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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Field, Forest and Farm - Things interesting to young nature-lovers, including some matters - of moment to gardeners and fruit-growers - -Author: Jean-Henri Fabre - -Release Date: April 11, 2022 [eBook #67813] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This - file was produced from images generously made available by - The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIELD, FOREST AND FARM *** - - - - - - FIELD, FOREST AND FARM - - THINGS INTERESTING TO YOUNG NATURE-LOVERS, - INCLUDING SOME MATTERS OF MOMENT TO GARDENERS - AND FRUIT-GROWERS - - - BY - JEAN-HENRI FABRE - Author of “The Story-Book of Science,” “Our - Humble Helpers,” “Social Life in - the Insect World,” etc. - - TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH - BY - FLORENCE CONSTABLE BICKNELL - - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - 1919 - - - - - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I The Staff of Life 3 - II The History of Tobacco 11 - III The Origin of Fertile Soil 16 - IV Different Kinds of Soil 21 - V Different Kinds of Soil (Continued) 25 - VI Potash and Phosphorus 30 - VII Phosphates and Nitrogen 35 - VIII Vegetation and the Atmosphere 42 - IX Lime 47 - X Lime in Agriculture 52 - XI Plaster of Paris 56 - XII Plaster of Paris in Agriculture 60 - XIII Natural Fertilizers—Guano 65 - XIV The Stalk of the Plant 70 - XV The Root 74 - XVI Buds 80 - XVII Adventitious Buds 84 - XVIII Bulbs and Bulblets 89 - XIX Tubers—Starch 93 - XX Uses of Starch 98 - XXI History of the Potato 102 - XXII Ascending Sap 107 - XXIII Descending Sap 112 - XXIV Tree-Pruning 116 - XXV Pinching—Bud-Nipping 120 - XXVI Making Fruit Trees Bear 124 - XXVII The Seed 129 - XXVIII The Seed’s Food-Supply 134 - XXIX Germination 138 - XXX The Blossom 144 - XXXI Pollen 150 - XXXII The Grain of Wheat 155 - XXXIII Cultivated Plants 159 - XXXIV Different Ways of Propagating 165 - XXXV Layering 170 - XXXVI Slipping 178 - XXXVII Grafting 184 - XXXVIII Grafting (Continued) 190 - XXXIX Grafting (Concluded) 197 - XL Rotation of Crops 202 - XLI Rotation of Crops (Continued) 208 - XLII Land-Drainage 214 - XLIII Paring and Burning 219 - XLIV Wine-Making 223 - XLV The Stag-Beetle 228 - XLVI Sheath-Winged Insects 235 - XLVII The June-Bug 242 - XLVIII Caterpillars and Butterflies 249 - XLIX Ants 256 - L The Ant-Lion 264 - LI Venomous Animals 271 - LII The Phylloxera 279 - LIII The Phylloxera (Continued) 288 - LIV Nocturnal Birds of Prey 295 - LV The Smaller Birds 300 - LVI Birds’ Nests 305 - LVII Migration of Birds 317 - LVIII Carrier-Pigeons 322 - LIX Some Prehistoric Animals 328 - LX The Origin of Coal 336 - LXI The Farmer’s Helpers 342 - LXII The Farmer’s Helpers (Continued) 348 - - - - - - - - -FIELD, FOREST AND FARM - - -CHAPTER I - -THE STAFF OF LIFE - - -With his nephews as willing companions and eager listeners, Uncle Paul -continued his walks and talks in the pleasant summer afternoons. - -“Bread is made of flour,” he began, “and flour is wheat reduced to -powder under the millstone. What an interesting mechanism that is, the -flour-mill, driven by water, by the wind, sometimes by steam! What -wearisome effort, what waste of time, if we had not this invention and -were forced to do its work of grinding by sheer strength of arm! - -“I must tell you that in ancient times, for want of knowing how to -grind wheat, people had to content themselves with crushing it between -two stones after parching it a little over the fire. The coarse meal -thus obtained was cooked in water to a sort of porridge and eaten with -no further preparation. Bread was unknown. - -“Later the plan was hit upon of kneading the meal with water and of -cooking the dough between two hot stones. Thus was obtained a crude -sort of biscuit, about as thick as your finger, stodgy and hard, and -mixed with charcoal and ashes. It was preferable to the porridge, the -insipid paste, of the earlier time, but far inferior to the poorest -bread of to-day. To make a long story short, by trial after trial -success was at last attained in the making of bread like ours. It -became necessary then, without possessing anything to compare with our -mills, to grind wheat in large quantities. - -“Flour was obtained by triturating the wheat in a hollowed stone with a -pestle. This latter was sometimes light enough to be operated directly -by hand; sometimes, to produce quicker results, it was so large and -heavy that it had to be turned in its stone mortar with the help of a -long bar. Such was the first mill. With appliances of this sort I leave -you to imagine how long a time was required for the production of a -single handful of flour. For bread enough to feed one person at one -meal, wretched slaves were kept toiling from morning till night and -from night till morning in turning the pestle.” - -“What cruel masters they must have had!” exclaimed Emile. - -“Yes, the slaves were harnessed to the bar like beasts of burden; and -when, weakened with fatigue, they did not go fast enough, a rawhide was -applied to their bare shoulders. These unfortunate millers were poor -wretches taken in war and afterward sold in the market with the same -indifference with which a drover sells his cattle. Such, then, were the -hardships that led the way to the modern mill which to-day, with a few -turns of its water-wheel, and to the cheerful accompaniment of its -tick-tack, can make flour enough for a whole family. - -“But let us leave the mill and turn our attention to the following -interesting experiment. Take a handful of flour and with a little