Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 4, February, 1858 by Various
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Various >> Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 4, February, 1858
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At least two great faults were evident. First, in order to guard against
the possibility of a leak, the bottom and posts of the tank had been
covered with many coats of an alcoholic varnish. Now it was probable
that time enough had not elapsed between the several applications for
the thorough evaporation of the alcohol. Might not its gradual infusion
in the water have caused the death of the animalcula in such numbers as
to taint the whole by their decay?
The second fault was, strewing upon the surface of the sand a handful or
two of white powdered quartz, which, from having been pulverized in an
iron mortar, was so oxydized as to turn a deep yellow. This might have
poisoned the animalcula.
The first fault seemed to me the chief, but I proceeded to remedy both.
The whole contents of the tank being removed, it was thoroughly washed
on the inside, exposed for several days to the sun and air, and then
soaked for twelve hours in clean sea-water. This being thrown away, the
stones, scalded and well-washed, were restored, and clean sand, replaced
the old.
Water was drawn from the dock at high tide; but it was less clear now,
on the fourth of June, than that which had been got early in May. This
surprised me not a little; for, as I stood upon the wharf and looked
down into it just before sunset on the previous evening, I was struck
with its beautiful limpidity. Curious to see if its aspect remained
unaltered, I went to the same spot where I had stood the night before.
The tide was at the same height, but twelve hours had made a marvellous
change in the appearance of the water. Its sparkling clearness had given
way to greenness and turbidity, and no object could be seen a foot below
the surface. No storm had stirred its depths during the night,--why this
change? Conjecture was of no practical utility, and I returned home
satisfied that my fifteen gallons of water were as clear as any it was
then in my power to obtain. Covering the tub from the dust, I left it to
settle until sunset. Then the ever-useful siphon drew off two thirds of
it tolerably clear, leaving a thick green deposit upon the sides
and bottom of the vessel. Next day, it was again drawn off from the
sediment, (at this time, small in quantity,) and poured into the tank.
Several newly obtained plants of well-growing Enteromorpha and Corallina
were arranged among the stones, and the Aquarium was left at rest.
Gradually the water became nearly clear, but not perfectly so until
after the introduction of animals.
Eight days after it was filled, the Actinias were put in; on the ninth,
several small Mollusks; on the tenth, Crustacea; and on the eleventh and
twelfth, other varieties of the same types; but not until the fourteenth
day were fishes ventured upon.
Day by day the water grew clearer and clearer, until, at the end of
three weeks, it was beautifully translucent. Three more weeks passed,
during which the beauty of the Aquarium was much heightened by a
luxuriant growth of Confervae mingled with Enteromorpha, which together
covered all those parts of the stones which received a direct light.
The mimic rocks seemed draped in green velvet, and in the sunlight were
studded with pearly bubbles. There was, however, one blemish: the hungry
crabs had so nibbled the larger plants that it was deemed necessary to
renew them, in order to secure a sufficient supply of food and oxygen.
Accordingly, a fine specimen of Enteromorpha was added. It consisted of
five or six delicate fronds about five inches in length, and these soon
increased to treble their original number and twice their original size.
At the end of about two weeks, they suddenly became covered with a dull
bluish mould, at the same time ceasing to give out bubbles; and the
whole plant, instead of rising to the surface of the water as hitherto,
hung limp from the fissure where it was placed, and trailed upon the
sand. Coincidently, (was it consequently?) a greenish tinge pervaded the
water, speedily increasing in depth and opacity. In five days, no object
could be discerned six inches from the glass, and my beautiful Aquarium
was transformed to an unsightly ditch.
Yet the water was apparently pure, and the activity of its inhabitants
was in no wise lessened. What was this vexatious greenness? Was it
animal or vegetable? Was it the diffused spores of the perfected
Enteromorpha or of the rank Confervae upon the stones? If neither, what
was its cause?
Excess of light was the most obvious suggestion; and so it was supposed
that its exclusion might be a potent remedy. Therefore a double curtain
of glazed muslin was stretched across the window; and the tank, both top
and sides, wrapped in folds of paper. A week of darkness changed the
deep green to a dingy olive. But the experiment could not be continued.
The nightly admission of air by lifting the paper covering was
insufficient to maintain the imprisoned creatures. They were happy,
though captive, while in a mimic ocean, but miserable in a dark dungeon.
