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[Illustration: Book Cover]

  The Renewal of Life

BY MISS MORLEY

  A SONG OF LIFE. 12mo        $1.25

  LIFE AND LOVE. 12mo          1.25

  THE BEE PEOPLE. 12mo         1.25

  THE HONEY-MAKERS. 12mo       1.25

  LITTLE MITCHELL. 12mo        1.25

  THE RENEWAL OF LIFE. 12mo    1.25

  _Each fully illustrated_

A. C. McCLURG & CO.
CHICAGO

  The Renewal of Life

  _How and When to Tell the Story to the Young_

  By

  Margaret Warner Morley

  Author of "A Song of Life," "Life and Love," etc.

  Illustrated

  [Illustration: Publisher's Logo]

  Chicago
  A. C. McClurg & Co.
  1906

  COPYRIGHT BY
  A. C. McCLURG & CO.
  1906

  Published September 15, 1906
  THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

Contents

  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE

     I. THE RENEWAL OF LIFE                                            9

    II. WHO IS TO TELL THE STORY, AND WHEN IS IT TO BE TOLD?          17

   III. HOW TO TELL THE STORY                                         27

    IV. TELLING THE TRUTH                                             36

     V. ON NATURE STUDY                                               40

    VI. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE SEED                                   52

   VII. THE FERTILIZATION OF THE FLOWER                               87

  VIII. WHAT CAN BE LEARNED FROM THE LIFE OF THE FISH                107

    IX. AMPHIBIOUS LIFE                                              127

     X. THE BIRD                                                     137

    XI. THE MAMMAL                                                   154

   XII. VIGILANCE                                                    169

  XIII. THE TRANSFORMATION                                           178

  LIST OF BOOKS HELPFUL IN STUDYING PLANT AND ANIMAL LIFE            193

_The Renewal of Life_

_How and When to Tell The Story to the Young_

THE RENEWAL OF LIFE

Every human being must sooner or later know the facts concerning the
origin of his life on the earth. One of the most puzzling questions is
how and when such information should be given to the young.

There is nothing the parent more desires than that his child should have
a high ideal in regard to the sex-life and that he should live in
accordance with that ideal, yet nowhere is careful and systematic
education so lacking as here.

What parent would allow his child to go untaught in the particulars
concerning truth-telling, honesty, cleanliness, and behavior, trusting
that in some way the child would discover the facts necessary to the
practice of these virtues and live accordingly? And yet with apparent
inconsistency one of the prime virtues is neglected; one of the most
vital needs of every human being--the understanding of his
sex-nature--is too often left entirely to chance. Not only is the youth
uninstructed, but no proper way of learning the truth is within his
reach. It is as though he were set blindfold in the midst of dangerous
pitfalls, with the admonition not to fall into any of them. Those who
ought to tell the facts will not, consequently the facts must be
gathered from chance sources which are too often bad, poisoning mind and
heart. Even the physiologies, with the exception of those large, and to
the average reader inaccessible, volumes used in medical schools,
scarcely ever touch upon the subject. Of course these larger books give
only the physiological facts couched in scientific terms. How and where,
then, can the youth learn what he needs to know?

It is true there is a noble effort being made for young men, and to a
less extent for young women, by certain organizations that exist for
the help of the young, to supply this curious defect in our educational
system; but these efforts reach but comparatively few members in a
community, and come too late in the life of the young to give them their
first impressions on the subject. Perhaps the most encouraging sign for
the future is the interest that thousands of mothers in all walks of
life are to-day taking in the best methods of training their children to
a right understanding and noble conception of sex-life. Innumerable
mothers' clubs give the subject a place in the curriculum of the club
work, at stated times discussing, reading, consulting all available
authorities which may be of help. Some of these mothers live in poor
homes in neighborhoods where their children are exposed to all sorts of
evil communications and temptations. Others have sheltered homes, from
which the children go out among refined associates from whom there may
be little danger of learning that which is evil. Yet others live in
moderate circumstances, where the home influences may be good, but
where the children are liable to mingle with a heterogeneous society in
their school and perhaps in their social life.

Moreover, in all these homes there are children of different
natures,--some with temperaments which make it easy for them to imbibe
harmful information, while others as naturally resent such information.

Nor is the child of rich parents living in a costly home necessarily the
child least likely to make mistakes. The facts quickly refute any such
idea. It is the child most carefully trained at home, with the most
inspiring counsel and the wisest guidance in all directions, who has the
best chance for successful living, the child whose parents not only
secure the best outside assistance where such is necessary, but who
themselves take a vital and continuous interest in his education. Such
parents, where the help of nurses and teachers is necessary in the home,
see to it that these helpers are wholesome, high-minded companions for
the growing minds put under their charge.

The poorest child is the child of wealthy parents, who is turned over to
hirelings, chosen more for their accent of a foreign tongue than for
their knowledge of child life and of the laws which govern the growing
mind and body. Such children not infrequently become as depraved as the
most neglected and exposed child of the slums, later poisoning the minds
or shocking the sensibilities of children in the schools they attend.

One of the difficulties every mother has to encounter is the presence of
undesirable companions in the school. The argument that a child coming
from a sheltered home will not be influenced by such companions is only
in part true. He may not be influenced, or, again, he may. Among older
children, if the wrongdoer be dazzling in manner, looks, social
position, or even in power to lavish money, he will acquire a certain
ascendency over many of his companions, who, if not safeguarded against
his allurements by a clear knowledge of the facts of life, may fall into
his snares.

How, then, can all these various situations be dealt with? How, how
much, when, and where shall the youth be safeguarded against influences,
misconceptions, and mistakes which may mar his whole after-life? These
are the questions which in part this book endeavors to answer.

The answers come from the writer's experience of many years' work with
mothers interested in this subject, especially from the testimony and
the questions of thousands of such mothers in all walks of life who
possessed children of all temperaments.

The book is not meant to be either exhaustive or arbitrary. It is
written with the single desire of helping the mother who may be groping
her way in this matter, its aim being twofold,--to indicate methods of
procedure among which the mother may find one adapted to her special
needs and circumstances, or at least from which she may get hints which
she can herself follow in her own way, and to indicate sources of
information.

One trivial difficulty has presented itself in preparing the succeeding
chapters, and that is the lack in the English language of a pronoun
including both genders. The English impersonal pronoun, being masculine
in form, is liable to create the impression that "he" or "his" exclusive
of "she" or "her" is the subject of discourse. This is not so. Generally
the masculine pronoun is used impersonally in this discussion, and the
discerning reader can easily decide from the context where this is not
the case.

As a help to the busy mother in selecting books for herself and her
children, a list is given at the end of the book. This list is by no
means exhaustive. There are many other and doubtless equally good books.
The books given are reliable, are prettily illustrated, are now in
print, and are easily obtainable at any book-store. If they are not in
stock the book-seller will be glad to send for them. Further, to aid in
selecting and ordering, the retail price is added. A small circulating
library of well chosen books adds greatly to the usefulness of a
mother's club, and such a library can be collected at small cost.

Where the club is composed of heterogeneous members it is advisable that
the president, or some member chosen for the purpose, should lead the
discussion, which should be on some one topic selected and made known
beforehand. This leader should not only guide the discussion, but be
ready to explain the books and make the subject clear to those tired and
overworked mothers who have had fewer educational advantages but who are
in need of such knowledge as will enable them to guide their children.

A mother unconnected with a club, and unable to afford all the books she
wants, can find many of those here recommended in the village or city
library; and where this is not the case the library is generally willing
to make such purchases as its patrons request.

II

WHO IS TO TELL THE STORY, AND WHEN IS IT TO BE TOLD?

Every thoughtful guardian of a child is sooner or later confronted with
three questions in connection with this subject,--

Who is to tell the story to the child?

When should it be told?

How should it be told?

_Who shall tell the story?_

The best teachers in this subject are undoubtedly the child's parents.

Since the mother generally spends more time with him and is more
accustomed to instruct him in manners and morals it naturally belongs to
her to give him his first instruction here, and it is an opportunity
which no mother understanding its value can afford to miss.

Nothing draws a child so close to his mother as the knowledge, rightly
conveyed, of how truly he is a part of her. Almost without exception the
young boy learning the truth from the lips of his mother has a new
feeling of reverence and love for her. Countless are the testimonies of
mothers as to the result of telling this fact. One illustration will
answer as an example of hundreds of similar ones. A certain little boy
listened open-eyed to the story; then, the blood mounting to his cheeks,
he threw himself into his mother's arms, exclaiming, "Oh, mamma, that is
why I love you so!"

Moreover, if the right kind of confidence is established between mother
and child, the child will come to his mother with his questions and
difficulties instead of trying to satisfy his curiosity elsewhere.

The question is often asked, Will not close companionship and sympathy
between mother and child in a general way produce the same result,
causing the child to confide in the mother in case of needing
information, without any previous talks on the subject?

Of course the closer the relationship between the two the more easily
will the child confide everything; yet with very many children, if this
one subject is avoided (and particularly is this true as the child grows
older), it will not be introduced by the child, no matter how much he
may desire the knowledge, or how intimate in other ways may be his talks
with his mother. The judicious mother can get a hold upon her son
through this subject that nothing else gives; she can keep him closer to
her, and oftentimes can guide him safely over difficult places. What is
true of the son is of course true of the daughter. The little girl will
respond as readily as her brother to confidences of this kind, and will
find them as helpful. She very often escapes much that her brother in
his freer life meets, yet undoubtedly in the great majority of cases the
instruction is as vitally necessary to her as to him.

While the earliest teachings seem to fall most naturally to the mother,
the father should also share the responsibility and the privilege,
talking with frank confidence upon the subject whenever occasion
offers.

The question is often asked, Is it not better for the father to talk to
the boys, the mother to the girls?

There no doubt are cases where this might be wise, but the mother,
understanding the close relationship between her son and herself that
may come through such talks,--a relationship continuing and increasing
in value as the years go on,--would feel that she could not afford to
lose anything so precious to both her boy and herself.

While the establishment of this relationship might be difficult or even
impossible later, it is easily begun in childhood and as easily
continued. Moreover, many boys are specially helped by talking with
their mother. They often feel in her a quicker sympathy and a more
perfect understanding of their needs; and as their instinctive desire is
to understand life from _her_ point of view as well, they often feel
something in her which is lacking in the father. On the other hand, the
boy who is talked to exclusively by the mother, particularly when he
begins to develop into manhood may say, or think, "Oh, you cannot
understand; you never were a man." The father's voice here is needed,
but if that is impossible there is abundant written testimony and advice
from well-known men to youth on this subject which can be put into the
boy's hands.

While the child's best teachers of these intimate truths are undoubtedly
his parents, it may happen for various reasons that this is impossible.
The child may have grown to an age where the timid parent, who has not
hitherto realized the necessity, cannot approach him. Or there may be
other reasons. In such cases the duty may devolve upon some one else
capable of fulfilling it. Such a one may be, should be, the minister. It
ought to be a part of the recognized duty of every minister of a
congregation to see that such of his young men as desire it are
instructed in the facts necessary to their well-being in this direction.
It is not enough to tell them to live pure lives; they must be helped to
understand their own organizations and everything pertaining to this
side of life that they need or want to know. There should be similar
help obtainable by the young women of the congregation from some
competent woman approved by the minister. Purity is an integral part of
the religion of the new civilization, and purity and everything helping
to it should be as conscientiously and thoroughly taught in the churches
as are any other religious truths. In the church the young man, the
young woman, should be able to find corroboration of the sex-truths
taught him by his parents; and those young people not so fortunate as to
receive instruction at home should be able to drink from their religious
teachers deep draughts from this spring of salvation.

The family physician ought also to be a refuge of help for the young;
and here the woman doctor, that blessing of these later days, can do a
work of reformation and salvation. No one has more power to sow seeds of
wisdom in the homes of the people, helping the mother to understand and
desire the careful instruction of her children, and where the mother
requests it, being ready to give the needed help to the young people
themselves.

Again, the teacher or some friend may be requested by the parent to
come to the help of the needy child. But whoever gives this information,
it is needless to say, should himself be pure in heart, of high moral
principles, with a firm belief in the value and possibility of purity,
and with sufficient knowledge of the subject in all its aspects to be a
wise instructor, giving not only physiological information where that is
desirable, but working specially for ethical and spiritual elevation.
Physiological facts alone may not have the slightest effect upon the
manner of living; there should be first and deeply implanted a spiritual
desire for purity, when the knowledge of such facts may be a valuable
help.

