Painting from life by William Crowder EUTIMA VARIABILIS (Upper); CUNOCTANTHA OCTONARIA (Lower) While some individuals of all species of jellyfishes are occasionally found near the shore, there are a few forms that seem habitually to frequent the outer reaches or the depths. Eutima and Cunoctantha are depth haunters. In those silent solitudes, where the last feeble rays of sunlight cannot penetrate and beautify with an iridescent luster their transparent bodies, these jellyfishes roam about combing and searching the water for food. the cells in the vicinity release the coiled. darts, and these are driven into the object, numbing or arresting it. Thereupon the morsel is brought to the mouth and devoured. My young moon-jellies were fed two or three times a week on a small measure of a kind of salt-water broth composed of finely divided clam or crab meat or fish, which was stirred into the tanks. After a few hours, during which the moon-jellies had their fill of the drifting particles, the water was removed and then replenished, fresh from the sea. EACH JELLYFISH DIVIDES INTO SEVERAL INDIVIDUALS Winter was well on its way before the scyphistomæ showed signs of a further change. The countless billions of their brethren who found a foothold on the floor of the sea were now probably passing a dormant life in the cold and gloom prevailing in the depths, where there was a scarcity of food. But in the genial temperature of my laboratory the case was otherwise. The scyphistomæ were increasing in size and had attained to a height of nearly a quarter of an inch. The tentacles seemed to have shrunk to insignificant proportions, but the outstanding feature was the dozen or more constrictions that encircled their bodies. In every instance the topmost constriction was so deep that it seemed almost to sever the terminal part carrying the mouth and tentacles. This segmenting of the young jellyfish is technically known as the "strobilization of the scyphistoma. A few days later the tentacles at the top disappeared. In their place there was a corolla of eight lappets. The mouth-parts became four veil-like appendages, which, in lieu of the vanished tentacles, captured the creature's food. But what an astounding change had taken place in the other part of the diminutive body! The constrictions were now so pronounced that the animal would seem almost to be completely divided into thin segments resembling a pile of tiny saucers, each nestling snugly in the hollow of the one underneath. In descending order from the top, the segments were obviously at different stages of development: each was of a smaller diameter than its neighbor above and resembled less and less the topmost and first-formed disk until the foot was reached. The lowermost supporting segment was the only one still bearing its quota of tentacles. Here we had the strobila form of Aurelia. And it was easy to see that what we now had to consider was no longer an individual organism, but a string of little jellyfishes, each individual inverted from the normal adult position and each attached to its fellow by the central part of the umbrella (see page 188). Events now succeeded each other rapidly. The topmost unit of every column, an ephyrula, was seized with an occasional paroxysm and it suddenly started pulsating, after the fashion of the adult, as if to tear itself from its anchorage. Apparently its efforts were to no avail, for the contractions eventually ceased as abruptly as they began. However, the periods of quiescence became fewer and shorter. Finally, the ephyrula settled into a steady pumping of its disk. Then at last it broke away, swimming upright, in the manner of its elders. Thenceforward throughout its life the rhythmic movement of the umbrella continues without interruption, like the ceaseless beating of the human heart. In less than a fortnight my long observations were at an end. The strobile were no more. The ephyrule that were formed later had followed their first-freed fellows and were coursing here and there, doubtless trying to find that liberty of the open waters which even the generous limits of my largest tanks did not afford. THE LOWLIEST CREATURE THAT HAS A close-up of the little ephyrulæ reveals some noteworthy points. Each baby jellyfish is provided with eight primitive eyes, located around the rim of the umbrella, within the forks of the fingerlike lappets that took the place of the tentacles. They are visible as minute scarlet dots. A small transparent hood covers each eye; from this pouched structure, the members of the class to which our Aurelia belongs are often referred to as the "covered-eye medusæ." EPHYRULA OF THE MOON-JELLY, GREATLY MAGNIFIED The young jellyfish, when starting out on its free-swimming life, is very minute, its diameter being less than that of the head of a pin. It has eight so-called eye-spots, or rudimentary eyes, seen in the photomicrograph as dark bodies on the lappetlike edge near the margin of the circle. This is the lowest animal in the living scale wherein the eye appears as a structural organ; but it is quite