132 
THE GUIDE TO NATURE 
magnificent walnut tree that stood in 
her father’s yard and, after the greet- 
ings were over, he looked about for 
the walnut. Not seeing it, he asked 
for its whereabouts. 
“There it is,” said the young lady, 
pointing to a large tree near the house. 
With a look of superiority he said, 
“That isn’t a walnut. It’s a hickory.” 
We blue-blooded (and cold-blooded) 
New Englanders dislike to acknowl- 
edge that any other section of the coun- 
try is in the slightest degree superior 
to us, but in this matter we must re- 
linquish the front seat to the rest of 
our domain, where the hickories are 
called by their correct names. 
The tupelo tree, known also as pep- 
peridge and sour gum in some sections, 
is called hornbeam in some parts of 
New England, while the true hornbeam 
is given the name of blue beech. 
Whether this error is confined to our 
northeast group of states I cannot say. 
It may be that we Yankees are not 
the only offenders. 
Sililoquy Suggestions. 
BY THEODORE H. COOPER, BATAVIA, N. Y. 
I wish that I could find some one 
here who could understand the aes- 
thetic values of such common things as 
the grass under our feet. Last summer 
I used to lie under the pear trees at the 
back of my house for no other purpose 
than to watch the insects busy about 
their affairs on the ground. I came 
near visiting a strange land then, a 
world totally unknown and unsus- 
pected to most persons. How unfor- 
tunate ! If a more general interest in 
natural things were developed there 
would be fewer economic and political 
disturbances. 
^ sjc 
On my way home one day this fall I 
was surprised to see a large shimmer- 
ing patch of green on a plowed field in 
the distance. Upon investigation, it 
proved to be made by large green flies 
so numerous as to cover the ground 
like a mat over the space of about half 
an acre. When disturbed they rose in 
a cloud, buzzing alarmingly. 
>Jc tfc ;}; s}c 
When about twelve years old I used 
to spend considerable time in fishing 
for rock bass and sunfish along the 
rocky shores of Indian River in the 
northern part of this state. I some- 
times would put my head beneath the 
water to look under the shelving rocks 
where I saw the “rockys” floating mo- 
tionless, and often marveled at the 
sight. I used to wonder if water was 
not solid air! This experience has just 
been recalled by reading those lines of 
Whitman’s : 
“And the fish suspending themselves so 
curiously below there, 
And the beautiful curious liquid.” 
¥ ^ 
While with Mr. Mathes on a fossil 
hunting trip this summer I saw grooves 
in the surface of a rock showing where 
a glacier had left its footprint, in the 
sand of time, as it were. 
How much has happened since that 
record was written, and yet how little 
has been recorded ! 
^ >jc 
Those who like to speculate as to 
what the people on Mars look like will 
be interested to know that I have, by 
the aid of the glass, seen a most re- 
markable creature. A hideous, six- 
legged monster, with jaws crossing 
each other like a pair of shears or grass 
sickles. 
Its eyes projected from the sides of 
its head, and its body was covered with 
a wonderful suit of armor. I was 
frightened at its appearance. I have 
never heard of even a Dinosaur that 
is more repulsive in aspect, and this 
creature itself I have not seen in any 
book of natural history, although I 
have heard that it belongs to a fero- 
cious class of insects called Cicin- 
delidae. 
j{e >{c 
On both sides of Indian River (New 
York) there are high sandstone ledges 
that in many places have long since 
fallen and weathered back so that there 
is now a strip of land of considerable 
width between the shore and foot of 
the bluff. At other places the rocks 
rise perpendicularly out of the water. 
Small underground streams sometimes 
find an outlet on the face of these cliffs, 
and on especially cold days, when 
everything else is frozen, these streams 
continue to flow. The vapor rising from 
them can be seen in the cold air like 
that from a hot spring. 
People who only go out walking in 
fine weather miss much ; the best times 
to walk, in my opinion, are in the snow, 
the wet, and the storm. — H. Rider Hag- 
gard in “A Farmer’s Year.” 