The question is very often asked, Should this subject be taught in
schools?

To a certain extent it is taught. Every botany class teaches its
rudiments; and in the higher grades, where biology is taught, the pupil
comes to a clear understanding of the main facts. School botany,
however, merely glimpses at the truth, and biological classes are few
and far between. So, as far as the majority of children are concerned,
the schools can hardly be said to touch the subject. Whether it would
be well for the schools to deal with it is a very difficult question, so
much depending upon the way the work is done. It might be possible to
introduce it helpfully in connection with a well graded system of
nature-study, but since such does not exist in most schools, and since
there is very great danger in speaking in public on this subject before
children, no matter how well the speaking may be done, it is undoubtedly
better not to approach it directly in the schools,--at least in grades
below the high school. Like religious training, this belongs peculiarly
to the home and the parent. Although she cannot give general
instruction, the teacher of children can help by being watchful of her
flock, alert to detect signs of wrong doing, ready to help by private
counsel, and--when parents consent--to give information to any needy
child. In dealing with this subject the teacher needs to be as wise as
the serpent and as harmless as the dove, not only for her own sake but
for the sake of those she wishes to help.

_When to tell the story._

It is an axiom of education that the foundations of knowledge should be
laid in childhood. From all time it has been observed that what is
learned in the earlier years remains most persistently through life.
Hence we begin to inculcate moral truths at an early age. Ideas of
truthfulness and honesty, for instance, are graven so deeply on the
young mind that they can never afterwards be erased. "Just as the twig
is bent the tree's inclined," said our forefathers, and it is true.
"First impressions are the most lasting," is another true adage. This
being so, we should see to it that the first impression the child gets
on the subject in question is the one we wish him to keep. Many a life
has been lamed and saddened because of the first terrible and
ineradicable impressions it received upon this all-important subject.
Many a high-minded man and woman have gone through life tormented by
images of the first unworthy thoughts. No matter how good the
after-knowledge may be, it is almost impossible to erase from the
tablets of memory that old first impression.

Of course it would be absurd to tell a young child most of the facts,
just as it would be absurd to try to teach him the whole arithmetic in
one school term. He could not understand, and, particularly in the case
of the former subject, he would be harmed instead of helped. Just how
and when to unfold the matter to his comprehension will be carefully
considered as these pages progress. Here let it suffice to say that with
the young child we may begin by building carefully block by block the
foundation we want to use later; with the older one we must needs work
faster, seeking to anticipate or counteract any unfortunate information
from outside sources. Thus the age of the child and his surroundings
will to an extent determine the time or times of telling the facts.

HOW TO TELL THE STORY

This is the most difficult question to answer, and one that requires
time. Indeed, one might say it cannot be answered excepting in a general
way, and that any effort to tell the truth sacredly is better than not
to tell it at all. Where the children are still young the task is
comparatively simple when once begun. It develops naturally, with time
for thought on the part of the teller; and the steps are easy and
convincing.

One of the questions most frequently asked is this: Does not talking
about these things fix the child's mind unduly upon them?

As a matter of experience it is just the other way. The child who has
always known the facts is not curious. Why should he be? There is
nothing to be curious about. It is all as much a matter of course to
him as the rising of the sun. And he is safeguarded against a certain
pruriency that comes from wrongly stimulated and vilely fed curiosity.
Instead of causing the child to think more about the subject, the
tendency of good teaching is to prevent his thinking of it.

Another question frequently asked is, Does not talking on this subject
arouse curiosity in children who otherwise would not be curious?

The answer is that it does not arouse harmful curiosity. The right kind
of curiosity on any subject is of course good. Indeed without the desire
to question and investigate everything about him man would be yet a
savage living in a hole in the ground, and the starting-point of all the
child's after-knowledge is curiosity. There are two kinds of curiosity,
a good kind and a bad kind. The good kind is interested in finding out
things for the sake of understanding them; the bad kind serves a bad
end,--in connection with this subject it leads to investigations which
produce wrong thoughts and feelings, and is gratified for the sake of
producing those thoughts and feelings. The same subject may give rise to
either kind of curiosity, according as it is presented.

To-day we take every pains to stimulate the curiosity of our children.
We teach them to observe carefully the flowers, the insects, the
animals,--everything about them. We cannot expect them to exercise their
stimulated minds on all other subjects and turn blind eyes upon this one
which is obviously so important and so interesting. No, the more they
learn to look and ask about other things the more they will look and
wish to ask about this.

That children differ in curiosity is very true. Some children seem to
have very little curiosity about anything. Yet such children are sent to
school with as much care as are the children eager to know. A child
might show no interest in books, might find the reading lesson irksome;
but the mother would know he was learning to read for the use that
reading would be to him later, not for the sake of the things in the
reading-book. It is the same here, the child learns the facts for the
sake of his future. There are good reasons which will appear later why
every child should have the right information on this subject whether he
seeks it or not. If he is indifferent, one can be sure the proper kind
of information will not hurt him; if he is eager, one can be sure he
ought to be carefully and thoroughly instructed.

As a rule the most active and eager children and those with the quickest
minds are the ones most curious to understand the origin of life, though
there are exceptions. It is not legitimately gratified curiosity that
harms, but suppressed curiosity, which in this subject is almost sure to
result in the acquisition of wrong and often of perverting information.
The surest way to arouse curiosity is to try to conceal something. The
only thing, then, is to be ready to gratify honest curiosity by helpful
information.

Nor is it safe to defer too long. What the mother wants her child to
know in a certain way she should tell him herself, before he has a
chance to hear it elsewhere. The moment he leaves her presence, the
moment he starts alone to school, he may receive information which she
would give the world to prevent his receiving. Not that her telling will
necessarily keep him from hearing what others say, but to have his mind
preoccupied will tend to prevent the wrong ideas from taking firm root.

Another question very often asked is, Will teaching this subject not
encourage children to talk about it with other children?

On the contrary, the tendency is to prevent talk. The children of a
family equally instructed will not find it worth talking about. They
know what they want to know, and understand that the only person who can
really tell them anything more is their mother, or whoever takes her
place in this. If they do talk of it in the spirit in which they have
been taught, such talk can do no harm, excepting in the presence of
children not equally well instructed.

To meet this danger the mother can take certain precautions. Having won
the confidence of her child, she can generally trust him to keep these
matters confidential with her. She can explain that children do not
always know the truth about these things, and sometimes do not know
about them at all. That some mothers do not tell their children, but
that she wants her child to understand everything just as it is, and to
feel that she can trust him not to talk on these matters excepting when
alone with her.

Of course there will be instances where this does not succeed, and the
children eager and pure will speak in the presence of the neighbors'
children and make trouble. Then the question is, Which is better, to run
that risk and take the consequences, or to run the risk of allowing the
child to remain ignorant? If the child could really remain ignorant,
there might be room for argument against enlightening him, but there is
great danger that he will be enlightened in a very unenlightened manner,
and possibly by those same neighbors' children who are truly ignorant,
though they may not be ignorant in just the way their fond parents
believe them to be.

Many people still confound ignorance with innocence, though these are
by no means related. The most ignorant person in the world might be the
least innocent, and the most innocent might very well be the most
enlightened. It not infrequently happens that the very children whose
mothers are most opposed to enlightenment on this subject are dangerous
companions for good children.

To guard against unprofitable or otherwise harmful teaching, the mother
should instruct the child not to listen to talk on this subject and not
to join in it, and at the same time tell him that in case he does hear
anything that troubles him he should come to her and she will talk it
over and explain, so that he may know what is right and what wrong. She
should promise to tell him _the truth_ about whatever he may want to
know.

Having made this promise she must keep it. There is nothing more
dangerous than to put a child off with evasive answers. He immediately
jumps to the conclusion that there is some reason why his mother is
afraid or ashamed to explain things to him, and if he has heard evil
rumors it is quite natural for him to suspect that what he has heard is
the truth and the whole truth, else why should his mother not help him?
He soon feels ashamed to ask her questions which she refuses to answer,
and he ceases to confide in her. There is nothing easier than to win and
keep the confidence of a child, and often there is nothing more
difficult than to regain it when once it is lost, particularly in this
direction. It is a loss the mother can by no means afford to sustain.

Mothers sometimes object that their young sons bring them the most
shocking or absurd stories which they have heard in school or elsewhere.
The mother who gives one moment's serious thought to such a situation
will be forced to the conclusion that for her to hear such tales is
nothing compared to the child's hearing them, and that his coming to his
mother is proof of his own innocence. It is surely her first duty, no
matter how difficult or unsavory the task, to sift out the wrong from
the right, to show the child wherein the story is absurd, wicked, and
harmful. At such a crisis the mother should be very careful not to show
any offence because the child has brought her the story. She may condemn
the story as severely as she likes, but she must be careful that the
child does not feel himself included in the condemnation. She must also
be careful in denying the story not to deny the germ of truth which it
will contain, or the child may conclude that she is talking against the
facts, and is either ignorant or trying to conceal the truth. Many a
mother has said in despair, "My boy of nine knows more about these
things than I know myself."

It would be a great mistake to let the boy hear such a confession, as
his very best safeguard is his confidence in the knowledge of his
mother, or whoever assumes the duty of instructing him in these
matters.

IV

TELLING THE TRUTH

Should the mother tell pleasant but totally false stories as to the
origin of the child,--or should she tell the truth?

It is generally safer to tell the truth. Excepting with very young
children the fiction is not long believed, and a course of deception,
having been entered upon, oftentimes proves a stumbling block in the way
of later veracity. It is so much easier to go on telling fairy-tales.
Moreover, the truth, properly conveyed, is far more beautiful than any
fairy-tale.

The parent must not forget that the child's mind is a blank page upon
which any picture may be drawn, and that the child sees only what is
presented to him. The thousand problems, the thousand troubles and
fears, and all the knowledge of evil that burden the mind of the adult
are entirely absent from that of the child. He sees only the one
shining fact, that he was once a part of his dear mother, nourished and
protected by her until he was ready to open his eyes on the big world.
The child has very little interest in details as a rule; and how to meet
the demand for them, should it arise, will be considered later.

If the mother tells the story of the stork bringing the newcomer to the
home, or of the doctor carrying him in his pocket, or the apothecary
selling him over the counter, the child very soon learns that this is
not true. He gets an inkling of the truth, understands that he has been
deceived, and according to his age, his nature, and what he has heard,
he will draw his conclusions as to why his mother did not tell him the
truth.

Mothers often ask whether there is any more reason for refraining from
the stork fiction than from the Santa Claus one. When Santa Claus is
found out, the whole thing is generally understood as a joke, a pleasant
sort of fairy tale. There was nothing hidden behind the fiction. In the
other case, if the child chances somewhere to hear the facts stated in a
coarse manner, he will be likely to feel instinctively that the new
tale is the true one, and will naturally conclude that the pretty fable
was told to conceal a most unsavory truth. His first impression of the
real facts will in such a case be ugly and--in a deep sense--false. It
will hurt his sensibilities, or arouse his lower nature, according to
his temperament.

The mother can guide herself by a rule which has exceptions but which in
the main holds good: The child able to ask a question is able to
understand the answer.

This is by no means saying that all the facts should be stated at once.
That would be absurd. The question asked should be answered as simply as
possible, the parent remembering that children's questions are usually
more profound to the hearer than to the asker. It is difficult for the
adult not to read into the child's chance question all the profundity of
his own years of experience, and the mother who approaches this subject
with dread is almost invariably astonished and relieved to find how
easily the child is satisfied.

Where the child asks by chance or design (and it is a wise parent who
can always decide which it is) a question beyond his comprehension, or
one that the parent is not ready to answer, he can be put off
temporarily with the promise to explain another time. The child may
forget all about it. If not, then the promise must be kept; and the very
fact that the child remembers shows that he is thinking, and therefore
ought to be helped. If the child asks questions which the mother feels
sure he is not ready to have answered, she can promise to tell him when
he gets older, explaining that he could not understand now. In such
cases, however, the mother should always manifest a willingness to tell
him something; she should talk with him enough to make him feel sure she
will keep her promise. He should never be allowed to forget that he can
go to his mother as frankly as to his own heart, with the certainty of
finding sympathy and aid. And she should not let him forget that he is
not to seek information from outside sources, such information being
unreliable.

V

ON NATURE STUDY

Since the most beautiful and ideal way of presenting the facts of the
renewal of life is through nature-study, a few words as to the handling
of this interesting topic may be helpful to some mothers.