water -make it into dough. This done, knead the dough with your fingers over a -large plate while an assistant moistens it continually with water from -a pitcher. Keep the dough well in hand and continue kneading it, -flattening it out and gathering it together again, turning it over and -over under the fine stream of water poured from above. - -“Examine carefully the water that passes over the dough and washes it. -It falls into the plate as white as milk, showing that it carries with -it something from the flour. This something will finally settle at the -bottom of the liquid, and we shall find it to be a substance not unlike -the starch used for starching linen. In fact, it is starch, or fecula, -as the chemists call it—neither more nor less. The starch used in the -laundry is obtained in considerable quantities by similar means: dough -is washed and the whitened water, left undisturbed, deposits a layer of -starch which has only to be gathered together and dried. [1] - -“So much, then, is made clear: flour contains starch, but it contains -something else also. There is a limit beyond which the washed dough -yields no more starch; it is useless to knead it, the water falls -colorless into the plate. What remains in one’s hands after this -prolonged washing is a soft, gluey substance, having something of the -elastic quality of rubber. Grayish in color, it has a rather pronounced -odor. When dried in the sun, it becomes hard and translucent like horn. -It is called gluten from its gluelike character, its viscosity. - -“Now this substance, so unattractive in appearance, all soft and sticky -and getting clogged between the fingers—this gluten, in short—do you -know what it is? Don’t try to dispute me, for what I am going to tell -you is the exact truth. In its composition gluten does not differ from -flesh. It is vegetable flesh, capable of becoming animal flesh by the -simple process of digestion, without any material loss or gain. -Therefore it is gluten, first and foremost, that gives to bread its -great nutritive value. - -“Of all the cereals wheat contains the most gluten, with rye holding -second place. Maize and rice, as well as chestnuts and potatoes, are -wholly lacking in this ingredient; and for that reason flour made from -them, rich though it be in starch, is not at all the kind of flour for -bread. This will explain to you the superiority of wheat over all other -farinaceous grains. - -“Wheat, the only cereal that can give us white bread, that superior -bread which nevertheless is not always to your taste unless spread with -a little butter, does not grow in all countries. Open your atlas and -run over with your finger the countries bordering on the Mediterranean; -your travels will embrace the principal regions where wheat flourishes. -Farther north it is too cold for the successful culture of the precious -cereal; farther south it is too warm. - -“But that is not all. In the privileged regions not every district is -adapted to this incomparable crop: wheat needs the mild temperature and -fertile soil of the plains, not the harsh climate and dry slopes of the -mountains. Let us consider France in particular. Its plains produce -excellent wheat, but not enough to feed the entire population; -therefore in the hilly and cooler regions, where this cereal cannot be -raised, recourse is had in the first place to rye, which yields a bread -that is compact, brown, and heavy, but on the whole preferable to any -other except, of course, wheat. This rye bread is the customary food of -the country in the greater number of our departments. - -“The raising of rye becomes in its turn impossible in regions too cold -and too sterile. There then remains, as a last resort, barley, the -hardiest of cereals, which is found in the mountains until we reach the -neighborhood of perpetual snow, and can be raised even in the frigid -climate of the extreme North. - -“You ought to taste the miserable bread made from barley in order to -find our bread good—or, I might better say, in order to find it an -exquisite dainty even without butter or jam. Barley bread is full of -long bristles that stick in the throat; it contains more bran than -flour; it is bitter, stodgy, and of a disagreeable odor. Oh, what sorry -stuff! And yet many have to be content with it, and are only glad if -they can get enough of it. - -“In the greater part of the world wheat, widely distributed by -commerce, furnishes bread only for the tables of the rich. The rest of -the population knows nothing, as a rule, of this article of food, has -never so much as seen it, and at most has only heard of it as a rare -curiosity. In place of bread the people eat here one thing, there -another, according to the country. Asia has rice, Africa millet, -America maize. In India and China the people have hardly anything to -eat but rice boiled in water with a little salt. Half the entire world -has practically the same diet. - -“The plant that produces rice has a stalk resembling that of wheat, but -instead of ending in an upright ear it bears a cluster of feeble and -pendent branches, all loaded with seeds. The leaves are narrow and -ribbon-shaped, rough to the touch. This plant is aquatic. In order to -flourish, it must send down its roots into the submerged mud and spread -its foliage, excepting the tip, in the flood. Marshy shallows, -inundated a part of the year, are adapted to its cultivation.” - -“But what do they do where there are no such marshes?” asked Louis. - -“When such marshes are lacking, the ingenious Chinaman floods the -lowlands with water from some near-by stream until the ground is all -soft and muddy. He