lamina of mischief below. On turning the leaf over, round orange-coloured spots will be observed scattered over the leaf, and in some cases affecting the petiole. The central peidia are abortive. Most of these points can easily be distinguished with the naked eye.

Dr. Cooke's description is as follows: Ecidium ari, Ber1.; wake-robin cluster cups; spots round, confuent; peridia circinative, not crowded, central ones abortive.

The whole plant seems to exist very comfortably even when severely affected with this fungus. Many of the unhealthy plants of arum I have examined this season have been entirely free from the Ecidium, though in company with numbers affected. plants in this part of the country are only locally affected, one locality only furnishing specimens.

The

It is now time, I think, to pass on to the contemplation of that interesting and curious structure, the spadix. The spadix of the arum, commonly known as "the flower," is well calculated to puzzle the novice at botanical description. The spadix is enclosed in a green spathe, considerably longer than the spadix. This spathe, on opening, is sometimes found to be spotted in the same manner as the leaves, only the colour is brighter, and the spots have the appearance of being raised above the surrounding tissue. It does not follow that the plants whose leaves are spotted have their spathes spotted also. The spadix terminates in a naked cylindric column contracted below the middle. The colour of the column is dull purple, or sometimes yellow; rarely white. The shades of purple vary somewhat, but it is not common to find the yellow and white varieties, though I have done so several times this season.

The column has a very velvety appearance and is beautifully smooth to the touch. On examination it will be found to be covered externally with minute papillæ, secreting colouring matter (Fig. 61). These are very minute, and the best way to view them is to take a very thin section of the column and view with aor. The column is of cellular structure with every cell so closely packed with starch grains that, as in the corm, it is very difficult to discern the tissue of which it is composed, except in the centre through which run cells with numerous air cavities; raphides can also be seen. I have noticed this year a curious disease of the column which may possibly be con.mon enough, only it has never before come under my notice. In numbers of cases on the spathe opening, I have discovered the terminative column of the spadix covered with a mould. In some instances the column presented a miserable shrivelled appearance, while in other cases perfect size was gained. In very few cases did the diseased column affect the organs of reproduction. Many of the plants noted by me as so affected are now in fruit. The column showed very plain signs of disease throughout its structure. If picked and brought home the spadix so diseased

gradually reached a gelatinous consistency, and emitted a most offensive odour. It would be interesting to have the work of some authority, on the subject of this mould. Unfortunately, the time is so short between the opening of the spathe and the fall of the column that almost hourly attention would have to be given to the matter.

Leaving the column and descending the spadix, we come first of all to a ring of organs which in reality are aborted stamens or staminodes; next to these are a crowd of sessile anthers. The pollen possesses no special feature in markings or shape. Below the anthers are a ring of rudimentary ovaries, and lastly a crowd of naked sessile ovaries. Fig. 62 shows the

spadix with the spathe removed, with the various organs I have mentioned. The fruit of A. maculatum is a berry, a large quantity being clustered together, bursting the base of the spathe, which is persistent. When ripe the berry becomes red, and should be most carefully avoided by all persons having a tendency to taste luscious-looking berries, or the result of the repast may be alarming, if not serious. Should a child be unfortunate enough to eat any of these berries, an emetic should be given, and the mouth should be carefully cleansed from all particles of berries remaining there.

There is one curious property connected with this plant, which it would be very negligent not to mention. I mean the power of evolving heat possessed by the spadix on its first opening. I had hoped to give a

table of my own experiments on this subject; but though I tried time after time to take a reading, I regret to say I failed. Either I was on the spot too early or too late, and I have really nothing, for this season, at any rate, of a reliable nature to record on my own account. I must content myself, therefore, by giving a quotation on the subject from the late Professor Balfour's Class Book of Botany, p. 522. After remarking on the evolution of heat during flowering, and the fact that the natural order Aroideæ present the most marked instances of this evolution, the Professor says, "Deubrocket's examination of the spadix of Arum maculatum gives the following results:

From these observations, it appears that the maximum of temperature in the spadix occurred at 5.30 P.M., one hour and a half after the complete opening of the spathe, and that the heat was 18.7° above that of the surrounding air." The spadix emits a curious odour, resembling that of the thyrse of the horse chestnut.

As with the corm so with the fruit, starch and raphides are found in every section examined. Professor Gulliver, in his paper on "Plant Crystals," (SCIENCE-GOSSIP, p. 97, 1873) mentions the occurrence of raphides in the berry of A. maculatum, and on page 98 gives a figure of the same. The raphides of the berry appear to be larger than those of other parts of the plant. Many months will have to pass before again an opportunity is given of observing in all its various details this interesting plant; but when that time arrives, there will yet be found much material for examination, and a field for interesting research, and perchance new discoveries.

