statement was probably absolutely without foundation; but anyhow it made a great impression on our childish mind, and we were never tired of hearing its author romance on the subject. According to him, some former occupant of the rectory had placed upon the pond a gigantic and altogether disproportionate model of a ship, which, after being there for many years, had gradually rotted away and sunk in the deepest part. With what profound interest, not unmingled with awe, we used to lie on the bank of the pond in hot weather, and peer down into its mysterious depths, in the fond hope of spying out some remains of the ancient wreck! And what was our excitement when one day, after a storm, there appeared on the surface a rotten and decaying piece of wood with a hole in it, which might by a strong effort of imagination have passed for some fragment of the sunken craft! set round with shells or stucco-work, and | by the longest pole about the place. This just spacious enough to accommodate a frog or two and some gold fish; but there it is, however, a standing triumph of engi. neering skill on the part of its owner, who will smoke his pipe on its bank with an additional relish as he thinks of his nextdoor neighbor over the garden wall, who, either from want of enterprise, or owing to natural difficulties, has not been equally fortunate. Such bumble attempts at pondmaking are, of course, not likely to be at tended by great results; and we can hardly expect to find anything of interest or romance lingering about the newly puddled, and too obviously artificial banks of the "ornamental water" of a suburban villa. At the same time, it is not the size, but the character of the pond that gives it a special interest. It is difficult to say exactly wherein this should consist; but it may be stated as a general axiom that, unless there is something rather out of the common about the pond, something that will provide material for conversation and speculation, this interest will certainly be wanting. There can be nothing particularly interesting, for instance, about a shallow roadside pond, however large, through which carts can be driven at any time, and which is more than half dry in summer. Neither is the mind led to dwell upon any ordinary piece of water of uniform depth unless, indeed, this should happen to be something very much out of the common - upon such matter-of-fact constructions as mill-dams, dew-ponds, or any water arrangement, in fact, about which there can be no concealment. But once let there be an element of mystery or uncertainty about the pond, and it immediately assumes a different character. It may be of unknown and fabulous depth, not unfrequently the case where it has originally been a quarry-hole or gravel-pit; there may be some icy-cold spring in its calm, unfathomable recesses that keeps it at the same level even during the hottest weather; or, if occasionally liable to shrink within its normal limits during the summer months, some strange rock or unknown object may be discerned, when the water is unusually clear, which at other times remains hidden. We recollect such a pond in the days of our childhood at the bottom of an old rectory garden in Suffolk. It was an oblong, rectangular piece of water about fifty yards long, and there was nothing remarkable about it except its varying depth. At one end it was shallow enough, but at the other it was unfathomable, according to the old gardener, In a pond of this description, too, there will not improbably be some remarkable fish; either some historical carp of enor mous size, which may be seen occasionally in very hot weather basking near the surface of the water, but which no amount of skill on the part of the angler can succeed in enticing with rod and line; or perhaps a fabulous pike that has been repeatedly hooked, but has invariably snapped the strongest tackle as if it were thread, displaying on such occasions a side "as big as a pig," as the rustics will be certain to describe it, and an array of teeth to which the jaws of an alligator would be as nothing. And, even if there be nothing remarkable about the physical features or finny denizens of our ideal pond, there is pretty certain to be some local tradition attaching to it which will render it a centre of interest, if not of romance or supersti. tion. If, while tolerably secluded, it is not actually enclosed in private grounds, it will be a natural trysting-place for the lovers of the neighborhood; and it is hardly possible that there should not be some tradition of a murdered sweetheart or rival whose spirit frequents the place where its body was summarily disposed of. An element of antiquity, moreover, about a pond will of course impart to it an additional interest. Most of us can call to mind some old grange or manor-house where, at the bottom of an old-fashioned garden, perhaps, will be found a still, mirror-like pool, thickly carpeted with waterlilies, or reflecting in its glassy surface a thousand shadows and tints from the surrounding foliage. It may be an old fish pond, constructed centuries ago, when fresh-water fish were an important item in the daily supplies of a household, and not improbably an adjunct to some abbey or monastery, of which it is the last remaining vestige; or it may have been merely part of some old " pleasance," laid