then draws off the water through a series of little -canals, and works the mud with a light plow drawn by a buffalo, a kind -of ox with a long beard hanging from its chin and a mane waving on its -back. - -“The seed once sown in the furrows and the young plants started, the -water from the stream is again made to flood the fields, where it -remains until harvest time. Then for the second time it is drawn off, -and the reaper, sickle in hand and with the black mud up to his knees, -cuts down the rice-laden tops of the stalks. - -“Maize, or Indian corn, is the staple food of South America, as rice is -that of Asia. Many call it Turkish wheat, a name doubly inappropriate, -for in the first place this grain is not indigenous to Turkey, but to -America, and in the second place it has nothing in common with the -wheat from which bread is made. From America its cultivation has spread -to our part of the globe. - -“The ear of maize is very large and is composed of full, rounded -kernels, yellow and shiny, closely packed in regular rows. Like rice, -maize furnishes a fine flour of pleasing appearance but lacking in one -essential: it contains no gluten. Hence the utter impossibility of -using either rice or maize for making bread, despite the good -appearance of the flour made from them. - -“Nevertheless maize is a very wholesome article of food, and one of -great value in the country, where the appetite is sharpened by open air -and hard work. Only it is not in the form of bread that it best yields -its nourishment, but rather in that of porridge, or boiled meal and -water.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE HISTORY OF TOBACCO - - -“Before taking the form of the powder which the user of snuff pushes up -into his nose to tickle his nostrils and promote sneezing, before being -rolled into the cigar or reduced to that crisp, moss-like substance -which the smoker stuffs into his pipe, tobacco has had a previous -existence as a plant bearing this same name. A stalk about one meter in -height, large, clammy leaves of a strong odor, bright red flowers each -shaped like a narrow funnel and expanding into the five points of a -star at the orifice, dry capsules filled with innumerable little -seeds—there you have the tobacco plant. - -“Only the leaves are used, and these only after undergoing certain -processes that intensify their natural properties and cause them to -lose their green color. Rolled into compact little cylinders, they -become cigars; cut very fine, they take the form of smoking tobacco. -Reduced to powder, they furnish what is known as snuff. - -“America, the same land to which we owe the potato, also gave us -tobacco. When, almost four centuries ago, Christopher Columbus -discovered the new world, one of the first landings he made was on the -large island of Cuba. Apprehensive of danger in the forests from the -savage tribes on every side, Columbus sent scouts ahead to reconnoitre -the country. - -“The sailors forming this party encountered on the way, to their -extreme surprise, numerous Indians, both men and women, holding each a -sort of lighted fire-brand between the teeth and inhaling the smoke. -These fire-brands, called ‘tabagos,’ were made of a plant rolled up in -a dry leaf. There, then, were the first smokers and the first cigars -recorded in history. - -“The natives of Cuba and the neighboring islands had, we infer, been -addicted to smoking for a long time, probably for centuries, when the -Europeans first appeared among them. They had their rolls of dry -leaves, or tabagos, and their smoking appliances of soft stone or baked -clay, appliances called by us ‘pipes’ and by them ‘calumets.’ Tobacco, -in fact, played a prominent part in their medicine, their superstitious -observances, and their political assemblies. - -“Consulted as to future events, the soothsayer first of all inhaled the -smoke of several tabagos, while the other persons present, seated in a -circle, vied with one another in the energy of their smoking, their -ultimate object being to enwrap themselves in a dense cloud. Then from -the midst of this cloud the soothsayer, his imagination wrought to a -high pitch by the fumes of the tobacco, delivered his oracles in -unwonted terms that made the hearers believe they were listening to the -voice of God. - -“A like ceremony was observed in the assemblies held for discussing -public affairs. Seated on a stone and inhaling the smoke from his -calumet, the orator who was about to take the floor waited in passive -silence while the chiefs of the nation approached him, one at a time, -to blow into his face plenteous puffs from their pipes and to commend -to him the interests of the tribe. These fumigations concluded, the -orator abandoned himself to his eloquence amid the enthusiastic acclaim -of the assembly. - -“Seeing the islanders smoking, Columbus’s companions wished to try this -singular custom for themselves. To the gratification of this desire the -Indian lent his ready assistance: he showed them how the tabago is -rolled, and how the calumet is filled and lighted. Though history is -silent on the subject, it is clear that the first sailor to undertake -the inhalation must have been seized with that fearful nausea which no -novice in smoking can escape. A stomach of any delicacy would have been -forever repelled; the harsh gullet of the mariner found a certain charm -in the thing when once the trying experiences of initiation were over. - -“The taste for smoking was so soon acquired that, on their return to -Spain, the companions of Columbus very quickly extended this Indian -custom in their own country. Before