In all nature-work with the child, the subjects treated should be made
interesting and beautiful. This cannot be too strongly insisted upon.
The child has a right to the pleasure, the elevation of sentiment, the
play of imagination which the contemplation of nature is able to give in
such a peculiar degree. He has a right to the romance of the flower,
cloud, bird, fish, animal life, plant life, in all their ramifications.
It is a part of his soul-development. Consequently, whatever is done for
him should be done in such a way as not to hurt his sensibilities. His
pleasure in nature should be increased, not lessened, as a result of
his study.

As his knowledge expands his interest should deepen. This will almost
never be the case where the first instruction is purely technical.
Nothing, for instance, has deadened the interest of children in plant
life so much as the study of botany. This is because the school methods
have been wrong, the work being almost always approached from the wrong
end. It is because the learner's mind is dammed up by difficult and to
him empty technical terms. As a consequence, the course of its flow in
this direction is stopped, and instead of a clear stream leaping
joyfully through the woods and meadows finally to reach the great goal
of the boundless ocean, it resembles rather a motionless pond, the
surface of which is covered with lifeless and unlovely debris. Naturally
the child seeks to escape from this uninteresting and dead pool by
turning his mental energies in other directions, and too often he loses
interest forever, and with it the pleasure and the vast profit that
might have come to him from a different conception of the subject.

Facts about the life of the plant should be abundantly presented, and
the facts as collected and told to-day are well-nigh inexhaustible as
well as fascinating. True stories of plant life can be, and should be,
as interesting as any other stories. Technical terms should be used at
first with great restraint, and, as a rule, only where they are
obviously convenient or of such universal application that they are a
distinct help in developing a sense of the continuity of living things.
Those that are used should be so skilfully introduced, and their meaning
so thoroughly digested, that they do not seem like technical terms.

Perhaps an illustration will make this point clearer. A child who loves
flowers goes to school; he is given one of his favorites and told to
pull it to pieces, look at its different parts, and label them with such
words as petals, sepals, pistil, stamens; to these are presently added
calyx, corolla, monopetalous, polypetalous, innate, adnate, indehiscent,
etc., until the child's mind resembles a lumber room of senseless
rubbish, in which the flower is buried and lost. To a sensitive child
this process is exceedingly painful. He often feels as though he were
murdering some helpless thing he had loved, and conceals his tears and
his heartache for fear of being laughed at. Less sensitive children are
soon wearied and disgusted, and the love for nature which might have
been aroused in them, to the sweetening and steadying of their whole
after-life, receives a fatal check.

While the child's love for flowers, and his sentiment concerning them,
should not be harmed by his plant work, on the other hand a certain
tendency to weak sentimentality wherever encountered should be
restrained. He should not be a mere receptacle for dry ashes nor yet a
mush of sentimentality. The wise leader will discover the broad middle
course where love of the flower shall be deepened, and, as it were,
broadened, by knowledge of its wonderful structure and functions. These
can be well understood without so much as one technical term, though the
skilful introduction of a few helpful words will not detract at all from
the pleasure of the study, and will be most convenient.

[Illustration: THE ANEMONE OR WIND-FLOWER]

Even the botanical names of the flowers themselves are of questionable
value. The main thing is to recognize the flower as we recognize any
other friend, and of course some name is necessary, but that this name
be technical is, in most cases, not even desirable. "Wind-flower" is
quite as good as "anemone," better, indeed, as it expresses a certain
feeling about the flower that "anemone" does not convey. So, too,
"mayflower" is more suggestive than "trailing arbutus," and that than
_Epigæa repens_. Thus at first let the children learn only the common
names of the flowers, at the same time that they discover all that is
interesting about them. Later, when their interest is sure, the pretty
name "anemone" will give an added charm. They can be told that it comes
from the Greek word _anemos_, meaning wind, and that anemones grow in
Greece, and all that part of the world, and are gathered by the little
children there. If the children are of an age to be studying or reading
the tales of mythology, or the fascinating beginnings of Greek and Roman
history, they will be delighted to think that anemones were no doubt
gathered by Ulysses and Hector and the other Trojan heroes when they
were children in that far-away land, and that the grandson of Æneas saw
them in the Campagna near the Rome he founded, as the Italian children
see them to-day. Thus through his botany the child can get a more vivid
sense of the life of the past, can have a link forged in that invaluable
mental chain which links him, mind, body, and soul, to everything else
in the universe, and the consciousness of which is one of our most
precious and helpful endowments in this life.

The universality of life and mind and soul, the universality of the
methods of their manifestations even, the unity of life,--nothing by
itself, everything going out into and permeating everything else,--this
great truth, which ought to burst upon the young mind with controlling
force at a critical period later, should have its way prepared in
childhood.

So far as technical terms are concerned, the child will gladly take
them--in small doses--when he understands the things they
represent,--that is, when the knowledge comes before the label; and when
he recognizes their convenience in grouping the different varieties and
species so that their relations to themselves and to other plants can be
kept in the mind with a minimum of exertion.

[Illustration: WILD ROSE WITH BEES GATHERING HONEY]

The time comes when the analysis of the flower can be as interesting as
any part of the work, if it has been preceded by other information and
if it is pursued intelligently and delightfully. To illustrate again.
The wild rose looked at simply as a thing of beauty and perfume becomes
yet more interesting to the child who watches the bee gather its golden
pollen and its luscious nectar. There is a bond of union now between
the fragile flower and its winged guest that begets an altruism which
later becomes normally the corner-stone of character. When the graceful
tribute of the bee to the flower is presently understood, and the child
learns that the seeds of the flower have to thank the bee for their
life, the mind expands yet more, and glows at the thought of this
relationship in which each of these charming creatures practically
preserves the life of the other.

[Illustration: THE SEED, THE CHILD OF THE PLANT, IS AT THE HEART OF
EVERY FLOWER]

Now, too, the thought that the seed, the child of the plant, is at the
heart of every flower, that it is for this nascent life, this new
venture into the great world, that the blossom unfolds in beauty and
sheds its perfume on the summer air, yet more expands the joyous
interest taken in the blossom. The mind, through a knowledge of these
facts, can leap out into wider spaces of feeling and imagination. Thus
every truth the child learns about the rose in those first tender years
ought to add to his poetic conception of it. Thus he should learn his
rose until the time comes when its relation to certain other plants will
be full of meaning and full of interest. Perhaps the child has studied
the apple blossom, the strawberry flower, the peach blossom in this same
delightful way. With a very little help he will recognize the similarity
of all three to the rose. He will be delighted to know that these are as
truly related as they seem to be, that they are indeed cousins in one
charming family. How they came to be so different will be a natural
question, the answer to which will involve the latest and most valuable
scientific discoveries. Indeed, in studying nature we should begin with
the latest discoveries of science, which are biological and vital, and
end with man's earlier efforts toward knowledge,--that is, with
classification and nomenclature. When the child knows his plants he may
be interested in their relationships and willing to do the necessary
drudgery toward establishing them. If not, it doesn't matter, he has the
really vital part of the subject, the part that will best help him
toward understanding all life, his own included.

It is to foster a high sentiment toward the life of the plant that the
numerous so-called unscientific botanies which crowd the book-stores
to-day are so valuable, and the numbers that are sold testify to the
interest this side of the subject awakens. What technical botany has
anything like the sale of these less technical books? So far as the real
development of the world at large is concerned they are of inestimably
more use than the technical works, though of course those were the stern
Puritan parents who have given rise to this flock of lovely
non-puritanical children, and without which they of course could not
have existed.

The technical botanies indeed have their use to-day, and it can be
confidently expected that they will be more used than ever before,
because of the large numbers who have had their interest quickened and a
desire to know more awakened. Those who would have found botany
interesting in spite of the old methods will pursue it yet more eagerly
under the new. Many who would have turned away from it entirely will
continue their study into the technical works, while great numbers who
have no leaning toward technical study and would have had nothing to do
with botany under the old methods, under the new will assimilate the
best truths the study of this subject is able to give, and so far from
finding a wild rose less fragrant or less beautiful because of their
close scrutiny of it, they will find it infinitely more so,--infinitely
more rich in affording poetical thoughts, comparisons, and images.

What is true of plant life is equally true of animal life. The first
attention should be directed toward the animal itself, its life and
habits, technical information coming afterwards.

VI

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE SEED

In dealing with the special subject of this book too much stress cannot
be laid upon the value of associating the phenomena of the renewal of
life with all other vital phenomena, instead of divorcing it from them.

Two reasons why the subject of reproduction has such undue prominence in
the minds of many people are, first, the manner in which it has been
made conspicuous through concealment; and second, the fact that when
spoken of at all, it has been treated as a unique phenomenon unrelated
to anything else. These are not the only reasons, but they are strong
ones, and their existence is quite unnecessary.

Education, therefore, should remove both of these stumbling-blocks. The
first one is easily removed, though the value of its removal depends
entirely upon the manner in which that removal is accomplished. The
second is also easily removed, the only difficulty being how to do it in
the most helpful manner. The problem, then, for the instructor to solve
is, how fully to acquaint the child with the phenomena of the
reproductive life without making the subject unduly prominent.

This can well be done by interesting him in all the phenomena of living
things, and allowing the reproductive function to take its place, not as
something alone and different from everything else, but as one in a
series of vital phenomena, all equally important and all interesting;
not as something peculiar to human life or to the higher animals, but
belonging equally to every living thing, whether animal or plant, and
manifesting itself in the same way everywhere. Nor is this as difficult
as at first glance it may seem. Indeed it is not difficult at all if one
can begin with the young child, building little by little the foundation
upon which later to erect a noble superstructure.

It is a beautiful fact that the plant world offers illustrations of all
the underlying phenomena of the reproductive life, and that through the
flowers the little one can get his first introduction to the great
subject. Not that he will at first understand the connection between the
flower life and the human life, but the facts in the flower having been
clearly perceived, there is nothing easier or more beautiful than to
expand the idea when the time comes, until it embraces all life.

But what about those children who are no longer in their infancy? How
are they to be taught?

In practically the same way, with some modification of method.

Since the aim here is to present the subject from the beginning, the
first succeeding chapters will deal with it as applied to the young
child. Following this, methods for use with older children will be
discussed.

Objects to be accomplished with the younger children in the study of the
plant.

(1) To make them feel that the plants are living things with activities
like other living things.

(2) To convey a clear idea of the true relation of seed to plant. This
can be amplified later to cover the reproductive phenomena of human
life.

(3) To give them a foundation for understanding the relation of father
to child, when the time comes to explain that.

Some children naturally think of the plant as alive; they endow it with
thought, feeling, and emotion; talk to it, consult it, caress it. Others
do not. In both cases it is of value to the child to know the deeper
truths concerning the life of the plant. In the one case it will steady
sentimentality and guard against later loss of interest, in the other it
will stimulate imagination and foster a high type of sentiment.

An easy and effective way to begin the study of the plant is to watch it
as it sprouts from the seed. Since a large seed, easy to see and simple
in structure, is best, an ordinary bean answers the purpose admirably,
particularly as the bean has the convenient habit of rising up above
the ground when it sprouts, the development of the embryo proceeding in
full view. Any of the common varieties will answer the purpose, though
of course the larger the bean the more easily it can be observed.

A child of three or four will be interested in watching a seed grow. The
first season he may get only one idea, the seed grows into a plant. The
next season the experiment may be repeated with as much of the story of
the plant added as the little one can understand. Thus Spring after
Spring the child plants his seeds and watches them grow, constantly
adding to his store of knowledge about them, until the story of the
plant and its seed is as familiar to him as any fairy-tale, and has gone
into his consciousness to stay there forever. Let us examine the bean,
then, and see what can be learned from it, the information thus obtained
to be shared with the child as fast as his age and his power of
understanding permit.

[Illustration: THE BEAN, SPROUTING, TO SHOW THE TWO SEED-LEAVES AND THE
EMBRYO]

First let us examine the dry bean. It is hard, so hard that we can
scarcely bite it. Put it to soak in tepid water, leaving it over night.
Next day look at the changes that have taken place in it. The first
thing we notice is that it has swollen until it is twice as large as it
was, being now soaked full of water. It is also softer than it was. Its
outer skin during the process of soaking has loosened, being no longer
firmly attached to the body of the bean. This skin, being unable to
stretch, soon splits open by the swelling of the bean inside. We can
easily slip it entirely off.

[Illustration: THE BEAN--EMBRYO-LEAVES, SEED-LEAVES, AND ROOT]

Having done this let us take a good look at the bean that is now out of
its skin. We see that it is composed of two thick parts which are
joined together at only one end. These two thick parts which make the
bulk of the bean are called seed-leaves (cotyledons).