out, after the fashion of the time, with formal alleys and quaintly clipped yew or box edges, with here and there, in a corner, a Diana, Mercury, or other mythological statue, mellowed by time into a harmonious combination with all around. Not improbably, too, there may be a mossgrown and weather-stained sundial somewhere at hand, which, could it speak of all it has seen during the many hours that the shadow of its index has recorded, might have a curious tale to tell. Altogether a pleasant nook in which to dream away a summer afternoon or moralize over an autumn sunset. Such a pond, too, is bound to have some story or association connected with it. But, in order to comprehend any of the elements of interest or romance to which we have referred, it is absolutely necessary that there should be natural obstacles to the draining-off, or even the dragging, of the water. A pond of which every hole and corner can be periodically laid bare to the vulgar gaze, or where the fish can be accounted for whenever desired by means of a drag-net, cannot possibly keep up a character for mystery or romance. Our ideal pond must be shrouded in a kind of glamor, and its associations must be undisturbed by anything commonplace or material. Once, however, let these conditions be fulfilled, and the pond will become a source of unceasing interest. A river has, of course, special attractions of its own. There is a life and a poetry about it that no standing water can aspire to; and few persons would on first thoughts admit the possibility of a pond being favorably compared with a running stream. But there is, after all, something essentially fleeting and transitory about the very nature of a river; and it will generally be found that any story or legend attaching to it is in connection with some deep bend or reach where the character of a pond has been most nearly approached. A river, in fact, is always moving, and there is nothing permanent about it. But the waters of our pond are always with us; and what ever there may be of interest about it becomes a part of our daily life. Every one is now familiar with the celebrated pond in " Happy Thoughts," on the domain of Boodels (of Boodels), the dragging of which was always on the point of coming off, but somehow never did, and which has reappeared in a subsequent series as furnishing a staple subject of conversation to the visitors at Boodels, to say nothing of being the supposed abode of a sort of kraken, or sea-serpent, in the shape of a monstrous eel. This, in fact, just hits off the ideal of a good, useful, domestic pond-something that will always furnish an object for a stroll, a topic for conversation, and a fund of mild interest to the owner and his friends. Such a pond is in itself a valuable possession, and, if made the most of, ought to add materially to the attractions of a house or property. From Nature. THE COLORS OF ARCTIC ANIMALS. THE white color of Arctic mammals and birds has hitherto been generally ascribed by evolutionists to protective resemblance, the adaptation to a snowcovered country being attributed to the preservation of individuals which by assimilating to their environment in color, either escaped detection by their foes, or, on the other hand, were by this means enabled to secure their prey more advantageously. Although a certain weight may, in the case of some species, be fairly given to these organic factors, it always appeared to me that this explanation was not in itself sufficient, in face of the consideration that many of the species so colored could hardly be said to require such protection on account of persecution, or to derive any obvious advantage therefrom for predatory purposes. A more satisfactory explanation seemed to be that the mode of coloration in question had, at any rate in the first instance, been brought about by natural selection through physi cal rather than through organic agencies. It is well known that white, as the worst absorber, is also the worst radiator of all forms of radiant energy, so that warmblooded creatures thus clad would be better enabled to withstand the severity of an Arctic climate-the loss of heat by radiation might, in fact, be expected to be less rapid than if the hairs or feathers were of a darker color.* According to a paper recently published by Lord Walsingham,† it seems that this view was en " tertained as far back as 1846 by Craven, the only addition to the theory required by modern evolution being that we must regard the white covering as having been acquired by the ordinary Darwinian process of the survival of the fittest, ie., by the climatic selection of those individuals best fitted to withstand the extremely low temperatures of their habitat. the present view the melanic tendency of northern Lepidoptera must be ascribed to the natural selection of the darker forms owing to the advantage which these would possess in being able to absorb more of the solar radiation than their lighter congeners. The same action must be regarded as here bringing about opposite effects in the case of warm-blooded aniIt is perfectly familiar to zoologists that mals the loss of heat by radiation is remost animals occasionally give rise to tarded by the white covering, whilst in white varieties, so that the basic varia- insects, which develop but little heat by tions necessary for