a river, the Bank and Cliff Swallows are often seen in myriads circling around. The former, where the bank is alluvium, often perforate it to the depth of two or three feet; while the latter will cover the hard face of a clay cliff with thousands of nests, and as you glide past, from every nest one or more heads are protruded to gaze on the passing stranger. The Red-eyed Vireo fills the forest with its song, and were it not carefully watched would be taken for a variety of birds, as it has quite a variety of notes in its song.

The Finches are well represented by both forest and prairie species. Many of these birds are very beautiful, especially the Evening and Rose-breasted Grossbeaks.

These birds live in the thick forests, and the song of the latter is often heard answering that of the Baltimore Oriole, which breeds in the same localities. On the plains near Old Wives' Lakes the White-winged Blackbird and the Missouri Skylark are common, and will at once attract the attention the former by its uncommon plumage, and the latter by its peculiar flight, which might correctly be termed undulating.

Of all the birds on the prairie none will attract more attention than the Cow-birds. As they build no nests, they are great travellers, often keeping with a train of carts crossing the trackless plains for weeks together. Both in 1879 and 1880, while travelling without a trail, these birds have kept with us for weeks. While on the march they would fly alongside the carts and light in the grass, and immediately pounce on any grasshopper which lit near them. In July, when Bull-dogs (Gadflies) were troublesome, these birds would sit on the horses' backs and pick them off. Manitoba and the Great North-West (1882).

ADMORLIA)

And it replied, "Whither has Fancy led

The plumy thoughts that circle through thy brain Like birds about some mountain's lofty head,

Singing a sweet refrain?

There, without bound, I've been, and must return

THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE CRAYFISH.

THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY, F.R.S., Professor of Natural History in the Royal School of Mines, London, Inspector of Fisheries, etc. (b. 1825).

Restricting our attention to the phenomena which have now been described, and to a short period in the life of the crayfish, the body of the animal may be regarded as a factory, provided with various pieces of machinery, by means of which certain nitrogenous and other matters are extracted from the animal and vegetable substances which serve for food, are oxidated, and are then delivered out of the factory in the shape of carbonic acid gas, guanite, and probably some other products. with which we are at present unacquainted. And there is no doubt that if the total amount of products given out could be accurately weighed against the total amount of materials taken in, the weight of the two would be found to be identical. To put the matter in its most general shape, the body of the crayfish is a sort of focus to which certain material particles converge, in which they move for a time, and from which they are afterwards expelled in new combinations. The parallel between a whirlpool in a stream and a living being, which has often been drawn, is as just as it is striking. The whirlpool is permanent, but the particles of water which constitute it are incessantly changing. Those which enter it on the one side are whirled around and temporarily constitute a part of its individuality, and as they leave it on the other side their places are made good by new-comers.

Those who have seen the wonderful whirlpool three miles below the Falls of Niagara will not have forgotten the heapedup wave which tumbles and tosses, a very embodiment of restless energy, where the swift stream, hurrying from the falls, is compelled to make a sudden turn towards Lake Ontario. However changeful in the contour of its crest, this wave has been visible, approximately in the same place, and with the same general form, for centuries past. Seen from a mile off, it would appear to be a stationary hillock of water. Viewed closely, it is a typical expression of the conflicting impulses generated by a swift rush of material particles.

Now, with all our appliances, we cannot get within a good many miles, so to speak, of the crayfish. If we could, we should see that it was nothing but the constant form of a similar

turmoil of material molecules, which are constantly flowing into the animal on the one side, and streaming out of the other.

The chemical changes which take place in the body of the crayfish are doubtless, like other chemical changes, accompanied by the evolution of heat. But the amount of heat thus generated is so small, and, in consequence of the conditions under which the crayfish lives, it is so easily carried away, that it is practically insensible. The crayfish has approximately the temperature of the surrounding medium, and it is therefore reckoned among the cold-blooded animals.

If our investigation of the results of the process of alimenta tion in a well-fed crayfish were extended over a longer time— say a year or two-we should find that the products given out were no longer equal to the materials taken in, and the balance would be found in the increase in the animal's weight. If we inquired how the balance was distributed, we should find it partly in store, chiefly in the shape of fat, while in part it had been spent in increasing the plant and in enlarging the factory; that is to say, it will have supplied the material for the animal's growth. And this is one of the most remarkable respects in which the living factory differs from those which we construct. It not only enlarges itself, but, as we have seen, it is capable of executing its own repairs to a very considerable

extent.

If the hand is brought near a vigorous crayfish, free to move in a large vessel of water, it will generally give a vigorous flap with its tail, and dart backwards out of reach; but if a piece of meat is gently lowered into the vessel, the crayfish will sooner or later approach and devour it.

If we ask why the crayfish behaves in this fashion, every one has an answer ready. In the first case, it is said that the animal is aware of danger, and therefore hastens away; in the second, that it knows that meat is good to eat, and therefore walks towards it and makes a meal. And nothing can seem to be simpler or more satisfactory than these replies, until we attempt to conceive clearly what they mean; and then the explanation, however simple it may be admitted to be, hardly retains its satisfactory character.

For example, when we say that the crayfish is " aware of danger," or "knows that meat is good to eat," what do we mean by being aware, and knowing? Certainly it cannot be meant that the crayfish says to himself, as we do, "This is dangerous,"

"That is nice;" for the crayfish, being devoid of language, has nothing to say either to himself or any one else. And if the crayfish has not language enough to construct a proposition, it is obviously out of the question that his actions should be guided by a logical reasoning process, such as that by which a man would justify similar actions. The crayfish assuredly does not first frame the syllogism, "Dangerous things are to be avoided that hand is dangerous; therefore it is to be avoided," and then act upon the conclusion thus logically drawn.

But it may be said that children, before they acquire the use of language, and we ourselves, long after we are familiar with conscious reasoning, perform a great variety of perfectly rational acts unconsciously. A child grasps at a sweetmeat, or cowers before a threatening gesture, before it can speak; and any one of us would start back from a chasm opening at our feet, or stoop to pick up a jewel from the ground, without thinking about it. And, no doubt, if the crayfish has any mind at all, his mental operations must more or less resemble those which the human mind performs without giving them a spoken or an unspoken verbal embodiment.

If we analyze these, we shall find that in many cases distinctly felt sensations are followed by a distinct desire to perform some act, which act is accordingly performed; while in other cases the act follows the sensation without one being aware of any other mental process; and in yet others there is no consciousness even of the sensation. As I wrote these last words, for example, I had not the slightest consciousness of any sensation of holding or guiding the pen, although my fingers were causing that instrument to perform exceedingly complicated movements. Moreover, experiments upon animals have proved that consciousness is wholly unnecessary to the carrying out of many of those combined movements by which the body is adjusted to varying external conditions.

Under these circumstances it is really quite an open question whether a crayfish has a mind or not. Moreover, the problem is an absolutely insoluble one, inasmuch as nothing short of being a crayfish would give us positive assurance that such an animal possesses consciousness. And, finally, supposing the crayfish has a mind, that fact does not explain its acts, but only shows that, in the course of their accomplishment, they are accompanied by phenomena similar to those of which we are aware in ourselves under like circumstances.