long, too, there was discovered a -new way to use tobacco: some one conceived the idea of reducing the -leaf to a dry powder and stuffing it into the nostrils, sniffing with -each pinch of the powdered substance. The Indian had discovered smoking -tobacco; the European in his turn invented snuff. - -“Spain and Portugal numbered their smokers and snuff-takers by the -thousand when, in 1560, tobacco made its first appearance in France. -Nicot, French ambassador at Lisbon, sent as an object of curiosity to -his sovereign queen, Catherine de Médicis, some seeds of the -fashionable plant and a box of tobacco in powdered form. Charmed with -this gift, the queen quickly contracted the habit of taking snuff. To -please her, tobacco was cultivated, and snuff-takers soon became -numerous in all the provinces. It was said that a certain great -personage of the period took as much as three ounces daily. He -certainly must have had his nose well tanned. - -“From one nation to another the use of tobacco gradually spread, but -not without serious opposition. The Turks are to-day passionately -addicted to smoking, extremely fond of their long pipes; yet hear what -sort of a reception they at first gave to tobacco. Against smokers and -snuff-takers their emperor, Amurat, issued an edict severe to the point -of cruelty. Every delinquent was condemned to receive fifty strokes -with the rod on the soles of his feet.” - -“That ought to have driven tobacco out of the country in short order,” -remarked Jules. - -“That was merely a warning to first offenders,” returned his uncle. -“For a second offense the luckless person caught in the act had his -nose cut off. It was a radical measure to discourage the snuff-taker: -no more nose, no more snuff. But the smokers, after this horrible -mutilation, persisted in their smoking. - -“A king of Persia devised what he thought would cure even this habit: -every one caught with a pipe in his mouth had his upper lip cut off. At -the same time, of course, every nose proved guilty of snuff-taking fell -under the executioner’s knife. But the atrocious edict of the Persian -king proved as futile as that of the Turkish emperor. Despite all the -noses struck off, all the lips cut away, all the feet made to tingle -under the rod, the use of tobacco still continued to spread. These -fruitless severities had to be abandoned. - -“Other regulations sprang up here and there, less cruel, but -sufficiently fruitful in fines, imprisonments, vexations of all sorts. -Still nothing was of any avail; smokers and snuff-takers remained -incorrigible. Finally, taking wiser counsel, the government authorities -conceived a plan for making this passion, which no severity had been -able to subdue, yield them large revenues. The government itself became -exclusive vender of the very article it had at first proscribed with -such rigor. France alone derives a yearly revenue of almost three -hundred million francs from the sale of tobacco.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE ORIGIN OF FERTILE SOIL - - -“Fertile or arable soil,” resumed Uncle Paul, “constitutes only the -surface layer of earth, that which is worked by the farmer’s implements -and yields nutriment to the roots of plants and promotes their -development. In one place you will see bare rocks and utter barrenness; -in another you find fertile soil to a depth of an inch or two, scantily -carpeted with grass; and again, in a third, you come upon rich earth so -deep as to maintain abundant vegetation. But nowhere does this fertile -layer have an indefinite thickness: at a depth never very considerable -a subsoil having the qualities of the neighboring mountains is sure to -be found. How then has there come to be formed this layer of earth -whence is derived all the nutriment required by plants, animals, and -men? - -“Undermined all winter, and even the whole year round on high -mountains, by the ice that forms in their slightest fissures, rocks of -all kinds break into small fragments, divide into grains of sand, fall -into dust, and furnish the powdery mineral matter which the rain washes -away and deposits in the valleys. This as a rule is the origin of -broken stones, sand, clay, and fertile soil. Ice by its expansive force -has detached them from the tops of mountains and the waters have swept -them away and carried them further. One can form an idea of the action -of ice in crumbling rocks to make soil of them and enrich the valleys, -by examining the surface of a hard road at the moment of thawing. - -Firm underfoot before freezing, this surface loses its firmness after a -thaw and is pushed up here and there in little finely-powdered clods. -At the moment of freezing, the humidity with which the soil was -impregnated turned into ice which, increasing in volume, reduced to -fine particles the surface layer of the road. When the thaw comes, -these particles which the ice no longer holds together form first mud, -then dust. In exactly this manner arable land was formed by the -disintegration of rocks of all kinds, which were reduced to particles -by the action of frost. - -But soil suitable for agriculture contains not only powdery mineral -matter, but also a little mold from the decomposition of vegetable -matter. To give you an idea of the causes which from the very earliest -times have little by little fertilized this rock-dust with vegetable -mold, let us take the following example. - -Geography has taught you what a volcano is. It is a mountain whose -summit is hollowed out in an immense funnel-shaped excavation called a -crater. From time to time the ground trembles near a volcano and -formidable