Just at the point where they seem to be joined together there is a tiny
flat white object. Looking closely at this we discover it to be a plant
consisting of two minute leaves and a little blunt tip. As a matter of
fact, the two seed-leaves are not attached directly to each other, but
each is attached to this tiny plant, or embryo, as it is called. The
word "embryo" is a valuable one to use later, and its precise meaning
can easily be fixed by always calling the young plant tucked away in the
seed the embryo. The difficulty of learning new words does not lie in
their length, but in not knowing what they mean. A child who has been to
the circus has no trouble in remembering the word "elephant," and the
child who frequently hears the word "embryo" spoken in connection with
the plant concealed between the cotyledons quickly and unconsciously
learns it.

Place some of the soaked beans on damp cotton, and plant others in a pot
of earth, or, if it is Summer, in the garden. Those sprouted in the
house in the Winter must be kept warm. In a short time the little white
embryo tucked away in the bean begins to grow. We say the bean sprouts.
As the embryo develops, its little blunt tip grows down into the ground
and gives off roots. At the same time its two tiny white leaves grow
large and green, coming out from the seed-leaves (cotyledons) into the
air and sunshine. As the stem lengthens the seed-leaves are lifted up
above the ground along with the embryo. The bean thus seems to come out
of the ground, and children are very apt to want to cover it up. But it
has not really unplanted itself. The lower part of the stem and the
roots hold it firmly in the earth.

The bean on the damp cotton grows as well at first as that planted in
the earth, but it cannot get food enough to continue growth unless it
can thrust its roots into the earth. What enables it to grow at all on
the cotton, since that does not supply food, but only holds the
moisture, without which the bean could not sprout? There must be food
somewhere, and it is found packed away in the thick seed-leaves, which
contain a great deal of starch and a little of some other things.

[Illustration: THE BEAN--EMBRYO-LEAVES, COMPOUND LEAVES, AND BEGINNING
OF STEM]

The young plant, under the influence of warmth and moisture, is able to
draw out the nourishment from the seed-leaves. If we examine the
seed-leaves after the seed has sprouted we shall find them less hard and
firm; they have given part of their substance to the embryo. They have
also turned greenish in color, while, as we know, the leaves of the
embryo, which at first were so white and tiny, have also turned green
and grown larger. Between the two embryo-leaves there is a little
growing tip.

The young plant now no longer depends upon the seed-leaves for its
food. Down in the earth the roots are taking in nourishment, and up in
the air the little green leaves are also busy supplying food to the
growing plant. The little growing tip lengthens into a stem from which a
leaf is seen unfolding. This new leaf is not shaped like the
embryo-leaves nor like the seed-leaves. It has three leaflets. The stem
continues to lengthen, and soon another compound leaf appears. Thus the
stem lengthens and leaves keep coming, the little growing tip at the end
of the stem always pushing upward.

Very soon the stem becomes too long and slender to stand upright. Then
it does a strange thing. It circles about as though in search of
something. It moves very slowly, but if you notice which way it is
pointing in the morning, and again at noon, and again at night, you will
see that it has changed its position. Why does it do this? It wishes to
twine about a support, and will continue circling about until it finds
one. If there is none, the slender stem, unable to stand upright as it
lengthens, will in time bend to one side or even lie on the ground; but
the end still continues to circle about, and when at last it touches a
stick or the stem of another plant or anything else about which it can
twine, it continues its circling motion about the new support, and the
vine as it lengthens finally becomes twined about it.

How does the food which the plant takes from the earth and the air find
its way to the different parts of the plant to nourish them?

The plant food is in a liquid form called sap, which runs through
channels in the roots and stems and leaves, and is thus carried to all
parts of the plant. To a certain extent it is like the blood of animals,
which finds its way all through the body and supplies food to the
tissues.

The plant is alive; it eats, it breathes; sometimes it even moves. It
breathes the same air that we do, only it takes it in through tiny pores
in the leaves. Eating and breathing, the plant continues to grow, leaf
after leaf unfolding. At last, in the axil of one of the leaves there
comes a little bud that does not unfold into a leaf but into a flower.

The appearance of this first blossom on the plant the child has himself
raised from the seed will be watched with eagerness, and its advent can
be made a subject of general pleasure and notice in the home. The
child's pleasure in his flower will be greatly increased if he finds
that others are also watching and enjoying it.

Here, too, is a chance to develop a certain respect or reverence for the
beautiful and fragile flower. It is not to be picked. We are to leave
this flower and see what becomes of it. If we pick it, it will soon
wither and die. If we leave it where it is, it will continue to grow,
and something very interesting will happen. After a few days the pretty
white or red flower-leaves or petals will fall off; but any
disappointment which the child may feel at the falling of the petals can
be quickly changed into interest about what remains, for not all the
flower fell. The centre of it is still there. It is a little green pod.
It is so delicate that by holding it against the light one can easily
see the little seedlets, or ovules, inside. "Ovule" is a good word to
learn, and the easiest way is to use it at once, always referring to
this little seedlet in the young flower-pod as the ovule. The word
"ovule" means little egg; later, a word almost identical will be used
for the eggs of animals.

[Illustration: THE BEAN--THE SEEDLETS, OR OVULES, IN THE YOUNG PODS]

Thus by a use of carefully chosen, well-understood terms the child has
from the very beginning a dawning sense of the oneness of all life. He
can be told that "ovule" means little egg, and that the seed of the
plant is the egg of the plant, which hatches--sprouts--into the plant we
see.

It is better not to break the tender little pod to show the ovules, even
if there are plenty of flowers. Look at the pod against the light and
see the ovules dimly outlined. Each ovule is attached to the pod by a
little stem which can also be seen with the light shining through the
pod. The stem the child can look for when the peas are being shelled for
dinner, or when lima beans are being shelled. If the pea or bean pod is
opened carefully, the whole row of seeds will be seen attached to the
pod, each by its exceedingly short stem.

The ovary is a part of the plant in which grow the ovules. The perfect
and clear understanding of just what the ovary is will be very helpful
later, and the word "ovary" will be found extremely useful.

The interest should not be concentrated on the ovary to the exclusion of
other flower parts. The bright petals should have their share of
attention. They form a nest, or home, or covering, to enfold or wrap
about the delicate seed-pod. The thought that they are fragrant and
beautiful because of the young life they cherish, and that they never
appear excepting where there are young seeds to be cared for, and that
every flower has the little pod or seed-cradle at its centre, can be
made to cast a lovely glow over this side of the flower-life, which
will later reflect more or less strongly upon all life.

When the child discovers that the ovules are attached to the ovary by
little stems, this very important question can be answered,--How are the
ovules nourished? They must have food, or they cannot develop into
seeds.

The sap, which is the food of the plant, runs through the little stems
that hold the ovules to the ovary, and thus, entering the ovules,
nourishes them. The ovule has no embryo. It is a very simple little
seedlet indeed. But after a while its little embryo begins to form and
its seed-leaves to develop. When the ovule has developed in this way we
call it a seed. It remains attached to the ovary, receiving nourishment
from the sap until it is quite ripe. As the seed forms in its little
pod, its thick sturdy seed-leaves become larger and fuller. The sap
constantly stores up in them plenty of good food. Thus the parent plant
provides for the seed, so that when it goes out into the world alone it
may not perish until it has learned to care for itself. The food in the
seed-leaves is the bank account which starts the young plant in life.

When the seed is fully formed, its seed-leaves full of food, its embryo
perfect, then we say it is ripe. It no longer needs to draw nourishment
from the sap of the parent-plant. It is able to start in the world on
its own account. When the seed ripens, its little stem withers away, so
that the seed lies loose in the pod. In the case of the bean-pod, when
the seed becomes free the pod opens, and the seed or bean, as we call
it, falls out.

If we look at a ripe bean or pea or any seed we shall find upon one edge
of it the scar where the little stem was attached. The scar is the
umbilicus or "navel" of the seed. The seed does not become free from its
attachment to the pod until it is able to live alone. As long as it
continues to grow it remains attached and receives the sap. As soon as
it has its growth and no longer needs the sap it separates from the pod.
This separation is easy and natural. There is no tearing apart, no
mutilation. It is exactly like the falling of the leaves in the Autumn.
It is, in short, the birth of the seed or infant plant.

Some mothers talk of the mother-plant and the seed-babies from the
beginning. They show how the little seeds are fed and protected, how
they are literally a part of the mother-plant. Other mothers prefer to
tell only the botanical story, leaving all application to animal life
for later consideration. In either case the essential points are a clear
understanding of the growth of the ovule in the ovary, the manner in
which it is nourished and protected, and its final separation from the
ovary to enter into the outer world as an individual provided with
everything necessary to its needs.

Some mothers use the words "sprout" and "hatch" interchangeably,
speaking sometimes of the hatching of the seeds, in order to make more
vivid the realization of the similarity of processes in the plant and
the bird. They also speak of the birth of the seed. Clearly to
understand the relation of the seed to the mother-plant is to understand
accurately and scientifically the relation of every living creature to
its mother.

The child who enjoys planting the bean one season will want to plant it
the next, for there is nothing children more delight in than planting
things and watching them grow. This interest can be encouraged in any
home, for where there is no available yard a few flower-pots of earth,
or a box of it, will afford opportunity for a good deal of pleasure and
instruction. The child can be encouraged to collect seeds that are
formed like the bean, and plant them too. He will quickly discover that
a peanut is made essentially like a bean, and he will be interested to
plant some raw peanuts. The pea, too, he will soon add to his list. As
the season advances he will discover the cucumber, melon, and squash
seeds, and, with a little help, the apple, pear, and quince seeds, as
well as those of the cherry, plum, and peach. The latter have very hard
outer coats, but are formed in all essentials like the bean. Indeed he
can have a very long list by the end of Summer. But he cannot make these
green seeds grow. That is, many of them will not sprout until they have
lain a certain length of time. So even where they are ripe and fall
from their pods, he had better keep them until toward Spring before
planting, even in the house.

[Illustration: MORNING-GLORY SEED, SHOWING SEED-LEAVES AND EMBRYO]

If he takes pleasure in examining his seeds, he will find in each one
the tiny embryo tucked in between the seed-leaves; in the apple seed the
young apple-tree, in the pumpkin seed the young pumpkin vine. Even the
vegetables being prepared for his dinner can be interesting to him. As
the peas are shelled he can see the pretty green seeds attached to the
side of the pod. He can find the embryo even in the unripe seed, but he
knows there would be no use in planting these green peas, for they are
not yet fit to live apart from the mother-plant. If they were torn away
and planted in the ground they would perish.

Not all seeds have the food for the embryo stored up in the seed-leaves.
If a morning-glory seed be soaked, it will swell up and soften, and the
hard outer skin will burst. Inside will be found a tiny embryo with two
thin, papery seed-leaves that contain no nourishment to speak of. But
packed about the embryo is a rich food-substance which, though hard in
the dry seed, becomes soft and gelatinous upon soaking, looking indeed
not unlike the white of the egg, and having the same use; for it forms
the first food of the embryo, which absorbs it. The embryo thus begins
its growth, which continues until the roots and first leaves are
sufficiently developed to supply nourishment.

[Illustration: FOUR O'CLOCK SEED, SHOWING SEED-LEAVES AND EMBRYO]

After the child has studied his beans, let him then study the
morning-glory and four-o'clock seeds, which store the food separately
from the embryo instead of in its seed-leaves. In every seed there is
food enough stored up to give the embryo its first start in life.

During the Summer the child can be helped to pass many pleasant hours
looking at seed-pods and finding as many kinds as possible. He can
discover how the ovaries are placed in the flower and wrapped about by
the bright petals, being covered while yet in the bud by the green
calyx. He can look at the different forms of ovaries and discover how
some, like the bean, have only one compartment or cell, while others,
like the apple-core, have five, and yet others, like the poppy pod, have
many. If he is interested, he can quickly and unconsciously learn many
of the more common botanical terms used in describing plants, so that
when he comes to study technical botany he will find it shorn of most of
its terrors.

[Illustration: DIFFERENT KINDS OF OVARIES--BEAN, APPLE-CORE, POPPY POD]

Certain botanical terms are valuable both now and later; used simply,
just as we talk of table, chair, bed-post, garden-walk, etc., they are,
as has been said, learned unconsciously.