Languid and spiritless, they lay supine, or crawled listlessly and
aimlessly about. This would not do, and so light was again admitted
freely to all but one side of the tank; there, a screen of yellow paper
intercepted the direct rays of the sun, while upon the top they fell
through the foliage of a Clematis vine.
Three weeks more wrought a slight change for the better; but it was too
slight and too slow for my patience, or that of curious friends waiting
to see my Aquarium.
The second experiment had failed, and so once more the tank was emptied.
Two or three animals only had died; all the others gave evidence of
health. Again they were removed to other vessels, and again I began
anew.
Clean sand, clean stones, water drawn at high tide and carefully
decanted, three small plants of Ulva Latissima, with one clump of
Corallina Officinalis, made up the contents of the tank, when, on the
tenth of August, it was the third time filled. A sheet of yellow paper
was placed between the tank and the window, and it was left three days
at rest. At the end of that time, the water, which was beautifully clear
when introduced, had grown a little hazy, and, as the sunbeams fell
aslant it, the unaided eye could perceive a multitude of minute whitish
creatures darting forward and backward like a swarm of bees. Then five
Actinias were laid upon the rocks, to which they at once adhered,
spreading out their restless tentacles in busy seizure of the tiny prey.
In a week more the foggy appearance had ceased; but the clearness of the
water was marred by the slimy exudations from the Actinias. Knowing
that this matter was eaten by some of the Crustacea, five or six small
Soldier-Crabs were dropped in, which faithfully performed their allotted
labor. From this time, animals were added daily, until they had reached
to thirty in number. On the fifteenth of September, a fine specimen of
brown Chondrus Crispus was added, and on the thirtieth, a very large
frond of Ulva Latissima. A great portion of the Chondrus decayed at its
junction with the shell on which it grew, and fell off; but the Ulva
increased much in size, as well as in depth of color and firmness of
texture.
And now months have gone by, and at last my Aquarium is successful.
Fifty lively denizens now sport in the crystalline water and come at the
daily roll-call. Come with me and I will introduce them to you. A fig
for scientific nomenclature! you shall know them by their household
names.
This Bernhard Crab in the front, so leisurely pushing away the sand
before him with his broad, flat claws, quietly enjoys the meal he finds,
undisturbed by fears of a failing supply. There is less of enterprise
than complacency in his character, and I call him Micawber, for he
is always expecting "something to turn up." Twice since March has he
changed his coat, and thrown off his tight boots and gloves for new
ones. The disrobing seemed to give him little trouble, though he sat
dozing at the door of his cell some hours after, as though fatigued by
the unusual effort. Very becoming is the new costume; and the red coat
is prettily relieved by the gray tint of his Diogenes-like dwelling.
There goes a military cousin of his, striding along, with his heavy
armor clattering against the glass as he walks. A pugnacious fellow is
that same soldier; and if he meet an opponent, you may see the tug of
war. Should he chance to prefer the other's shield to his own, he will
seize him in his burly arms, and shake him from under its protection.
Yet he is cautious withal; for though obliged to doff his own armor
before he can try that of his denuded foe, he retains hold of both until
satisfied with the trial. If he like the new mail, he will march off
with it; if not, he will array himself in his own again. Meanwhile the
vanquished combatant waits tremblingly the result of the examination,
glad to get possession of the rejected defence, be it which it may.
Yon dark little crab, with the bulky claws so gayly mottled with yellow
and black, lurks in that hole at the base of the cliff nearly all day
long. His name is 'Possum; for at the slightest sign of danger
he doubles up his claws like a dead spider, and lies in feigned
lifelessness.
Speaking of spiders,--here are two Spider-Crabs, the very monkeys of
this aqueous menagerie. The small one climbing the post is Topsy. There
she is, sliding down again, and with headlong pace is now scampering
over yon yielding Anemone. Heedless of its hundred arms, so generally
dreaded and avoided, she jumps this way and that across its wide mouth;
and now, seated on its back, she snatches morsels from its shrinking
side. Now look at her sister sprite, Crazy Kate. Her head adorned with
a long plume of Coralline, she is tearing ribbon-like shreds from the
silky lettuce and hanging them upon her already fantastic person. Anon
she dances in mad glee, and next her arms are solemnly stretched upward
in grotesque similitude to one in prayer.
When she is hungry, she will, one by one, take off those weedy trophies
from her back and feed upon them.