noises similar to the rolling of thunder and the booming of -cannon are heard from the depths of the mountain. The crater throws up -into the air a lofty column of smoke, dark by day, fiery red at night. -All at once the mountain is rent and vomits up through the crevices a -stream of fire, a current of melted rock, or lava. Finally the volcano -quiets down; the source of the terrible flood dries up. The streams of -lava harden and cease running; and after a lapse of time which may be -years they become quite cold. Now what is to become of this enormous -bed of black stone similar in character to the slag from a forge? What -will this sheet of lava covering an area of several square miles -produce? - -“This desolate, blasted expanse seems destined never to be clothed with -verdure. But in any such assumption one would be mistaken. After -centuries and centuries a vigorous growth of oaks, beeches, and other -large trees will have taken root there. In fact, you will see that air, -rain, snow, and, above all, frost attack in turn the hard surface of -the lava, detach fine particles from it, and slowly produce a little -dust at its expense. On this dust there will spring into being certain -strange and hardy plants, those white or yellow patches, those -vegetable incrustations, calculated to live on the surface of stone and -known as lichens. These lichens fasten themselves to the lava, gnaw it -still more, and in dying leave a little mold formed from their decaying -remains. On this precious mold, lodged in some cavity of the lava, -there is now a growth of mosses which perish in their turn and increase -the quantity of fertilizing material. Next come ferns, which require a -richer soil, and after that a few tufts of grass; then some brambles, -some meager shrubs; and thus with each succeeding year the fertile soil -is added to from the new remnants of lava and mold left by the -preceding generation of plants that have gone to decay. It is in this -way that gradually a lava-bed finally becomes covered with a forest. - -“Our own arable land had a similar origin. Sterile rocks, hard as they -are, contributed the mineral part by being reduced to dust through the -combined action of water, air, and frost; and the successive -generations of plant-life, beginning with the simplest, furnished the -mold. - -“Notice how admirably, in the processes of nature, the smallest of -created beings perform their part and contribute as best they can to -the general harmony. To produce fertile soil there is needed something -more than the frosts and thaws that crumble the hardest rock: there is -need of plants hardy enough to live on this sterile soil, such as tough -grasses, mosses, lichens, which gnaw the stone. It is through the -medium of these rudimentary plants, so pitiful in appearance and yet so -hardy, that the dust of the rocks is enriched with mold and converted -into a soil capable of bearing other and more delicate plants. - -“It is not in cultivated fields that you will find those thick carpets -of mosses and lichens, valiant disintegrators of stone; it is on the -mountain-tops that they can be seen at their work of crusting over the -smooth rock in order to convert it into fertile soil. It is from these -heights that this fertile soil has descended, little by little, washed -down by the rain, until it has fertilized the valleys. This work is -going on all the time; in hilly regions plants of the lowest order are -constantly adding to the extent of arable land. The little threads of -rain-water that furrow these regions carry away with them some of this -humus and bear it to the plains below. - -“What a worthy subject for our thoughtful study is this formation of -arable soil by these legions of inferior plants, obscure workers -indefatigably crumbling the rock! What immense results obtained by the -simplest means!” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -DIFFERENT KINDS OF SOIL - - -“Four substances, mingled in very variable proportions, enter into the -composition of fertile soil, or arable land, namely: sand or silica, -clay, limestone, and humus, or vegetable mold. Each one of these -ingredients separately would make but very poor soil, quite unsuited -for agriculture; but united, mixed together, they fulfill the -conditions necessary to fertility. Arable land generally contains all -four, with the predominance sometimes of one, sometimes of another. The -soil takes the name of its most abundant constituent. Thus have arisen -the names, silicious soil, argillaceous soil, calcareous soil, and -humous soil, to designate the fertile lands dominated respectively by -sand, clay, limestone, and humus. Compound terms are also used. For -example, when it is said of a certain soil that it is -argillo-calcareous, it is meant that clay and limestone are its chief -constituents. - -“Sand consists of particles, more or less minute, of very hard rock, -sometimes opaque, sometimes as transparent as glass, and always easily -recognizable by its property of emitting sparks when struck with steel. -Flint and white pebbles belong to this kind of rock, which is called -silex, silica, or quartz. These three expressions mean about the same. -Sandy soils have little consistency, are easily permeated by water, and -freely absorb the sun’s heat, which makes them very subject to drought. - -“The name of granite is given to a rock composed chiefly of silica and -which forms whole mountains, as in central France and in Brittany. The -soil formed by the gradual disintegration of this rock is sometimes -called granite soil. It is not very good for agriculture. Chestnut -trees prosper