[Illustration: FLOWER--OVARY, STYLE, STIGMA, STAMENS, ANTHERS, PETALS,
SEPALS]

In teaching the later facts of the reproductive life, it is a great help
for the child to know the names and uses of certain parts of the flower;
in many flowers, as for instance the lily, the parts can be seen without
pulling the flower to pieces. In the centre is the ovary, as the child
already knows. Let him notice the long stalk on top of it and learn to
call this the style. On top of the style is a knob--the stigma. Ovary,
style, and stigma together make the pistil. Surrounding the pistil are
six stamens, each having a slender stem or filament and terminating in a
little box; this box is called the anther and is filled with
flower-dust or pollen. Around these is a circle of bright petals. In
many flowers, outside the petals is a circle of green sepals, which in
some plants fall off or turn down when the bud opens.

  THE FLOWER

  _Sepals_--usually green and affording protection to the bud.

  _Petals_--usually large and bright.

  _Stamens_--{ filament (stem of anther)
             { anther (containing pollen)

            { ovary (seed-pod)
  _Pistil_--{ style (stem of stigma not always present)
            { stigma (knob at top of style or ovary)

[Illustration: THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE YOUNG BEAN-POD FROM THE FLOWER]

The care of the mother for her offspring, that impulse of nature found
everywhere in nature's children, is beautifully illustrated in the
flowers. When first the petals fall, leaving the tiny green pod, it
stands up on its stalk, but in a few days it will be found hanging down.
Why should this be? For one thing, as the pod turns down it gets out of
the way of the other buds that one by one are preparing to blossom, for
beans generally grow in clusters, one blossoming after another. Thus all
the flowers have plenty of room and air and sunshine, and a lesson in
unselfishness and thoughtfulness for others may be learned. Moreover,
the hanging pod is better protected against accidents than the upright
one. It is less noticeable and less likely to be knocked or broken off.
The mother-plant takes every precaution possible for the welfare of the
seed-children, even sending them far from home for their benefit.

[Illustration: THE SHEDDING OF YOUNG SWEET-PEAS FROM THE POD]

Every one has noticed how the sweet-pea pods are curled up when the
seeds are shed. This curling takes place just at the moment when the pod
opens to allow the seeds to escape. This sudden twisting of the pod
flings the seeds sometimes long distances. If the seed were to fall
close to the mother-plant it would find the soil impoverished in
certain ways, the mother-plant having absorbed the food materials from
it. If the seed can be hurled out of reach of the absorbing roots of the
mother-plant, it may have a better chance; even if it should fall where
other things are growing, it may find the peculiar food it wants
sufficiently abundant, for not all plants absorb just the same things
from the soil.

[Illustration: THE SHEDDING OF VARIOUS KINDS OF SEEDS]

Looking at the dried bean and pea-pods in the fall of the year, we shall
find nearly all of them twisted. And looking over the other plants of
the fields and hedges, we see how much trouble has been taken to enable
the seeds to go out in the world and find new growing-places. Some seeds
are snapped out, as the touch-me-nots and witch-hazels; some are
supplied with flat wing-like surfaces to be borne by the wind, as the
maple-keys and elm seeds; some have bristles or down upon which to float
in the air, as the lilies, dandelions, and lettuces; some have hooks by
which to attach themselves to the coats of passing animals; and others
have yet other devices for getting to pastures new. The whole subject of
how seeds travel about the world is very interesting, and collecting
these wanderers and watching their habits will afford a rich summer's
entertainment.

Thus the child learns a thousand interesting things about the plant
life,--among them, but not in any way prominent, the phenomena which are
connected with the reproduction of the plant. This work can all be done
before the child is eight years old, and in many cases it can be done
much earlier, at least so far as inculcating the most essential truths
is concerned. Many details will slip away in time, but if the work is
thoroughly done the great primal truths of living things will stay, and
as the child's life unfolds, they will illuminate it in certain
directions.

According to the age and opportunities of the child his information
about the plant can be enlarged. The plant's method of breathing can be
explained to one who knows something about the composition of the air,
and of the use which the human body makes of the oxygen. The child who
can understand it will be greatly interested to know that the plant uses
the oxygen of the air, and returns carbon dioxide to it as a waste,
essentially as his own body does. He should also know that the plant
breathes very little in comparison to the animal, consequently it does
not greatly affect the air, taking out but little oxygen and returning
to it but little carbon dioxide.

The plant's method of taking nourishment from air and soil is also very
interesting. It is only the green parts of the plant that can take food
from the air. The plant can become and remain green only under the
influence of sunlight. So finally the plant owes its life to the power
of the sun, just as in one way or another we all do. Plants in a dark
place soon lose their green color, grow pale and sickly, and finally
die. All green leaves and the young green twigs are able to take food
from the air. The food they thus take is carbon dioxide, the very thing
both plants and animals breathe out as a waste, and whose presence in
large quantities makes air unfit to breathe. But the plant must have the
carbon dioxide and can get it only from the air, so it is constantly
withdrawing this harmful substance from the air and converting it into
plant tissue. It consumes only part of the carbon dioxide, however, for
the oxygen that is tied up in the carbon dioxide is set free and given
back to the air, only the carbon being retained. So the plant is
continually taking in the destructive carbon dioxide and giving out the
wholesome oxygen, thus keeping the air pure and fit for us to breathe.
In short, the plant eats with its roots and with its leaves. With its
roots it eats certain things it finds in the earth, and with its leaves
and other green parts it eats the suffocating gas we breathe into the
air.

This important function of the plant, in supplying the oxygen we need
and in destroying the harmful carbon dioxide, can be illustrated in many
graphic ways. We depend upon the plants for our very existence in this
respect: they stand between us and destruction from excessive
accumulations of carbon dioxide. On the other hand, the carbon dioxide
is so important to the plant that it could not exist without it. All the
carbon it gets is obtained from this source. Wood is largely carbon; a
charred stick which retains its full size and shape is almost pure
carbon. Thus the breath of our bodies is converted by the plant into the
wood from which we construct our houses, furniture, etc. In a certain
sense the chair we sit upon is made of the breath of our bodies. Besides
these debts to the plant, we finally owe to it the food we consume,
which comes from the plant, even meat being but vegetable matter one
step removed. The plant changes the chemicals which the animal cannot
use in their crude form, into plant substances which animals can use.
Thus the vegetable and animal kingdoms are mutually dependent upon each
other. Neither could exist, at least in its present condition, without
the other.

Not only will such facts as these be interesting to most children, they
will deepen the dawning consciousness of the fundamental unity of all
forms of life, which it should be the province of nature-study to
develop.

It may not be out of place here to say a few words about the picking of
flowers. Children instinctively want to pick them. They wish to possess,
touch, caress these lovely objects. If left unguided, this tendency
shortly degenerates in many children into a desire to pick every flower
in sight. A walk taken by such children through the fields can be traced
by the wild flowers that strew the way. Great handfuls are gathered, and
then, becoming burdensome, are thrown down. The child who lovingly
watches his flowers grow and blossom will be less likely to destroy in
this wanton manner. Here, too, is a good opportunity to teach him to be
thoughtful and generous to others. If he carelessly tears up and throws
away the flowers, those who come after him will not have them to enjoy;
it is far better to look at the flowers and admire them in their own
homes and leave them there. A little crowd of hepaticas at the root of a
tree in the woods is one of the most charming sights of spring. Let the
child who finds such a treasure call the rest, that they too may enjoy
the pretty picture; let the children get down and put their faces
against the flowers if they want to smell them, and then go away leaving
the beauty undisturbed. Their adult comrade at such a time by exclaiming
appreciatively over the sweetness of the little scene, the bright
flowers against the dark tree, the green moss growing over the rock at
one side, can often open young eyes to a harmony of beauty which will
cause the whole composition to be recalled later with pure pleasure; a
far deeper and higher pleasure this little picture lingering in the
memory than any number of flowers torn from their places soon to wilt in
the hands of the vandals whose only thought is how to get the most in
the shortest time.

Should children never gather flowers, then? Of course they should. But
they should learn to exercise restraint, and as they grow older,
judgment. They can easily be persuaded to gather only a few flowers. A
few are almost always more beautiful than a great mass, and there is no
exception to this whatever where the delicate spring flowers are
concerned. Let the child carefully gather a few to take home to mother,
father, sister, aunt, some dear one who has not shared the walk. These
flowers should not be neglected, but at once put in water, placed where
they can be seen and enjoyed, and the water should be changed every day
as long as they last. In this way the flower gives real pleasure to a
number of people, and the child learns several lessons valuable to the
formation of his character.

As the child grows older, he can be taught not only self-control
against gathering useless quantities of flowers, but also to exercise
judgment in regard to those he does pick. For instance, seeing a flaming
bush against a superb background of green foliage, shall he disturb the
poise of the picture for the sake of taking some of the flowers? Better
is it to look about for similar flowers less beautifully placed. Instead
of culling from the little hepatica company at the tree root, let him
search for more hidden or less beautifully grouped flowers. The isolated
flowers will be just as pretty after they are picked as are those in the
fortunately placed groups; for he will soon learn that with the flower
he cannot take its surroundings excepting in the memory. In this way he
will be able to carry away a beautiful mind-picture such as would not
remain if he had destroyed it; he will become more observant of the
flowers as pictures, cultivate his taste, in short, and also learn to
enjoy beauty without destroying it.

Wanton destruction of flowers should never be countenanced, no matter
how abundant the flowers may be. Self-restraint is not inculcated for
the sake of saving the flowers so much as for the influence it will have
upon the development of the child, although there are parts of the
country where one would like to see it exercised for the sake of the
flowers themselves. The child who learns to respect flowers will never
be one of that discreditable company who by sheer vandalism are
constantly driving the wild flowers farther into the back country,
finally exterminating whole species. In many parts of New England, banks
which were carpeted with arbutus a generation ago are now devoid of a
single root. Spring may come and Spring may go, but no may-flowers will
ever again shine from those banks to delight the eye of the woodland
wanderer. All the generations to come must be deprived of the pleasure
of these delightful flowers, the earliest visitants of spring--to what
end? Did the pleasure they gave to those who took them compensate in the
least degree for their loss to the world? Truly not.

In all the open places near cities, where flowers would delight the
greatest number of eyes and hearts, there are no flowers, and this
because those who went first had no respect for the flowers themselves
or for the rights of those who came after.

Not only should the child learn to exercise judgment in gathering
flowers, but he should also learn how to gather them properly. If the
arbutus had not been carelessly torn up by the roots and trampled on, it
would have yielded its whole tribute of blossoms year after year without
disappearing. If the arbutus-gatherers, knowing the nature of the
treasure they were gathering, had gone armed with scissors and had
clipped the blossoming ends without other injury to the plant, at the
same time taking care not to trample it, the banks would still have been
clad in beauty.

VII

THE FERTILIZATION OF THE FLOWER

As a preparation for this work, let the children notice the flower-dust
or pollen that shakes out of the flowers or is seen clinging to the
anthers.

[Illustration: BEE--SHOWING POLLEN-BASKET]

The child presently discovers where the pollen comes from. It is hidden
in the anthers. He can hunt in all the flowers to find these little
pollen-boxes, some of which, as in the goldenrods, are so small that he
will have hard work to find them, even though they shed such clouds of
pollen. He can notice the different kinds of stamens, see how some have
long stems or filaments, others short ones, others again none at all.
The filament is of no other use than to hold up the anther. The anther
with its pollen is the important thing; so there may be useful stamens
with no filaments, but never useful stamens with no anthers.

The amount of pollen in the flowers is always astonishing and
interesting. Why should there be so much?

That the bee gathers honey from the blossoms is one of the earliest
things the child learns. Just whereabouts in the flower-cup, and just
how the bee finds this honey, how it carries it home, where and how and
why it stores it in the hive, is one of the most fascinating of stories,
as good as a fairy tale. In connection with this comes very naturally
the story of the bees and the pollen. The child will be delighted to
learn that the bees collect pollen as well as honey; that the honey bees
and bumble-bees have baskets on their legs on purpose to carry it home;
that they knead it up with honey and make it into what is known as
bee-bread.

We seldom see bee-bread these days, as patent hives furnish all the
honey found in city stores and no bee-bread is sold. In remote country
places, however, where the honey is removed _en masse_ from the hive,
there will be plenty of bee-bread to give piquancy to the children's
bread and honey. Moreover, where bees are kept, the bee-keeper can
usually be persuaded to take out a little bee-bread for the children to
see and taste; for it is always present no matter what the kind of hive
used, though it is not always easily obtainable, for where their
household arrangements permit, the bees generally prefer to store it in
the lower chambers away from the honey. Thus the flower supplies large
quantities of food for the bees and for us, and long ago, before America
was discovered and before cane-sugar came into use, the people depended
upon honey for their sweetening.