Why do you start? That is not a sea-serpent winding from under the arch,
but only an innocent Eel. Yet innocent and tiny though it be, there is
something frightful about it. Its fixed, staring eye, its snake-like
stealthiness, bid you be on your guard. Sometimes it rises behind that
bushy Carrageen, and with high uplifted head peers over at me in such
a way that I am half afraid; it is so like the old pictures of Satan
tempting Eve.
Would you like to see an Actinia eat? I will drop a bit of raw oyster
upon its outspread disk. See with what eager start it closes its fingers
about the dainty viand, passing it along slowly, but surely, to its
now gaping mouth, while every nerve is vibrating with the anticipated
pleasure of the feast! That milk-white one is my favorite, and I call it
Una. Seated in modest contentment on that brown-stone seat, she upturns
her pure face to the mild light of evening; but folds her arms, and bows
her head, and veils herself, when the noon-day sun gazes too ardently
upon her.
This one in the rich salmon-colored robe has all our national propensity
for travelling. Wandering restlessly about, she never remains two days
on the same spot. Yesterday, she climbed the cliff, and sat looking off
upon the water nearly all day long. To-day, she has come down to the
sand, where, with base distended, as if in caricature of crinoline, she
perambulates the crowded thoroughfare.
Here is a semi-twin, one base and two trunks. Shall I call it Janus, for
its two faces? or will Chang-and-Eng best distinguish this dual unit?
Sometimes, one, with tentacles in-tucked and mouth sealed, seems dozing;
while his waking brother is busily waving his arms for food. At another
time, you may see them both folded together in sleep, like the Babes in
the Woods all bestrewn with leaves.
Ah, you should have seen my Amphitrite! She bore her plumy crown so
grandly, you would have said she was indeed the queen of Actiniae. But,
alas! she could not brook imprisonment, and, pining for the unwalled
grottoes of Poseidon, she drooped and died.
Behind that sheltering rock, and overhung with sea-weed, there is a
dark, deep cave, the chosen abode of Giant Grim. Push one of those
soldiers to the mouth of the den and wait the result. At the first
movement made by the unwitting trespasser on guarded ground, two long,
flexile rods are thrust out, reconnoitring right and left. Two huge
claws follow, lighted up by two great glaring eyes. At last the whole
creature emerges, seizes the intruder, and bears him swiftly away, far
beyond his jealously kept premises. With dogged mien he stalks gravely
back to his stronghold. You exclaim, "It is a Lobster!" A lobster truly;
but saw you ever a lobster with such presence before? Does he resemble
the poor bewildered crustaceans you have seen bunched together at a
fish-stall? Bears he any likeness to the innocent-looking edibles you
have seen lying on a dish, by boiling turned, like the morn, from black
to red?
Those ghost-like Prawns are near relatives of the giant. See them,
gliding so gracefully from under the arch, disappearing under the waving
Ulva, and floating into sight again from behind the cliff. At night, if
you look at them athwart a lighted candle, their eyes are seen to glow
like living rubies. As they row silently and swiftly towards you, you
might fancy each a fairy gondola, with gem-lighted prow.
A quick dashing startles you, and you see a Scallop rising to the top of
the water with zigzag jerks, and immediately sinking to the sand again,
on the side opposite that whence it started. There it rests with
expanded branchiae and moving cilia; a rude passer-by jostles it, and
with startled sensitiveness it shrinks from the outer world and hides
behind a stony mask.
The small, greenish, rough-coated creature, so like a flattened burr,
is an Echinus. It is hardly domiciliated, being a new-comer, and creeps
restlessly across the glass.
Under this sand-mound some one lies self-buried,--not dead, but only
hiding from the crowd in this bustling watering-place. He must learn
that there is no lasting retirement in Newport; so tap with a stick at
his lodging. With anger vexed, forth rushes the Swimming-Crab and dashes
away from the unwelcome visitor. As if he knew a bore to be the most
persistent of hunters, he plies his paddles with rapid beat until far
from his invaded chamber. His swimming is more like the fluttering of a
butterfly than the steady poise of a fish. Pretty as is his variegated
coat by day, it is far more beautiful by night; then his limbs shine
with metallic lustre, and every joint seems tinged with molten gold.