in it, as well as certain wild plants characteristic of -this kind of land. The principal ones are the various species of -heather and the purple digitalis. Heather, with its dainty little pink -blossoms, carpets in richest abundance the poorest of sandy soils. The -purple digitalis is a large-leaved plant whose flowers, red on the -outside, striped with purple and white inside, are arranged in a long -and magnificent distaff reaching almost to the height of a man. The -flowers are in the shape of long tun-bellied bells or, rather, -glove-fingers; hence the plant is sometimes called foxglove, sometimes -lady’s fingers. - -“The soil composed of substances thrown up by volcanoes is also sandy, -and is called volcanic soil. It is generally black and sometimes very -fertile. - -“Sandy-clay soil is found in the valleys of great rivers. It is the -most fruitful and the easiest to cultivate. Such are the soils of the -Rhone valley, the valley of the Loire, and that of the Seine. It is -still more fertile if it is flooded by the stream at high water. Then -the river deposits a rich slime composed of clay and organic matter -washed down by the current. - -“The soil of heathy or shrubby land is composed of fine sand and of -humus from the decayed leaves of heather and other plants. It is only -used for flower gardens, and furnishes an example of what might be -called sand-and-humus soil. - -“Clay is a soil which, when moistened with water and thoroughly -kneaded, becomes a soft and tenacious dough, suitable for molding into -any desired shape. When perfectly pure it is white, and is known as -kaolin, a rare substance of which porcelain is made. Plastic clays are -those that are unctuous to the touch, forming with water a yielding -mass that hardens with firing. They are used in making pottery. -Smectite, or fuller’s earth, is a clay of very different character, not -pliable when moistened, but very absorbent of grease and hence used by -fullers for cleansing cloth of the oil left on it in weaving. Ochres -are clays colored either red or yellow by iron-rust. They are used in -coarse painting. Red chalk belongs to this class of clays. Marl is a -mixture in variable proportions of clay and limestone. According to -which constituent predominates, it is called argillaceous or -calcareous. Subjected to the action of air and moisture, marl becomes -flaky and crumbles to dust. Marl is used in agriculture to improve the -soil. - -“A clay soil is quite the opposite of a sandy soil: water makes it -swell and converts it into a sticky paste which clings tenaciously to -farming implements. Once wet, it is cold, that is to say it dries very -slowly. A spade can only divide it into dense clods slow to crumble in -the air and not fit for receiving seed. The farmer must be careful to -drain off the water and break up the ground by working it before and -during frosts. It is improved by mixing with it sand, coal-ashes, and -lime. Wheat flourishes better in a clayey soil than in any other kind. - -“Clayey soils are recognized by their vegetation. The wild plants -peculiar to this kind of soil are colt’s-foot and danewort. Colt’s-foot -is also called horse-foot from the shape of its leaves, the outline of -which reminds one of a horse’s hoof. The leaves are white underneath. -The flowers are yellow like little marigolds, and they appear at the -beginning of spring before the leaves. Danewort is a kind of herbaceous -elder of about half the height of a man. Its small white flowers are -succeeded by berries full of a violet-red juice.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -DIFFERENT KINDS OF SOIL - -(Continued) - - -“Limestone is the rock from which lime is obtained. It is composed of -carbonic acid and lime. To obtain the latter, the limestone is -subjected to intense heat in a furnace or lime-kiln. The carbonic acid -escapes, is dissipated in the air, and only the lime remains. In arable -land limestone is found rather often in smaller or larger pieces, but -more frequently as a fine powder which the eye can scarcely distinguish -from the other constituents, especially clay. The water of rivers and -other streams almost always contains a small proportion of dissolved -limestone. Thence comes the thin layer of stone that accumulates little -by little on the inner surface of bottles, coating the glass. Some -waters contain enough of this dissolved limestone to deposit a mineral -crust on objects immersed in them, as mosses and aquatic plants, and to -obstruct their aqueducts. The clearest water, in which no foreign -substance can be seen, absolutely none, nevertheless contains dissolved -limestone, just as sweetened water contains invisible sugar. In -drinking a glass of water we drink a little stone at the same time. Our -body, in order to grow strong and increase in size, needs considerable -calcareous matter for the formation of bones, which are to us what its -solid framework is to a building. This material, so necessary to us, is -not created by us; we obtain it from our food and drink. Water plays -its part in furnishing this limestone, which it furnishes also to -plants; they all contain a greater or less proportion of this mineral -matter. - -“Calcareous soils are whitish from their chief constituent, chalk. -Entirely sterile when the proportion of limestone is excessive, they -are tolerably productive when clay is added. They are especially -suitable for vineyards and for raising lucerne, sainfoin, and clover. -Champagne and the south of France offer examples of this kind of soil. -Its principal varieties are chalky soil, which is nearly sterile, -containing as much as