When the children have found how general is the presence of pollen in
the flowers, where it comes from, and how it is gathered by the bees,
they can learn that the pollen is valuable to the plant itself. It is
indeed one of the most necessary parts of the flower, for without it the
ovules could not develop.

The effect of the pollen upon the seeds can be prettily illustrated by a
simple experiment. Take two or three little pots of geraniums whose buds
are just ready to open. Be sure to have single geraniums, and to stand
them where they will not be disturbed and where the wind will not blow
upon them. Shortly after the flower opens, the anthers will be seen
crowded in its throat and covered with pollen. After a few days the
pollen will have dried up, and the style, tipped with a five-rayed
star-like stigma, will push up above the anthers. Mark pot No. 1 as
untouched. From pot No. 2 carefully take a little pollen on the end of a
small clean paint-brush or tooth-pick and touch with it the five-rayed,
star-like stigma of the flowers in pot No. 3. Be careful not to let any
of it touch the stigmas of the flowers in pot No. 2, the pot from whose
flowers the pollen is taken.

Leave the flower-pots undisturbed and watch results. When the flowers
finally drop their petals, in pots No. 1 and No. 2 there will be no
seed-pods remaining, everything will drop, including the little
flower-stalks and the main stalk supporting the whole cluster of
flowers. In short, no trace of flowers will be left. So far as
seed-forming is concerned, the flowers might as well never have
blossomed. Very different will be the result in the flowers of pot No.
3. These received the pollen on the stigma, and in some way this pollen
affected the ovules so that they began to develop. We say the flower was
fertilized by the pollen, and "fertilized" is a valuable word to learn
at once. When the petals of the fertilized flowers fall, all does not
fall. There remains the ovary with the long style and the star-like
stigma. The ovary continues to grow, as do the seeds within it. Since
the geranium is a house-plant, raised under unnatural conditions, not
all the fertilized flowers will succeed. Some may fall at once, like the
unfertilized ones. But out of the whole bunch of fertilized flowers some
will be almost sure to start the development enough to show that in some
way the fertilized flowers were able to produce seeds, while the others
will in no case make any attempt at seed-forming. Even though none of
the seeds come to perfection, the fact that they start at all will
demonstrate the effect of the pollen. The geranium is a good plant to
use in illustrating this point, because it is so constructed that it
cannot fertilize its own flowers.

What the child thus far learns is simply that the pollen is in some way
necessary to the development of the ovule. If the experiment with the
geraniums is not practicable, the child can be told that the pollen is
necessary to the development of the seed, that it falls upon the stigma
and nourishes the little ovules down in the ovary, and that no seed can
form without the aid of the pollen. All the seeds we plant in the flower
gardens or in the vegetable gardens, and all the grain we sow in the
fields, are produced by the help of pollen. All the peas and beans and
other seeds we eat owe their existence in part to the pollen, and
without it they could not develop.

Some parents teach their children at once that the pistil is the
mother-part of the plant, caring for the young seeds, the stamens the
father part, providing for them, and that the stamens and pistil
growing in the same flower are brothers and sisters. Other parents
prefer to use only botanical terms, leaving the extension of the thought
to later consideration or to the child's own logic, for children often
reason out all the facts--in a very general way, of course--from only
this botanical study.

But we are not yet done with the pollen. It not only assists the ovule
to develop, but it impresses upon it its own characteristics. In other
words, the seed inherits from the pollen as well as from the ovule.
Inheritance is a very wonderful thing. It is that power which causes the
offspring to resemble its parents. In some wonderful way the tiny ovule,
the tiny pollen grain, remember everything about the plant they came
from and are able to transmit this memory to the developing offspring,
so that it may become like its parents.

Again, the child under eight can understand the principal facts of
fertilization. The older child can add to his stock of facts, and one of
the things he will be likely to want to know is how the little pollen
grain up on the stigma can influence the ovule down in the ovary.

We know how the ovule is formed. We know that it grows from the inside
of the ovary. If we were able to examine the development of the pollen
grain inside the anther from its very beginning, we should find the same
thing true of it. The anther is a little box like the ovary, and the
pollen grain grows from the inside of it, being at first a part of it
and nourished by the same sap. When it became ripe it fell free into the
anther cavity. We then have a little box full of ripe pollen grains.[1]

The pollen grain is like the ovule in structure, only much smaller. It
is so tiny and the anther so small that we cannot watch its development
as we can that of the ovule. But botanists have taken great pains to
examine the pollen and to watch its development under the microscope, so
that from them we know the truth.

If we examine the young ovule we find it apparently nothing but a little
sac full of a semi-liquid substance. This semi-liquid substance, or at
least a part of it, is alive and is very important. It is protoplasm,
which is the only living substance; all the living parts of plants and
animals are made from protoplasm.

[Illustration: POLLEN GRAINS (MAGNIFIED), AND STIGMA]

The pollen grain is also a little sac containing protoplasm. Thus we
have these two little sacs of living substance, each growing in a
similar manner, one to the inside of an ovary, the other to the inside
of an anther. Naturally, it is the living substance in these little sacs
that is important. It is the living substance of the ovule that unites
with the living substance of the pollen grain to become a seed; or, to
say the same thing another way, it is the living substance of the pollen
grain that unites with that of the ovule to become a seed; or yet again,
it is the union of these two living substances that enables the seed to
develop.

[Illustration: THE POLLEN TUBE PASSING THROUGH THE STYLE TO THE OVARY]

To understand how the pollen substance finds its way to the ovule
substance let us examine the pollen grain a little more carefully.
Pollen grains are of many shapes, though usually they are globe-shaped,
or football-shaped. Tiny as they are, the outer skin is often marked
with grooves and ridges in a very ornamental manner. They have two
skins, an outer hard one, a softer inner one. The outer skin is not
equally thick and hard all over. It has little glazed spots sometimes,
like little glazed windows. Now, when the pistil is ripe the stigma is
_sticky_. When the pollen grain falls upon this sticky stigma its inside
wall swells up, just as the bean does when we soak it. But the outside
wall cannot swell, consequently the inner wall finally breaks through at
one of the weak spots in the outer wall. Then the inner wall absorbing
moisture and nutriment from the stigma actually grows, becoming a tube,
which finds its way down through the style. The living substance of the
pollen grain runs into the tip of this tube, and so is carried with it
down through the style. The tube is nourished by the juices of the style
as it goes along, and finally it gets to the ovary and the ovule. Every
ovule has a tiny opening, or micropyle as it is called, and it is now
easy to guess what that is for. The pollen tube pushes straight toward
the micropyle, enters into the ovule through the micropyle, and then the
living substance it has carried all this distance in its tip breaks
through its delicate wall and mingles with the living substance of the
ovule. When this has happened, the ovule begins to grow and to develop
into a seed.

[Illustration: ENTRANCE OF POLLEN-TUBE THROUGH THE MICROPYLE TO THE
OVULE]

We see that the whole pollen grain could not possibly force its way
down to the ovule. It cannot move of itself, for one thing, and if it
could it is too large to pass between the tissues of the style. So it
simply sends down the long tube, which grows fast, pushing along through
the style, whose tissues are rather loose, and carrying with it the only
valuable part of the pollen grain, its living protoplasm. No ovule can
possibly grow into a grain without this tiny bit of pollen.

In explaining this union of the two protoplasms, the child's mind can be
turned upon the wonderful mystery--one of the great mysteries of the
universe--of how this tiny atom can influence the whole future plant.
There is ample opportunity here to elevate his mind and spirit to a high
plane, and, by talking of the wonders of inheritance, to give many a
hint for future reflection. Without this law of inheritance the world
would be chaos. Imagine the seed of a rose sometimes developing into an
oak tree, the egg of a bird into a bee or a trout. Imagine eggs
developing haphazard into anything. There would be no use in living.
Nothing could be depended upon. But there is no danger that any such
thing will happen: the law of inheritance is unyielding. From a rose
seed must come a rose bush,--and this is good. But on the other hand,
from the seed of a weak, poor plant will grow another weak, poor plant.
Whatever the parent is, good or bad, that must the offspring be. But
sometimes the offspring inherits only the best in the parents, and so is
better than they.

Thus in gathering his seeds, the child will select only the largest and
best and take them from only the best plants to put in his garden the
next year, at the same time planting beautiful truths in the garden of
his soul. Not the least of these truths is a profound sense of the
immutability of law. Through his nature-work the child can learn as
nowhere else the stern, unbreakable decrees of law, and the respect and
reverence due to it from every intelligent being. Another important and
far-reaching fact that the child can learn from his garden is, that his
plants are good or poor according to the care he takes of them. They
must have the right kind of food (soil), the right amount of water, the
right temperature and surroundings,--some loving the open sunshine,
others needing to be partly protected from it. In short, according as
its environment is suited to its needs, and as its inheritance is good
or bad, will the plant be strong and handsome or otherwise.

Another truth to be learned from the flowers is the value of
cross-fertilization. This was demonstrated by the great Darwin, who
fertilized a number of flowers with their own pollen, and an equal
number with the pollen from the blossoms of another plant of the same
kind. When the seeds were ripe he gathered them, carefully keeping those
of the self-fertilized flowers separate from the others. The next season
he planted both sets of seeds under exactly the same conditions, that
is, they had the same soil and moisture, the same sun and air, and the
same care. The plants that grew from these two sets of seeds were very
different, those from the self-fertilized seeds being smaller and weaker
in every way than those from the seeds fertilized with pollen from
another plant, or cross-fertilized, as we say, thus proving that it is
not best for the plant to be self-fertilized. Someway, it needs the
stimulus from less closely related pollen in order to grow vigorously
and perfectly.

While the cross-fertilization of the same order of plants is so
desirable, it is not possible for the pollen of one order to fertilize
the ovules of another order. There must be a certain degree of
similarity between flowers able to fertilize each other. The pollen of
an apple blossom might, for instance, rest upon the stigma of a lily,
but the pollen could not penetrate to the lily ovule. It would have no
effect upon the lily.

That the seed inherits equally from the ovule and the pollen grain is a
truth that should be impressed in many ways. It is very wonderful that
anything so small as a pollen grain, often as small as the tiniest speck
of dust, should be able to transmit to the young seed the peculiarities
of the plant from which it came. That it does this, the child himself
can prove in a most interesting way. He can plant some white petunia
seeds in one side of his garden, and some red ones in the other. The
seeds should come from a reliable florist's in order to be sure of
results. When the petunias ripen their seeds, those from the white
flowers should be gathered and carefully labelled, and then those of the
red flowers, care being taken not to mix the two colors. The next
summer, plant the seeds as before. When the flowers blossom, those in
the white bed will no longer be white,--some may be, but others will be
red, and still others red and white. The same will be true of the
flowers in the red bed. What has happened? The bees going from flower to
flower have carried the pollen from one bed to the other, and some of
it, rubbing off on the stigmas as the bees searched for honey,
fertilized the flowers. Thus some of the ovules of the white flowers
received an impression of red from the pollen of the red flowers, and
grew into red flowering plants. In others where the impression of red
was less strong, the result was the production of red-and-white spotted
flowers.

By fertilizing white flowers with pollen from red ones we can almost
always get seeds that will develop into plants bearing flowers that are
not white. What is true of color is true of other characteristics of the
plant, such, for instance, as size and shape of leaves, habit of growth,
size, shape, and quality of fruit, etc. Thus by careful
cross-fertilization, we are able to produce not only beautiful and new
blossoms, but also many delicious new fruits. Most of our cultivated
fruits have been produced in this way. For instance, if two species of
wild strawberries were found, one, large and beautiful but sour or
tasteless, the other, small but delicious, the two could be bred
together until finally a perfect berry, large and well-flavored, would
result.

[Illustration: FLOWERS NEEDING CROSS-FERTILIZATION, SOME WITH OVARY BUT
NO STAMENS, OTHERS WITH STAMENS BUT NO OVARY]

When the children are interested in their gardens they can try to make a
new flower, using for the first experiments one that comes up from the
seed, blossoms, and matures its seeds the same year, and also readily
changes its color as a result of cross-fertilization. Such are the
petunia and the sweet-pea. The prettiest new flower produced can be
marked and its seeds saved for future use, and the flower can have a
name of its own. Florists often name their choice new flowers from some
beautiful woman, and it would be a pretty tribute on the part of the
child to name his favorite new petunia or sweet-pea after his mother. Of
course this work will necessarily be very crude and the results
uncertain, since the successful production of new plants is a science in
itself; but enough can be done to interest the young experimenter
thoroughly and enable him to learn many valuable lessons. In these
early, childish experiments, an interest in gardening may be awakened,
which will last through life, the man, the woman, finding rest,
relaxation, exercise, and pleasure in going from the trying daily work
to the garden a while every day. Even a plot of ground a few feet square
can afford great opportunity for experiment and beauty.