I could spend the day in showing you my Aquarium;--the merry antics
of the blithe Minnows; the slow wheeling of the less vivacious
Sticklebacks; the beautiful siphon of the Quahaug and the Clam; the
starry disk of the Serpula; the snug tent of the Limpet; the lithe
proboscis of the busy Buccinum; the erect and rapid march of his little
flesh-tinted cousin; the slow Horsefoot, balancing his huge umbrella as
he goes; the----But I cannot name them all.
Neither could you learn to know them at a single visit. Come and sit by
this indoor sea, day by day, and learn to love its people. Many a lesson
for good have they taught me. When weary and disheartened, the patient
perseverance of these undoubting beings has given me new impulses upward
and onward. Remembering that their sole guide is instinct, while mine is
the voice behind me, saying, "This is the way," I have risen with new
resolve to walk therein. Seeing the blind persistency with which some
straying zooephyte has refused to follow other counsel than its own, I
have learned that self-reliance and strength of will are not, in higher
natures, virtues for gratulation, but, if unsanctified, faults to blush
for. Finding each creature here so fitted with organs and instincts for
the life it was meant to lead, I have considered that to me also is
given all that I ought to wish, more than I have ever rightly used.
New evidences are here disclosed to me of God's care for his creation,
deepening my faith in the fact that he is not merely the great First
Cause, but still the watchful Father. New revelations teach me of his
sympathy in our joys, as well as of his care for our necessities. The
Maker's love of the beautiful fills me with gladness, and I catch
new glimpses of those boundless regions where the perfection of his
conceptions has never been marred by sin; and where each of us who
may attain thereto shall find a fitting sphere for every energy, an
answering joy for every pure aspiration.
* * * * *
THE QUEEN OF THE RED CHESSMEN.
The box of chessmen had been left open all night. That was a great
oversight! For everybody knows that the contending chessmen are but too
eager to fight their battles over again by mid-night, if a chance is
only allowed them.
It was at the Willows,--so called, not because the house is surrounded
by willows, but because a little clump of them hangs over the pond close
by. It is a pretty place, with its broad lawn in front of the door-way,
its winding avenue hidden from the road by high trees. It is a quiet
place, too; the sun rests gently on the green lawn, and the drooping
leaves of the willows hang heavily over the water.
No one would imagine what violent contests were going on under the still
roof, this very night. It was the night of the first of May. The moon
came silently out from the shadows; the trees were scarcely stirring.
The box of chessmen had been left on the balcony steps by the
drawing-room window, and the window, too, that warm night, had been left
open. So, one by one, all the chessmen came out to fight over again
their evening's battles.
It was a famously carved set of chessmen. The bishops wore their mitres,
the knights pranced on spirited steeds, the castles rested on the backs
of elephants,--even the pawns mimicked the private soldiers of an army.
The skilful carver had given to each piece, and each pawn, too, a
certain individuality. That night there had been a close contest. Two
well-matched players had guided the game, and it had ended with leaving
a deep irritation on the conquered side.
It was Isabella, the Queen of the Red Chessmen, who had been obliged to
yield. She was young and proud, and it was she, indeed, who held the
rule; for her father, the old Red King, had grown too imbecile to direct
affairs; he merely bore the name of sovereignty. And Isabella was loved
by knights, pawns, and all; the bishops were willing to die in her
cause, the castles would have crumbled to earth for her. Opposed to her,
stood the detested White Queen. All the Whites, of course, were despised
by her; but the haughty, self-sufficient queen angered her most.
The White Queen was reigning during the minority of her only son. The
White Prince had reached the age of nineteen, but the strong mind of
his mother had kept him always under restraint. A simple youth, he had
always yielded to her control. He was pure-hearted and gentle, but never
ventured to make a move of his own. He sought shelter under cover of his
castles, while his more energetic mother went forth at the head of his
army. She was dreaded by her subjects,--never loved by them. Her own
pawn, it is true, had ventured much for her sake, had often with his own
life redeemed her from captivity; but it was loyalty that bound even
him,--no warmer feeling of devotion or love.
The Queen Isabella was the first to come out from her prison.
"I will stay here no longer," she cried; "the blood of the Reds grows
pale in this inactivity."
She stood upon the marble steps; the May moon shone down upon her. She
listened a moment to a slight murmuring within the drawing-room window.
The Spanish lady, the Murillo-painted Spanish lady, had come down from
her frame that bound her against the wall. Just for this one night in
the year, she stepped out from the canvas to walk up and down the
rooms majestically. She would not exchange a word with anybody; nobody
understood her language. She could remember when Murillo looked at her,
watched over her, created her with his pencil. She could have nothing to
say to little paltry shepherdesses, and other articles of _virtu_, that
came into grace and motion just at this moment.