ninety-five per cent of chalk, and marly soil -which is composed of clay and chalk. - -“The plant-life characteristic of calcareous soils comprises the -box-tree, whose compact and fine-grained wood is so esteemed by -turners; the wild cornel, whose red, olive-shaped fruit is one of the -best-liked autumn products that nature offers us; and the alkekengi, or -winter cherry, whose yellow berries are used for coloring butter. These -berries are encased in a large, gorgeously red membranous bag. - -“Wood, leaves, herbage, left a long time in contact with air and -moisture, undergo a slow combustion; in other words, they rot. The -result of this decomposition is a brown substance called humus or -vegetable mold. The heart of old hollow willows is converted into -humus; it is the same with leaves that fall from the trees and rot on -the ground. Humus from the remains of earlier generations of plant-life -nourishes the plant-life of to-day, and this in turn will become mold -from which future plants will spring. It is in this way that vegetation -is maintained in places not cultivated by man. Humus, then, is nature’s -manure. Where it is allowed to form freely, vegetation never loses its -vigor, using over and over again the same material, which takes -alternately the two forms of plant and humus. But hay from the field is -stored in the hay-loft, and the annual harvest of wheat is taken to the -granary. Thus the land is robbed of the mold that would be formed -naturally by the rotting of this hay and wheat; therefore we must give -back to it, under some form or other, this mold that has been taken -away, since otherwise the soil will become less and less productive -until finally it is quite sterile. This restitution is made in the form -of animal manure, which is a sort of humus produced by digestive -processes instead of by natural decay. - -“Humus plays a twofold part in the soil. First, it mellows the land, or -in other words makes it more easily permeable by air and water. -Secondly, by the slow combustion taking place in the humus there is -constantly being liberated a small quantity of carbonic acid gas, which -is taken up by the adjacent roots. Agriculture can succeed only in so -far as the soil contains humus. Wheat requires nearly eight per cent, -oats and rye only two per cent. In poor, sandy soils, to increase the -amount of vegetable mold, it is customary to plow certain green crops -under, as the farmers express it; that is, the surface soil is turned -over and the growing crop intended for manuring purposes is buried and -left to decay in the ground. That is what is done when the plowman -turns under a field of growing grass or a stretch of clover. When it is -proposed to improve a piece of land by this process, it is the practice -to begin by raising a crop (which will later be turned under) that -derives the greater part of its nourishment from the air, since the -soil in this instance cannot of itself furnish this nourishment. Among -the plants satisfying these conditions are buckwheat, clover, lupine, -beans, vetches, lucerne, and sainfoin. - -“Soils rich in humus have for their chief constituent the brown -substance that results from the decaying of leaves and other vegetable -matter. Turf land stands first as rich in humus. Turf is a dark, spongy -substance that forms in moist lowlands from the accumulation of -vegetable refuse, especially mosses. Turf, or peat, as it is also -called, is used for fuel. To turn such a soil to account, it must first -be made wholesome by drainage, it must be mellowed by paring and -burning and by the addition of sand and marl, and a proportion of lime -must be mixed in to hasten the decomposition of all vegetable matter. -Turf lands are recognized by their sphagnei, great mosses that grow -with their roots in the water; and by their flax-like sedges, from the -tops of which hang beautiful tufts of down having the softness and -whiteness of the finest silk.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -POTASH AND PHOSPHORUS - - -“Let us burn a plant, no matter what kind. The first effect of the heat -is to produce carbon, which, mixed with other substances, constituted -the plant. If combustion continues, this carbon is dissipated in the -air in the form of carbonic acid gas, and there remains an earthy -residue which we call ashes. Here then are two kinds of material, -carbon and ashes, which without exception enter into all plant-life. -The plant did not create them, did not make them out of nothing, since -it is impossible to obtain something from nothing. It must, then, have -derived them from some source. We shall take up before long the subject -of coal and its origin, and shall find that it comes chiefly from the -atmosphere, whence the leaves obtain carbonic acid gas, which they -decompose under the action of the sun’s rays, retaining the carbon and -throwing off the air in a condition fit for breathing. The vegetation -of the entire earth thus finds its principal nutriment in the -atmosphere, an inexhaustible and increasingly abundant reservoir, -because the respiration of animals, putrefaction, and combustion are -continually giving forth as much carbonic acid gas as the combined -plant-life of the earth can consume. To maintain the fertility of his -fields, therefore, the farmer need not give a thought to the subject of -carbon; with no assistance from him his growing crops find in the air -all the carbonic acid gas they require. There remains for our -consideration, then, the residue left after combustion, the ashes in -fact, a mixture of various substances of which we will now examine the -most