Cross-fertilization among the plants does not, of course, depend upon
man as an agent. Since cross-fertilization is so valuable, it is not
surprising to find many devices in the plant world for securing it.
Honey and color, which attract winged messengers, are among the most
universal helps to cross-fertilization. In many cases, the structure of
the flower is such that it cannot fertilize itself. In the geranium, the
stamen and the pistil in the same flower mature at different times. In
some species, as among the lilies, the style is so long that the pollen
could not fall upon it without artificial aid. Some flowers are so
constructed that they can be fertilized by certain kinds of insects and
by no others; among these are the orchids and our clovers and
milk-weeds. Again, some flowers have an ovary but no stamens, while a
neighbor has stamens but no ovary, making self-fertilization absolutely
impossible.

Indeed there is nothing more fascinating in the study of botany than the
methods by which the flowers secure cross-fertilization, nearly all of
our common garden-flowers affording illustrations. Here too, is a field
where the young botanist can do really valuable work, for while much is
known and has been written on the subject, much remains unknown. There
are many books that give valuable and delightful information about
cross-fertilization.

The method of fertilization of the flowers satisfactorily accounts for
the great amount of pollen produced. Being blown by the wind or carried
by insects, much of it is wasted, consequently there must be ample
allowance made for this waste. So the flowers produce thousands of
pollen grains which they can never use themselves.

VIII

WHAT CAN BE LEARNED FROM THE LIFE OF THE FISH

Whatever is universal is good.

Whatever is universal is true.

Whatever is universal is beautiful.

Nothing disperses, so to speak, the fogs enveloping the thought of sex
like the realization of its universality. The air clears when we know
that every living thing is bound by the same laws, even the flowers in
our gardens.

We have an interesting testimony as to the helpfulness of this thought
from one of the great educators of youth, Fröbel. Speaking of his own
childhood when he became conscious of what his father, who was a
minister, was constantly meeting in his parish work, he says:

     "Matrimonial and family relations were often the subject of his
     admonitory and corrective conversation and remonstrances. The way
     in which my father spoke of this, made me consider the subject as
     one of the most pressing and difficult for man, and in my youth and
     innocence, I felt deep grief and pain that man alone among created
     things should pay the penalty of such a sexual difference that made
     it hard for him to do right.... Just then my oldest brother, who
     lived away from home, came back for a time, and when I told him my
     delight in the purple threads of the hazel buds, he made me notice
     a similar sexual difference among flowers.

     "Now my mind was satisfied. I learned that what had troubled me was
     a widespread arrangement throughout nature to which even the quiet,
     beautiful growths of flowers were subject. Henceforth human and
     natural life, soul and flower existence, were inseparable in my
     eyes, and my hazel blossoms I see still, like angels that opened to
     me the great temple of nature.... Henceforth it seemed as if I had
     the clue of Ariadne, which would lead me through all the wrong and
     devious ways of life; and a life of more than thirty years with
     nature, often, it is true, falling back and clouded for great
     intervals, has taught me to know this, especially the plant and
     tree world, as a mirror--I might say, an emblem--of man's life in
     its highest spiritual relations; so that I look upon it as one of
     the greatest and deepest conceptions of human life and spirit when
     in holy Scripture the comparison of good and evil is drawn from a
     tree. Nature, as a whole,--even the realms of crystals and
     stones,--teaches us to discriminate good from evil; but, for me,
     not so powerfully, quietly, clearly, and openly as the plant and
     flower kingdom."

The stronger this feeling of the universality of sex, the more
dispersive, as it were, is the thought of the subject. It would be
difficult to connect personal and impure thoughts or feelings with a
star whose distance in space was realized; and so with all other
thoughts, the more they can be elevated into wide, general regions, the
less disturbing they will be likely to become.

All the facts of sex-life can be learned in the flower, and the
associations thus indelibly impressed cannot fail to leave at least a
trace of fragrance and loveliness on even an obtuse nature. No matter
what the later experiences or mistakes may be, the whole conception of
this side of life cannot sink so low as might be the case if there were
not this flower-sweet background. And that is worth something.

It is not difficult to pass at once from the flower life to human life,
and there are cases where this may be advisable. When, however, the
beginning-work has been done with young children, and when we consider
all the stress laid upon nature-work these days in school and out, and
all the books written and all the stories told of living creatures of
all kinds, it is helpful and easy to linger in the delightful and
impersonal realm of the lower life yet longer, with this distinct
advantage, that the _feeling_ of universality, which is very different
from the _thought_ of it, will be strengthened.

For several reasons, the step from plant life to animal life can well be
taken by means of the fish, particularly with little children. There is
nothing prettier than living fishes in water. The fascination they have
for all conditions and ages is shown by the crowds always seen at
exhibitions of live fish in aquaria.

The child can have his little aquarium at home, which may consist of a
glass globe plentifully supplied with some pretty water weed and a
goldfish or two. Fishes do not like the bright light all around them,
and should be provided with some sort of refuge, like the water weed,
or if the tank is large enough, with stones piled up to make a cave. For
the same reason, the globe should not be set in the window or on the
middle of a small table, but should be placed where at least one side of
it may be shadowed by something. Pebbles should be put in the bottom of
the tank and not too many fishes crowded together. They need room to
move freely, and also plenty of fresh water for breathing. At the
bird-stores small aquaria can usually be bought and fitted out with the
proper amount of water plants to balance the breathing of the fishes.
For the impurity breathed out by the fish is the same as that breathed
out by all creatures, the carbon dioxide which it discharges into the
water being just what the water plant needs to grow on. Also the water
plant returns pure oxygen to the water, which is just what the fish
needs to breathe. This story of the interdependence of the two, and the
possibility of so balancing the plant and animal life in the tank that
it is never necessary to change the water, can be made very
interesting, and, needless to say, very illuminating. The fish cannot
live out of the water, and yet it breathes air. There is always air in
the water unless it has been artificially removed as by boiling, and
this little bit of air is enough for the fish, which is cold-blooded and
does not need so much fuel to keep its vital forces burning. But this
little it must have, and it will suffer for the want of it, just as we
suffer in a very close, unventilated room; and if the supply should
become too small, the fish will die, just as we should die in a room
where no fresh air could enter. So the fish must have the water changed
unless there is enough plant life in its tank to keep the air pure. When
suffering for air, the fish shows signs of distress, which should never
be ignored. If it keeps close to the surface of the water with its mouth
up and frequently swallows the outside air, that is a sign it needs
fresh water. If it does not have it after a while it will die, as it
cannot live on air undiluted by water.

Fishes need very little feeding, particularly if there are water plants
in the tank; they find food from them. The best way is to follow the
directions of the man who sells you the fishes. If too much food is
given them it quickly fouls the aquarium, and then the water must be
changed and everything cleaned up. In changing the water, care should be
taken to have that which is put in about the same temperature as that
taken out. A sudden application of too cold water is not good for the
fishes. The children should take care of their pets themselves and see
that they do not suffer.

The motions of the fish are what make it so attractive. How does it
swim? Not with its fins to any extent. The whole back part of the body,
including the tail, is moved from side to side as the fish swims. It
moves its tail as a paddle is used at the stern of a boat, and so the
fish paddles himself along. The fins are used more as balancers. They
keep the fish upright in the water. As soon as it stops using them, it
turns over on one side.

The fish opens and shuts its mouth constantly; it appears to be
swallowing water. And so it is, so far as its mouth is concerned, but
the water it takes in does not go down into the stomach. It is not
really swallowed, but passes out at the gills, which are also constantly
opening and shutting. The gills are red inside and are covered with a
fine network of blood vessels. The air in the water moves against these
delicate blood vessels, which are able to take what they need--the
oxygen--from it. Thus the fish uses gills instead of lungs for
breathing.

Sometimes, fishes pick up pebbles in their mouths and drop them again.
Some fishes, but not goldfishes, make noises.

The adaptation of the fish to its surroundings is interesting. Not only
is its form the very best for moving quickly through the water, but its
covering is peculiarly appropriate, many fishes having a hard,
protecting coat of shining scales. These scales, besides being beautiful
and useful, are interesting in another way, for we know that they are
only modified hairs, growing from the skin as hairs grow but having
their form and size developed in special ways to serve their purpose.
Scales and feathers are only another form of hairs.

Many interesting stories of fishes can be told or read to the children,
and among other things they can learn about the swim-bladder, the large,
strong air-sac, which can be compressed or distended at pleasure, making
the fish lighter or heavier and enabling it to rise to the surface of
the water or sink to the bottom. In Nova Scotia, where many codfishes
are caught, the swim-bladders are called sounds, and are cooked as a
delicacy.

In the spring of the year we eat the roe of fish, which is nothing more
nor less than fish eggs. Wherever shad are used, the children will be
familiar with the shad roe; and in the South mullet roes are universally
used. The people there dry them in the sun, and the children
particularly are very fond of them. The Russian caviare is the eggs of a
species of fish, and is considered a great delicacy by some people.

Where do these eggs come from? The fish market or the kitchen on fish
day will answer the question. The child who is privileged to pass part
of the summer at the seashore where fishermen ply their trade will have
ample opportunity to know, as will the child who goes fishing in any
brook or pond and is allowed (as he always should be) to clean and cook
the fish he has caught. Also the smelts, which are cooked whole, only
the intestines being removed through a hole near the gills, will answer
the question.

[Illustration: THE OVARY OF A FISH]

The eggs of the fish are contained in a sort of double pouch or sac,
shaped something like an old-fashioned silk purse. These sacs open into
the intestine near its exit. They are the ovaries of the fish. From the
inside of each ovary the tiny eggs, or ova, grow, just as the ovules
grow in the plant ovary or seed-pod. At first they are a part of the
ovary; later they grow larger and fall loose, until the ovary is filled
with them. The ovary is always inside the fish. It is there when the
fish is born, and even then there are the tiniest hints of ova in it.
But the ova do not grow large until the fish is mature; they wait until
the fish has developed its strength, its bone, and muscle. Then in the
springtime they grow rapidly. They grow until they are ripe, when they
lie free in the ovary; and others grow and are freed in the same way
until the ovary, which has also enlarged to accommodate them, is quite
full. The female fish is larger than the male, and looks plump and
rounded at this season. In course of time the eggs thus developed will
be shed--or born--whether they are fertilized or not. But, if they are
not fertilized, no further growth will take place in them, and they will
soon perish.

The child, knowing about the fertilization of flowers, can easily be led
to see that the fish ova, like the flower ovules, cannot develop without
pollen. The anthers containing the pollen are found in the male fish,
and look like the ovaries, only they are not so large and their contents
are not so firm. They seem filled with a formless substance instead of
with little globular eggs. Under the microscope this formless substance
is seen to be made of a semi-fluid material in which are held millions
of pollen grains! Only we no longer call them pollen grains. We may call
them fertilizing cells if we please, though there are several names for
them. But they are essentially the same as pollen. They grow, in the
same way, from the inside of the anther (which may now be called the
testicle) and become free when ripe. The pollen grains cannot move of
themselves; the fertilizing cells can. Each fertilizing cell is like an
ovum, excepting that it is not so spherical and is lengthened into a
sort of lash by which it can propel itself through the water. When the
ova are laid by one fish, the other swims over them and the fertilizing
fluid is expelled into the water just as the eggs were. There is no
union whatever between the parents for the purpose of fertilization. As
soon as a fertilizing cell comes in contact with an ovum it seeks to
enter into its substance, and as soon as this has happened, the two
cells thus united begin to develop into a very tiny fish. As soon as the
change begins, we have the _embryo_ of the fish, which thus corresponds
to the embryo of the seed.

There is one great difference between the ovary of the plant and that of
the fish. When the plant ovary is ripe, its seeds are shed, and then the
ovary itself falls off. The plant ovary thus bears only one set of
seeds. In the fish, the ovary always remains in the fish, and after the
eggs are shed, it shrinks up to a very small size, and remains so until
it again develops and becomes distended with more eggs the following
season. The same is true of the fish's testicles. When the time comes,
the fertilizing material is expelled. After this the sac shrinks up to
small size until the following season.

