lantiom lotcB on Matural li0tori). 



Vol. II. PROVIDENCE, SEPTEMBER 1, 1885. - 



Entered at the Providence Post-Offiee as Second-Class Matter. 



No. 9. 



^aiibom !f obs on !f alural '^hk^. 



A Monthly Devoted to the Distribution of Use- 

 ful Knowledge Concerning the Various De- 

 partments OF Zoology, Mineralogy, and 

 UoTANY. 50 Cents a Year. 

 Address all communications to 



SOUTHWICK & JENCKS, 

 258 Westminster St., Providence, R. I., U. S. A. 



Lines 



BEAD AT THE FIELD MEETING OF THE PROVIDENCE 



FRANKLIN SOCIETY, AT STIRLING, CONN., JUNE 



ft, 1885, BY PROF. W. WHITMAN BAILEY, OF 



BROWN UNIVERSITY. 



Pray who are all these " ists " and " ites " ? 



What mean these unaccustomed sights ? 



Who come with hammers and with boxes 



To thus disturb the dens of foxes ? 



What cause for this uncouth attire, 



Adopted both by dame and squire ? 



Are these State Farmers on a spree ? 



Or is this some society ? 



What do they here across the line, 



Where wooden nutmegs grow from pine? 



Methinks the average rustic may 



Address himself in some such way, 



And call us, of the desks and schools, 



Perhaps, who knows ? a set of fools. 



To go rampaging o'er the stones, 



At mortal risk to flesh and bones. 



Just to " corral " some snake or lizard. 



Or pop a blue jay through the gizzard. 



Tliere are more things in heaven and earth, 



Horatio, than are given birth; 



And 'tis by these that savants learn. 



Who fossiliferous bowlders turn, 



Or " yank the yarbs " up by the stem, 



And chip long Latin names on them. 



'Tis but a little that we know, 



For all our most prodigious show. 



Yet there are those, you know them well. 



Assembled here, who from a shell 



Or stone of some historic beach, 



A sermon eloquent can preach ; 



Can, from a fern, produce the life 



That once upon the earth was rife; 



Or, from some meteoric dust 



Create our planetary crust. 



There are those, too, who'd stir your marrow 



With tales suggested by an arrow, 



A trifling bit of flint or glass 



Wliich we more careless ones would pass. 



If I interpret signs aright, 



Our Chairman may, or surely might. 



From his own note-book read a page 



Of many a forest monarch's age; 



For all of us, of course, agree, 



He's most at home when " up a tree." 



There is another of our band 



Whom I could never understand. 



Who calls him old ? Just let him try 



To walk him of¥ his legs; not I. 

 Who knows, as he does, all the nooks ? 

 The forest glens, the bubbling brooks? 

 The well where hangs the shiniest dipper? 

 The spot where blooms the lady slipper ? 

 Where first you'll find the Epijiiba 

 Or liverworts, each vernal year ? 

 Where the shy orchis' spike is seen ? 

 And where the ferns are earliest green ? 

 Why ! put him in the wood alone. 

 He'd find his way by lichened stone. 

 Or some mysterious sign, that we 

 Less favored mortals cannot see. 

 His voice is calm ; his words are few 

 And simple, but we heed them too; 

 For ripe experience tells him then. 

 Just what to say, and where, and when. 

 But pardon me 1 I'm not to toast 

 Each member here; but two at most. 

 My jingling rhymes must now give way, 

 Let's hear what others have to say ; 

 Let each one open up his box 

 And show his share of plant or rocks. 

 Or if his treasure's in his head, 

 We'll hear his learned talk instead. 

 Forgive the doggerel I have read. 



A Rhode Island Clambake. 



History of the Clam from the Mud 

 TO THE Table. 



A THOUSAND people — men, women, and 

 children, old and young, rich and poor, of 

 all sorts and conditions, seated in rows on 

 stools at long, uncovered, white-painted 

 deal tables, and engaged in the discussion 

 of a clam dinner, is a sight without a par- 

 allel under the sun, is impossible to pic- 

 ture or describe, and must be participated 

 in in actu to have any small realization of 

 what it may be like. 



The name of the man who first discovered 

 that a Rhode Island clam was a delicacy is 

 lost in oblivion. Let it remain so; the 

 honor would be too great for any one name 

 to support. But the clambake on the shores 

 of Narragansett probably dates further back 

 than the Williams' family cemetery. Old 

 people yet living remember the days before 

 excursion steamers, rival "resorts," and 

 clambake clubs, when a day's trip "to the 

 shore" was the proper thing, and the bake 

 both the picnic meal and its main attraction. 

 Clams are baked, to-day, too, as they were 

 years ago, and no one wants them different. 