the establishment of respiration, it is of the utmost importance the required modification in the color of to utilize as much as possible of the solar the hair and feathers would not have been energy. This will be seen to be all the wanting during the gradual approach of more necessary when it is considered that, the glacial epoch. It may be conjectured under Arctic conditions, the solar rays whether white may not have been the have but little power, and that the pairing prevailing color among all warm-blooded of the insects has to be effected with great animals during this period, with the ex- rapidity. In order to test these views exception, perhaps, of those species in which perimentally, the author exposed numer the severity of the climate may have been ous species of Lepidoptera of various colmet by an equally effective thickening of ors to the sun's rays on a surface of snow, the fur. Certain species which, like the and observed the rate at which the instoat and ptarmigan, become white during sects sank beneath the surface. As might winter, may, from this point of view, be have been anticipated, the darker insects, regarded as reverting seasonally to the like Tanagra charophyllata, sank more mode of coloration which in their ances-rapidly than white moths like Acidalia tors was normal during the glacial epoch, immutata, which made but little impresthe reversion being in these cases brought sion on the snow. about by the same influences which formerly fixed white as the most advantageous form of covering. In accordance with this view, it is sometimes asserted that the stoat does not commonly turn white during winter in the south of England, excepting in very severe seasons.† Further observations on this point are much needed. In striking contrast to the white covering of Arctic and Alpine mammals and birds, it has been found that there is a quite opposite tendency for the insects to become darker and more suffused, this melanism being especially noticeable among many of the Lepidoptera: Although numerous speculations as to the cause of this phenomenon have from time to time been advanced, it is in the paper by Lord Walsingham above referred to that what appears to be a true cause has for the first time been suggested. The author has, in fact, most ingeniously extended the very argument which had been adduced to account for the white color of the mammals and birds to explain the quite opposite melanism of the insects. According to The questions raised by these suggestions and observations certainly appear to be well worthy of consideration when discussing the subject of animal coloration. Thus the explanation of the melanism of Arctic insects now advanced may perhaps, when more fully elaborated, throw further light upon the theory of seasonal dimorphism first proposed by Weismann.* If, in accordance with the views of this author, we regard the present winter forms of these seasonally dimorphic Lepidoptera as the ancestral glacial types, it becomes clear why in such white species as Pieris napi, the parent glacial form Bryonia should be the darker. In the case of Araschnia levana the theory does not at first sight apply, inasmuch as the winter form is lighter than the summer generation (Prorsa); here, however, both forms are colored, and there would be but little difference in their relative heat-absorbing powers. The same remark may apply in the case of our own seasonally dimorphic species of Selenia and Ephyra. *I may take the present opportunity of pointing out to those who possess the English edition of the "Studies in the Theory of Descent" that an error inadverPresidential Address to the Yorkshire Naturalists' tently occurs in the numbering of the figures in Plate I. Union, Doncaster, March 3, 1885. Figs. 2, 3, 4, and 5 should have been numbered respectively 3, 5, 2, and 4. I am indebted to Mr. E. B. p. 67. Recreations in Shooting, p. 101. R. M. Christy in Trans. Essex Field Club, vol. i. Poulton for kindly calling my attention to this transpo sition. For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents. IN A THEATRE. Capua, 72 B.C. And none, methinks, did ever show more fair In eastern gardens, or home pastures where Thrush's soft trill and linnet's silvery note WE were friends and comrades loyal, though I Down golden alleys of warm sunlight float was of alien race, And he a free-born Samnite that followed the man from Thrace, And there in the mid-arena, he and I stood face to face. I was a branded swordsman, and he was supple and strong. They saved us alive from the battle, to do us this cruellest wrong, That each should slay the other there before the staring throng. Faces-faces-and faces! how it made my brain to spin! Beautiful faces of women, and tiger-souls therein ! And merry voices of girls that laughed, debating of who should win. Over us, burning and cloudless, dazzled the blue sky's dome; Far away to the eastward the white snow-peaks of his home; And in front the prefect, purple-clad, in the deadly might of Rome. And so, in the mid-arena, we stood there face to face, From orchard choirs, hung o'er with ruddy For thee the very wolves shall play the fearless lambs among; For thee the very trees shall shed their leaves so fresh and strong; And the ploughman shall adore thee with rus- COME, let us go into the lane, love mine, Athenæum. |