The Queen of the Red Chessmen turned away, down into the avenue. The May
moon shone upon her. Her feet trod upon unaccustomed ground; no black or
white square hemmed her in; she felt a new liberty.
"My poor old father!" she exclaimed, "I will leave him behind; better
let him slumber in an ignoble repose than wander over the board, a
laughing-stock for his enemies. We have been conquered,--the foolish
White Prince rules!"
A strange inspiration stole upon her; the breath of the May night
hovered over her; the May moon shone upon her. She could move without
waiting for the will of another; she was free. She passed down the
avenue; she had left her old prison behind.
Early in the morning,--it was just after sunrise,--the kind Doctor
Lester was driving home, after watching half the night out with a
patient. He passed the avenue to the Willows, but drew up his horse just
as he was leaving the entrance. He saw a young girl sitting under the
hedge. She was without any bonnet, in a red dress, fitting closely and
hanging heavily about her. She was so very beautiful, she looked so
strangely lost and out of place here at this early hour, that the Doctor
could not resist speaking to her.
"My child, how came you here?"
The young girl rose up, and looked round with uncertainty.
"Where am I?" she asked.
She was very tall and graceful, with an air of command, but with a
strange, wild look in her eyes.
"The young woman must be slightly insane," thought the Doctor; "but she
cannot have wandered far."
"Let me take you home," he said aloud. "Perhaps you come from the
Willows?"
"Oh, don't take me back there!" cried Isabella, "they will imprison me
again! I had rather be a slave than a conquered queen!"
"Decidedly insane!" thought the Doctor. "I must take her back to the
Willows."
He persuaded the young girl to let him lift her into his chaise. She did
not resist him; but when he turned up the avenue, she leaned back in
despair. He was fortunate enough to find one of the servants up at the
house, just sweeping the steps of the hall-door. Getting out of his
chaise, he said confidentially to the servant,--
"I have brought back your young lady."
"Our young lady!" exclaimed the man, as the Doctor pointed out Isabella.
"Yes, she is a little insane, is she not?"
"She is not our young lady," answered the servant; "we have nobody
in the house just now, but Mr. and Mrs. Fogerty, and Mrs. Fogerty's
brother, the old geologist."
"Where did she come from?" inquired the Doctor.
"I never saw her before," said the servant, "and I certainly should
remember. There's some foreign folks live down in the cottage, by the
railroad; but they are not the like of her!"
The Doctor got into his chaise again, bewildered.
"My child," he said, "you must tell me where you came from."
"Oh, don't let me go back again!" said Isabella, clasping her hands
imploringly. "Think how hard it must be never to take a move of one's
own! to know how the game might be won, then see it lost through folly!
Oh, that last game, lost through utter weakness! There was that one
move! Why did he not push me down to the king's row? I might have
checkmated the White Prince, shut in by his own castles and pawns,--it
would have been a direct checkmate! Think of his folly! he stopped
to take the queen's pawn with his bishop, and within one move of a
checkmate!"
"Quite insane!" repeated the Doctor. "But I must have my breakfast. She
seems quiet; I think I can keep her till after breakfast, and then I
must try and find where the poor child's friends live. I don't know what
Mrs. Lester will think of her."
They rode on. Isabella looked timidly round.
"You don't quite believe me," she said, at last. "It seems strange to
you."
"It does," answered the Doctor, "seem very strange."
"Not stranger than to me," said Isabella,--"it is so very grand to me!
All this motion! Look down at that great field there, not cut up into
squares! If I only had my knights and squires there! I would be willing
to give her as good a field, too; but I would show her where the true
bravery lies. What a place for the castles, just to defend that pass!"
The Doctor whipped up his horse.
Mrs. Lester was a little surprised at the companion her husband had
brought home to breakfast with him.
"Who is it?" she whispered.
"That I don't know,--I shall have to find out," he answered, a little
nervously.
"Where is her bonnet?" asked Mrs. Lester; this was the first absence of
conventionality she had noticed.
"You had better ask her," answered the Doctor.
But Mrs. Lester preferred leaving her guest in the parlor while she
questioned her husband. She was somewhat disturbed when she found he had
nothing more satisfactory to tell her.
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