Bath.

MR. G. C. WALKER, F.R.C.S., writing to the "Lancet," says that after he had operated for cataract upon a favourite fox-terrier belonging to a friend, chloroform having been used, the animal appeared after the operation to be completely dead, none of the remedies tried producing any good effect. At length it occurred to him to employ artificial respiration and nitrite of amyl simultaneously, instead of separately as he had already done. The result was that " two or three compulsory breathings of the amyl caused the dog to jump up and stagger about the room most actively." Since that time Mr. Walker makes it a rule not to administer chloroform without having nitrite of amyl at hand.

MY GARDEN PETS.

By E. H. ROBERTSON.

PART I.

YOU are so fond of dumb creatures, have you

"Yo other pets?" was one day the enquiry of “γου

no

a friend, who, from my dining-room window, had been long admiring my trustful window pets.

"Many," I replied; "follow me, and you shall see them."

I led him, all expectation, into my garden, where, at a few paces from the house, stood a row of beehives, and smilingly was about to remark that there were a few thousands, but was arrested by his disappointed exclamation, "Oh, bees!" "This does not augur well for his interest in my pets," thought I, and the added assertion, "But you can't make pets of them-they can't be tamed-such little things can't possibly know you," drew from me the reply, "Indeed! I not only can, but do, make pets of them, and they certainly know me as well as, perhaps better than, the birds do."

Although politeness kept him silent, the look of incredulity with which he regarded me told me plainly what he thought.

"Are you afraid of bees?" I asked. His stammered out "N-no. Oh, n-no," as, after turning up the collar of his coat, and down the brim of his felt hat, he plunged his hands into the depths of his trousers pockets, and fell into the rear, led me, however, to think that it would be wise to protect him from possible attack.

The alacrity with which he retreated into the house when I suggested that he should be veiled and gloved did just a little amuse me, I must confess, and when I add that, although my dear friend is the author of works treating largely upon bees and ants, he yet does not really know the difference between the largest Bombus and an ordinary honey bee, I think my readers, also, will give free scope to their sense of the ludicrous. Be-veiled, be-gloved, and closely buttoned up, my bee-literary friend was again brought forth, to be led to a spot where stood my four strongest stocks. It was a lovely summer day, and, honey being abundant, my pets were, in their thousands, pouring in and out.

"Aren't you afraid of their stinging you?" asked my friend tremblingly, as, standing a little on one side of a hive, so as to allow homing bees to enter, I placed my bare hand upon the alighting board. I made no reply, and as the in and out-flowing streams passed over my hand and I yet remained unhurt, he saw that his question was unnecessary. Presently, "Dear me, how very singular-most remarkable. Evidently look upon you as a personal friend."

"Well, so I am."

After a moment's silence, he enquired, "Now, could I do that?

My answer did not encourage him to try the experiment. "Certainly, if you wish, but they will possibly, nay, probably, sting you."

"But tell me if you can do it, why can't I-why can't any or everybody else?"

It is possible that, with my friend, many readers, who may also be bee-keepers, would like to know my secret; know how they may pass unscathed through an army of bees; may introduce an ungloved hand into the midst of a thickly peopled hive-in fact, may manipulate with the tiny creatures as though they were but bits of cork or feathers. Let me at once assure such that, although quite unprotected, I move and operate amongst my petted host, I yet possess no secret charm; that my skill is no greater than that of a large number of bee masters. Rigidly observe but two rules, and success in manipulating with bees is, with few exceptions, assured. They may be made as much pets of as dogs or birds. The first is, ever to deal as gently as possible with them. Never jar, jolt, shake, or otherwise disturb or irritate them. The second is, make them become as familiar as possible with your person.

In dealing with them it is essential that it should ever be borne in mind that, although they have many enemies, they have but one weapon of defence, their sting; which is never used, as the bee believes, unnecessarily—its effectual use meaning certain death to the devoted possessor. Some persons assert that, if a bee be not disturbed, he will withdraw his sting without injury to himself. I can as confidently assert that he cannot.

Show that you are not a foe, but a friend, and you need never fear being stung, that is to say, not intentionally. I use this word advisedly, because, the slightest pressure on the creature's abdomen is sufficient to project its weapon, and should the inside of a sleeve or collar be selected as a snug retreat, the almost certain result will be the tiny puncture which the timid so much dread.

"It's all very well," some novice may exclaim, "it's all very well saying show yourself to be a friend, but how am I to do this? When I approach my bees too closely I am invariably beset."

Let me say that all depends upon the way in which each individual beekeeper's approaches towards friendship are made.