certain that the jellyfish cannot see in the way that human beings do. It is probable that such a lowly eye can distinguish nothing more definite than light and darkness, or at best, moving masses. Not long after, a new set of tentacles made its appearance. Between the lappets and around the underside of the umbrella rim extends a veritable fringe of these paralyzing organs, which resemble short gossamer strands whose delicate sheen is like some subtle reflection, now of silver, now of gold. Most Aurelia are short-lived, probably never completing the year in which they are liberated from the larval form. In fact, the greater number of these delicate creatures do not survive the autumnal storms, which tear asunder their gelatinous bodies and dash them upon the shores, where they disintegrate. But this unseemly end is not without its compensation. for thus are released countless numbers of unborn young to begin the cycle anew. Such is the story of one of the commonest creatures that swim the temperate seas, a creature which takes rank as one of the ocean's loveliest ornaments. A Journey in Search of the Picturesque Through the Most Populous of the New States of Europe BY MAYNARD OWEN WILLIAMS "THROUGH AUTHOR OF "CzechoslovakIA, KEYLAND OF CENTRAL EUROPE," "AT THE TOMB OF TUTANKHAMEN," "LATVIA, With Illustrations from Photographs by the Author PICTURE of day-by-day life in Poland, without regard to its seething political undertone, was the object of my stay of several months in this reincarnated republic, the most populous of the new states created as an aftermath of the World War.* A Poland, without to its In a search for the picturesque, I traveled to all quarters of the republic, which accounts itself the sixth largest state in Europe, embracing an area of nearly 150,000 square miles. The porter who meets one at the train in Warsaw was but yesterday a millionaire. Fantastic figures gave birth to fantastic habits. No one asked for change. With a mass of brain-cluttering zeros, it was easier to deal in round numbers. Then came the zloty, worth a gold franc, twenty cents, or 1.800,000 Polish marks. There were no zeros to toss around and many travelers, likewise reduced from the ranks of millionaires, prefer to carry their own bags; hence there are three porters for every job. Each must live from the proceeds of a day, two-thirds of which is taken up in having his services refused. As a droshky rolls up the blue-coated driver in a leather cap hands his number to a policeman, who slips it onto one end of a broken ring. A duplicate number A duplicate number hangs between the shoulder-blades of the cabby. When an arriving passenger wants a carriage, a number is slipped off the other end and the driver of that number wins the fare, according to the firstcome-first-to-serve principle. Occasionally, when demand for droshkies exceeds supply, a number never gets *See, also, "Partitioned Poland," by William Joseph Showalter, in the NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE for January, 1915. onto the ring, and instead of a lot of tags representing idle carriages there is a queue of potential patrons. At the hotel a long succession of military heels, relief committee boots, and suitcase salesmen's shoes have reduced to paper thinness the carpets in which one once waded through luxury. Exasperated guests have killed flies against the wall paper. Careless bacchantes cooling their brows have broken the bottoms out of the washbasins. After years of war and depreciation, funds must be found to restore the hotel to its former state. On top of the necessarily high price the municipality imposes an 80 per cent surtax, plus a dollar for a passport inspection each time one returns to town. Beautiful parks and gardens surrounded by dull, gray, depressing streets are the first impressions which Warsaw, the capital city, makes upon the visitor. WARSAW'S ARCHITECTURE IS DULL AND The buildings are huge, impressive because of their size but not picturesque. One can imagine the way one of the big office buildings, for instance, was ordered: "I want four caryatid figures, 800 feet of pilasters, eight balconies-make 'em heavy, understand-six dozen assorted whorls and sunbursts, and five tons of cement gingerbread. What's that? Windows? Oh, yes; you might put in a few of those, too.' Coupled with heaviness of construction, there is a somberness whose psychological effect is disheartening. There is nothing depressing about a country scene, even on a night without a moon; but in a city, with the sky shut out, darkness weighs upon the heart. The monument was erected in 1644 by Wladislaus IV to his father, Sigismund III. There was a legend that when Sigismund lowered his sword Poland would be free, and when the retreating Russians, during the World War, blew up the main bridge of Warsaw the sword is said to have dropped from its former position. The Tritons at the base of the fountain were added more than two centuries after the 66-foot column was erected. The old houses across the square are of warm tones and picturesque lines. |