When the embryo has grown to its perfect form, the egg-shell is broken
and out swims the young fish. When it leaves the shell we say it
hatches, just as we say the plant embryo sprouts when it leaves the
egg-shell or seed-shell. Like the pollen of the flower, the fertilizing
cells of the fish cannot act upon any ova but those of its own species.

The young fish, like the young plant, inherits characteristics from both
parents. From its father it may acquire a certain shape, certain
markings, a certain disposition. Since the father's part in the creation
of his offspring is less obvious and apparently less intimate than that
of the mother, the child can be helped to put a certain value on the
thought of fatherhood which later will strengthen the bond of union
between himself and his own father, deepening his love for his father
and his confidence in him. That the boy love his father is as necessary
to his welfare as that he love his mother, and the mother should, in all
the early years in which the sex instruction may fall most heavily on
her, impress upon the young heart the beauty and glory of paternity.
The sacrifice of the father who gives all his strength and time, scarce
allowing himself a moment of relaxation or absence from business that he
may provide for the needs of the family, is as great as the sacrifice of
the mother who devotes her time and strength to caring for the home and
the children. The tendency in teaching young people is to lay all the
stress on motherhood and mother love, which is a manifest injustice to
the human father, who deserves not only the natural love of his
children, but the deeper, more consecrated love which comes from a pure
and perfect knowledge of fatherhood.

Perhaps nothing will help a young man at the most critical age of his
life so much as his love and faith in his father. And perhaps nothing
will tend to lift the whole subject of paternity in the popular mind to
the plane where it belongs, as will this love and knowledge, when it is
bred in the child from his early years. Many difficulties in handling
this subject that become insuperable might never even exist if the
knowledge of fatherhood, if love and respect for it and for the father
as the giver of life, were bred into the boy at an early age. Moreover a
certain shyness, which often makes it more difficult for fathers to talk
to their sons on these matters than for the mothers to do so, would not
have existed if they themselves as children and youth had been educated
to a complete knowledge of the sex-life by one or both parents. The
cause of this shyness is in many cases ignorance of how to present the
facts, and a misconception of the difficulties of speaking to a
pure-minded child about them. Nothing surprises the parent more than the
way difficulties vanish when once the course of instruction to the youth
has been entered upon.

In the lower life the father seldom cares for his offspring; and this is
true among the fishes, where neither parent as a rule assumes any other
responsibility than properly disposing of and fertilizing the eggs.
Where, however, any care is taken, it not infrequently devolves upon the
father instead of the mother. This is true of the fresh-water black
bass and of the stickleback, where the father protects the eggs until
they are hatched, and protects and cares for the young fish. In the case
of the stickleback, the father even makes a nest to contain the eggs.

Thus far, the process of the renewal of life is, so to speak,
impersonal. The eggs are laid by one fish and fertilized by the other,
this being necessary to the development of the young. The parents are
endowed with an instinct which informs them when the time is at hand;
and the male fish guided by this instinct applies the fertilizing
material where it is needed,--that is, over the surface of the
fresh-laid eggs. The number of eggs laid by fishes should be noticed, as
it is a fact which will be useful later. Several millions of eggs have
been counted in the ovaries of one fish. The number of fertilizing cells
in one testicle would be incalculable. Fish eggs and young fishes are
liable to many fatalities; they are destroyed in immense numbers.
Consequently, if the race is to survive, there must be an almost
inexhaustible supply.

Fishes kept in confinement will not as a rule multiply. Nothing is so
sensitive as the reproductive system. Lacking certain stimuli which it
finds in its natural surroundings, it will not become active. The
goldfish in the globe will, if a female, have the ovary containing
undeveloped ova, the male will have the testicles containing the
fertilizing cells, but these will not mature. It is as though the whole
system of the fish missed the freedom of space, the changes of season,
the variety of substances at the bottom of the water,--all that goes to
make "home" for it, and so languished in body as well as spirits.

The child who, in connection with a multitude of other interesting facts
concerning fish life, learns those concerning its multiplication, will
look upon them as perfectly natural and matter-of-fact.

But, some one objects, will not the child at this point guess the whole
truth? Suppose he does? Is not that just what we want him to do? Is it
not a sign that he has a good reasoning mind? He may arrive at the right
general conclusion, but he has a conception that is very general,
vague, not at all personal, and entirely lacking in any material for
malodorous thoughts and feelings. By constantly turning his thoughts to
the wonders and truths of heredity and to the marvel of the development
of living things from such insignificant yet momentous beginnings, and
by telling him interesting facts of animals and plants along these
lines, his thought can be kept general and on a high plane. Where
details are demanded, the parent ought to be thankful that these are
presented to him for elucidation instead of to some incapable outsider,
and he can meet the demand according to circumstances,--all of which
will be discussed more fully presently.

If the parent keeps ever in mind the fact that the child _must know_
some time, and ought to gain a high conception of the subject before
being exposed to degrading influences, if he asks himself in all
honesty, "Unless I answer this, who will? and how?" he will be helped to
do what in his own heart he knows to be his duty.

Moreover, there is a great gain to many a child in learning the main
facts at an age where they do not appeal powerfully to his imagination
nor move his senses. Later, when any reference to the subject may have
this effect, and when there is enough to understand and meet without
going back to the rudiments, it will be much less difficult to give the
needed aid with this background, which causes the child to feel that he
has "always known." To have always known a thing robs it of any great
special interest. We pay no attention to the sun that shines upon us,
but if this were a phenomenon of very rare occurrence we should be
thrilled by it and aroused to curiosity and special observation and
interest.

The child's knowledge of the sexuality of nature should be as much a
matter of fact as any other knowledge, and the mystery of it should be
presented to him as a sublime and beautiful mystery, creating an
impression he cannot wholly escape from when he finds himself caught in
the vortex of his own adulthood.

IX

AMPHIBIOUS LIFE

To the parents who desire to lead the child's mind through a long
sequence of thought from the lower to the higher life, the amphibian
affords an easy step in this ascending scale. And among amphibians that
familiar and picturesque harbinger of spring, the frog, and his cousin
the friendly toad, are the best adapted.

Children are always interested in frogs because they jump so well. This
suggests a starting-point for making their closer acquaintance. Why do
they jump so well? It is because of their long hind legs. A little
watching of either frog or toad will show exactly how the legs are used
and wherein they differ from, and also resemble, the child's own legs.
The little hands of the frog and toad, their way of sitting, leaning on
their short arms, their eagerness to snap up a tempting fly, the queer
tongue fastened the other way round from ours, and its lightning-like
speed which is a result of this same position in the mouth,--a hundred
interesting things can be learned about the toads and frogs.

Toads are very easily tamed, and make most amusing as well as useful
pets if there is a garden to be protected from marauding insects. They
generally have a hole or corner to which they come home regularly at
night, and with a little patience can be so tamed that they will take
food, of living insect or even of scraps of meat, from the child's hand.
Their power to gormandize seems unlimited, and the number of insects
they can swallow without protest is almost incredible. They will keep a
small garden quite free from slugs and other pests. They have no bad
habits, do not bark at night, or chase cats, or bite, or steal, or
insist upon coming into the house, or scratch up the flower-beds. Some
accuse them of causing warts, but this is not true. When handled, they
sometimes give forth an acrid liquid from the skin, which stings the
mouths of tormenting dogs and smears meddling fingers. But this, though
unpleasant, does no harm. Many people have handled toads freely and
never had a wart; many others who have never touched a toad have had
many warts.

The toad may be ugly to look at, but that is not his fault. To many, he
is more comical than ugly, and no creature has more beautiful eyes than
this same homely toad. He is one of the most useful of animals, and
should never be killed or ill treated.

The frog is less familiar to us than the toad, living as he does in the
water or in wet places. Boys often take delight in killing him, having
theories of the terrible influence he exercises in the affairs of man.
He is as harmless as the toad and of value in keeping down insect pests,
since these are also his food.

In the spring of the year, the frogs and toads will be heard chirping,
the frog in particular sometimes filling the night with his din. The
earliest of these voices comes from the smaller green frogs, or
"peepers," as they are often called because of the peeping noise they
make. The deep bass croak comes from the large bull-frog, so named from
his size and not from his sex, for there are female bull-frogs. When the
frogs begin to peep, the children will enjoy making an excursion in
quest of frogs' eggs. These will be found in any pond where the voice of
the frog is heard, and can be taken with a long-handled dipper or by
wading,--the latter practice to be cautiously indulged in northern
latitudes at this time of year, as the water may yet be very cold.

The eggs are gray, spherical, about as large as sweet-pea seeds, and
have a black spot on one side. They are found embedded many together in
a colorless jelly-like substance. The egg-mass should be handled
carefully and put whole into a jar or pail of water and thus carried
home. It should not stand with the sun shining directly on it, and when
the water is changed, every other day, that which is used should be of
about the same temperature as that removed. Water drawn cold from the
pipes will sometimes kill the eggs.

If all goes well, in a few days the eggs will hatch. Out of them will
hatch, not frogs, but tadpoles, or pollywogs, as they are also called.
Everyone likes to watch a tadpole--certainly every child does. As soon
as the eggs hatch, the surrounding jelly substance may be thrown away,
merely as a matter of convenience. Its use is to protect the eggs and to
afford the first food for the tadpole. If left too long in the water, it
becomes broken up, discolored and unpleasant. The tadpoles should have
fresh water every day or two, care again being exercised not to use it
too cold, and they must be fed. They will eat almost anything, crumbs of
crackers or bread, and bits of raw meat or fish being very acceptable.
If they are well fed on meat or fish, they will grow faster and change
earlier into frogs. Indeed, by underfeeding tadpoles a person can keep
them a whole year from undergoing the changes they would have normally
undergone in a few weeks. The large bull-frog tadpoles naturally take
two years to develop, though a very nutritious diet may possibly hasten
them.

[Illustration: TADPOLES AT DIFFERENT STAGES OF GROWTH]

The tadpole has very small eyes, a very small mouth, and tiny gill
openings like a fish. Indeed, so far as its life at this stage is
concerned, to all intents and purposes it is a fish. It cannot live out
of the water, it breathes by gills, it swims by its tail, but it has no
fins. It wiggles about the jar or tank in a very lively way, and ought
to have water weeds or stones to hide under, and pebbles or gravel in
the bottom of the receptacle.

The ordinary tadpole, if well fed, astonishes and delights his young
keepers in a few days by putting forth a pair of tiny hind legs, which
generally trail behind him when he swims, though he often kicks with
them, perhaps for exercise. He grows larger and his legs longer, and one
day a row of fingers may be seen peeping out of his gill slit, as though
out of an armhole, and then he will thrust out a forearm, then another
from the other gill slit. After this, changes are rapid, and his keepers
should put a stone or some firm object in the water, reaching above the
surface, so that he can climb up into the air; for now his lungs are
rapidly forming, and soon he can no longer breathe by gills. At this
stage, his tail begins to disappear. It does not fall off, as some
think, but its substance is absorbed into his body until no tail is
left. Finally, his head changes its shape, his baby mouth is replaced by
a wide frog mouth, his eyes stand out with projecting lids, his
ear-plates showing back of them, and we have a full-grown frog.

To the child who understands the origin of the fish eggs a few
questions which he can easily answer himself will be enough to call
attention to the important differences, and also to deepen the
impression of the unity of life as expressed in flower, fish, and frog.
The ova of the frog develop in an ovary exactly as do the ova of a fish;
they develop in the same way and at the maturity of the animal. The
fertilizing cells develop like those of the fish. In both cases, the
reproductive elements are laid, shed, or born, when the time comes.
Before the eggs of the frogs and toads are laid they have no albuminous
covering. The moisture that envelops them swells up into the jelly-like
mass upon coming in contact with water.

There are important differences between the frog and the fish. The frog
is a more complex animal and, so to speak, more difficult to create, and
it lays fewer eggs. Since there are fewer eggs they must be more
carefully fertilized; that is, the fertilizing material must be sure to
come in contact with all of them. Consequently at the moment when the
eggs are finding their way into the water they are fertilized; not
within the female body, but just as they are leaving it.

The child accustomed to notice what he sees will observe the paired
frogs in the pond. He can be told that they take this position just
before the eggs are laid so that every egg will surely be fertilized. In
the amphibious animals the relation of the two parents is closer than in
the fishes, but yet there is no union between them, that appearing only
when it is necessary. The stern law of necessity governing every step of