When I commenced bee-keeping, some few years since, I had but two stocks; I have now fifty; and being, of course, as all novices are in any new pursuit, enthusiastic, it was my chief delight to seat myself upon the hive bench between the hives, to watch the proceedings of the busy little workers. To familiarise them with my person, I frequently gently placed a hand upon an alighting board, and although it might sometimes be covered with bees, I never withdrew it on that account, and finding, after

careful examination, that no danger was to be apprehended, they would re-enter the hive. In no instance was I stung. To the present day, I occasionally, too, adopt the following plan. However seemingly indifferent to the presence of a stranger, or foreign body, they may be when the work of the hive is in full swing, and the light of day reveals that presence, it is quite a different matter when the object can be but imperfectly seen in the dusk of evening. Disturb a hive then, and instantly the contented hum of the fanners is hushed, and not one, nor two, but many brave defenders of the hive issue forth, to discover the cause of the disturbance; sometimes scores, nay, in hot weather even hundreds rush out, and should it be the bee-keeper's hand placed before the mouth of the hive it will be instantly covered with bees, eager to inspect every part of it, and, if possible, learn its nature. The arm, both outside and inside the coat sleeve, will be ascended, and a few more inquisitive than their fellows will probably cross the shoulders, and descending the disengaged arm will, if it be placed upon the hive, return to their home by this route. It requires some little moral courage to remain immovable whilst the alert insects thus perambulate one's person. Some short time since, I was kept a prisoner for upwards of twenty minutes before the last of my pets took his departure.

I must here plead guilty to a practice much deprecated by many bee-keepers, nor have I found that any evil result has followed. Of course I exercise a reasonable amount of judgment as to time, place, &c., having far too great a regard for my pets to imperil their safety simply for the gratification of a whim. I allude to occasional open-air feeding-to me a source of pleasure-to my friends of wonderment. Always choosing a warm spring or summer day, I select a sunny spot in my garden or orchard, some distance removed from my hives, and place on the ground an open pan or dish filled with syrup, upon the surface of which float strips of perforated wood or cork, to prevent danger to the bees. Not long have I to wait, for in and near an apiary they are ever skimming the surface of the ground, and visiting plant and flower in search of honey and pollen. Sometimes immediately, occasionally after the lapse of two or three minutes, a sharp-scented bee alights, and after taking his fill of the luscious feast, flies home. Meanwhile, probably, two or three others have also been gathering a supply; whether or not, the first will certainly soon return, quickly followed by some of his brethren. Half-a-dozen soon becomes a score, these soon increase to hundreds, until, as the news spreads, the air becomes filled with bees, all bound to or from, or in search of, the store. Should the supply be a long continued one, there is no limit to the vast horde, and when at last it becomes exhausted, the vessel is found to contain a seething mass of black bodies and glittering wings,

mingled with slips of wood and cork tossing upon a troubled living sea. Thrust, without injury to the bees, a hand into their midst, and though ten thousand should be present, not a sting will be received; sharply tap the pan and a thick cloud will arise; carry it away but a few feet, the insects will follow, and so eagerly intent are they upon gaining the treasure that, regardless of all else, they immediately again settle. When holding the pan in my hand, so thickly have I sometimes been enveloped by the cloud of eager honey-seekers, that timid onlookers have often declared that I have been almost obscured by them. Realising at last that the supply has stopped, the army gradually disperses, the loud hum ceases, and the business of the apiary proceeds as usual. Not a few patient gatherers most persistently hover about the spot until darkness falls; many will most certainly return to-morrow, and each succeeding day, and, should the syrup have been often administered in the same place, all through the summer my pets will be ever seeking for a fresh supply, and when seated on my lawn I am usually attended by a goodly company of my satellites. If I were, however, to bestow my sweet gifts with too bountiful a hand, my whole apiary would soon be in a fierce commotion, and my pets would become so demoralised that serious mischief might result. As it is, I carefully watch, to discover if robbing is likely to take place. Should I find that robbers are striving to effect an entrance into any particular hive, I immediately narrow the entrance, and a liberal administration of carbolic acid and water puts an effectual stopper upon their plundering proclivities.

I never indulge in the amusement, except in suitable weather, and would here warn bee-keepers who may be tempted to try the experiment, not to entice the little fellows from their snug homes when-although the sun may be shining-the wind may be cold, or the result will assuredly be the opposite to that desired. There are few living creatures so susceptible to changes in temperature as the great family of the Hymenoptera. The amount of labour performed by them is, to a considerable extent, determined by the degree of heat, and the hygrometric condition of the atmosphere. It appears, however, to be not so much the prevailing temperature as the fluctuation which most affects them-sudden falls being particularly obnoxious to them. For example at, say, 50°, my pets are quiescent-but let a sudden rise to 70° take place, and all is life and activity. The delighted insects issue from the hives in their thousands to gyrate and rise and fall in the welcome sunshine, repeating on the following day their merry dance; finally, if the weather remain propitious, scattering to every point of the compass in search of provender. Should the temperature continue to rise, as it almost invariably does, for about a fortnight, in March, each returning day brings with it renewed activity, till the air becomes resonant with their cheerful hum.

But suddenly all is changed-dense clouds obscure the sun-the wind is chill, for as quickly as the temperature rose from 50° to 70°, and thence up to 90° or 100°, it once more falls to 70°-the heat which so delighted them but perhaps one short week beforeyet now all is still, not a bee ventures beyond the door of his home, and the merry active little rascals of yesterday are to-day sluggish and inactive. 'Tis the suddenness of the alternation that has wrought this change, and when the sensitive little fellow gets accustomed to the lower temperature, he will once more set to work.

(To be continued.)

THE ANEMONES OF THE ALPS. By C. PARKINSON, F.G.S.

VERY

VERY soon after the snows and frosts have disappeared from the lower valleys of the Alps, and the sun gains power in the lengthening days of early spring, the brilliant anemones of the Alps burst into flower, throwing such colour into the woodland and hillside scenery, as only Swiss flowers can do. In February, we may commence to search in sheltered copses for the delicate hepatica (which Swiss botanists include in the genus Anemone). From a warm layer of moist, leafy mould, the strong shoots of the Hepatica put forth, surrounded by the dull, brownish-green, trilobed leaves of the previous year, which remain hardy throughout winter. The tiny shoot is protected by a silvery white covering, from which the blue, pink, or white sepals are quickly drawn out on a slender stem by a few days of sunshine. Later on, a profusion of fresh green leaves are produced, and the woods are brilliant with colour.

It is worthy of notice that the common hyacinth of English woods is not known in the Swiss flora, and the hepatica (Anemone triloba) certainly takes its place. Very early in March, and abounding in woods with the hepatica, the graceful little wood anemone (A. nemorosa), is as plentiful as in English woods. A fortnight later, or perhaps early in April, the Anemone ranunculoides covers the moist meadows with golden flowers. The roots of this species spread in light, damp soils in a wonderful manner; creeping around, and putting up fresh shoots in all directions. The sepals are usually five, and less pointed than the yellow anemone. We recollect, as figured in Sowerby's "English Botany," the flowers are mostly solitary, but sometimes two or three on a single stem, the deeply cut leaves branching from the same stem.

In March also we may look on grassy ledges, higher up among the mountain paths, for the deep violet-coloured Anemone montana, which braves the early winds of spring. It is essentially a robust

plant, covered with a thick down of silvery hairs, which lend a peculiar beauty to this, and several kindred species. The carpels also, are very handsome with their long hairs and silver down. The plant attains considerable height, and specimens we have gathered have measured from 12-16 inches. It is much larger in growth than an English pasque flower (Anemone pulsatilla), which we may also look for in Switzerland on the borders of woods; it is,

beauty; indeed the fields covered with A. sulplurea, near the village of Simplon are worth the expedition up the pass to see.

Anemone Baldensis is a small species, having a single longish stem, and white flower of 7-8 sepals, and delicately cut leaves chiefly radical, but leaflets clasping the stem.

In order to clearly express the different species, we give the following classification.

Fig. 63.-Anemone pulsatilla, L. however, of humble growth, averaging a few inches in height, and having the sepal reversed at the tip. Less common, and at a greater altitude Anemone Halleri (DC.) is found, having lilac sepals; standing erect, and more hoary-looking than A. montana, which, however, it resembles. Any of the three last species may occasionally be found with white sepals.

A. vernalis is a lovely plant. We have found it in April and May some' 3000 feet above the sea. The leaves are all radical, the whole plant is hairy, with an involucre of linear, downy segments immediately beneath the white sepals which are exquisitely shaded on the back. The narcissus-like anemone is plentiful on grassy slopes from 2000 to 3000 feet above the sea, flowering in May. The large Alpine anemone and its sulphur-coloured variety may be found in May and June on the Simplon in great

Fig. 64. Anemone montana, Hoppe.

GENUS ANEMONE (L.).

Sepals 5-10, coloured; petals, none; stamens, numerous; carpels, 1-seeded; usually an involucrum of cut leaves.

a. Leaves radical, stem furnished with involucrum, carpels plumed.

1. A. alpina (L.). Involucrum leaf-like; short pedicel; large flower; solitary, white sepals; plant hairy; leaves deeply cut and divided.

2. A. sulphurea (L.). Regarded by many botanists as a variety of A. alpina; plant hoary, and covered with white hairs; sepals sulphur colour; involucrum slighter than the previous one, but also tripartite.

3. A. vernalis (L.). A beautiful plant covered with hairs; involucrum close below the single flower,