important. - -“Let us put a few handfuls of ashes to boil in a pot of water. After -boiling a little while we will let the contents cool. The ashes settle -to the bottom and the liquid at the top becomes clear. Well, we shall -find this liquid emitting a peculiar odor, exactly like that which -comes from the lye obtained by passing water through a barrel of ashes. -We shall also find that it has an acrid, almost burning taste. This -smell of lye, this acrid taste were not in the water at first; they -come from the ashes, which have yielded a certain constituent to the -water. - -“Hence we see that ashes must contain at least two substances of -different kinds, of which the principal one cannot dissolve in water, -but settles at the bottom as an earthy deposit, while the other, -forming but a very small part of the whole, dissolves easily in water -and gives it its properties, especially its odor and its acrid taste. - -“If we wish to obtain this latter element by itself, we can very easily -do so. All that is necessary is to put the clear liquid into a pot over -the fire and boil it until all the water has evaporated. There will be -left a very small quantity of whitish matter resembling table salt. But -despite its appearance it is not table salt by any means; far from it, -as we shall quickly discover from its unbearable taste. It is known as -potash, and it is what makes lye so good for cleaning linen. -Furthermore, of the various components of ashes it is the one most -essential to vegetation. Every tree, every shrub, every plant, even to -the smallest blade of grass, contains a certain proportion of it, -sometimes larger, sometimes smaller, according to the kind of -plant-life, and therefore must find it in the soil in order to thrive. -Let us add that in growing plants potash is not as the action of fire -leaves it after the plants have been reduced to ashes. In nature it is -combined with other substances which free it from that burning -acridity. In the same way carbon, when combined with other elements, -loses its blackness and hardness; in fact, it is no longer common coal. - -“What else is there in ashes? A short account of the matter will tell -us. In 1669 there lived in Hamburg, Germany, a learned old man named -Brandt, whose head was a little turned and who sought to turn common -metals into gold. From old iron, rusty nails, and worn-out kettles, he -hoped to produce the precious metal. But he did not succeed in his -endeavors, nor was it destined that he should succeed, for the simple -reason that the thing is impossible. Never is one metal changed into -another. When he was about at the end of his resources he took it into -his head to conceive a crowning absurdity. He imagined that in urine -would be found the ingredient capable of turning all metals into gold. -Behold him, then, boiling urine, evaporating it, and cooking the -disgusting sediment, first with this, then with that, until at last one -evening he saw something shining in his phials. It was not gold, but -something more useful: it was phosphorus, which to-day gives us fire. -Don’t make fun of old Brandt and his foolish cooking: in seeking the -impossible he made one of the most important discoveries. To him we owe -the sulphur match, that precious source of light and fire so easily and -quickly used. - -“If you examine a sulphur match you will see that the inflammable tip -contains two substances: sulphur, laid on to the wood, and another -substance added to the sulphur. This last is phosphorus, colored with a -blue, red, or brown powder, according to the caprice of the -manufacturer. Phosphorus by itself is slightly yellow in color and -translucent like wax. Its name means ‘light-bearer.’ When rubbed gently -between the fingers in the dark, it does indeed give out a pale gleam. -At the same time there is a smell of garlic; it is the odor of -phosphorus. This substance is excessively inflammable: with very little -heat or with slight friction against a hard surface, it catches fire. -Hence its use in the manufacture of matches. - -“Phosphorus is a horribly poisonous substance. By melting a little of -it in grease a poison can be obtained that will destroy rats and mice. -Crusts of bread are smeared with this composition and exposed in places -frequented by these animals. A nibble is enough to ensure speedy death. -Hence you perceive that because of their poisonous nature matches are -to be handled with extreme care. Contact with food might produce the -gravest consequences.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -PHOSPHATES AND NITROGEN - - -“Phosphorus, which is a dangerous poison, as we have seen, is -nevertheless found in abundance in the bodies of all animals. It occurs -in the urine, whence Brandt was the first to extract it; it is found -still more plentifully in the bones, and from thence it is now -obtained. There is some in meat, in milk, and in cheese; also in -plants, notably cereals; hence flour and bread contain it. But do not -be alarmed: we shall not die of poison like the rats that have nibbled -crusts smeared with grease and phosphorus.” - -“But why not,” asked Emile, “if we eat it as the rats do?” - -“I will try to explain,” replied his uncle. “When two or more -substances are mixed together, they lose their original properties, -while the new substance obtained by their combination is found to -possess new properties having nothing in common with the old ones. Thus -carbon, when combined with the air that we breathe, becomes an -invisible gas, subtle, and unfit for breathing. In like manner lime, -burning to the taste, is converted by union with carbonic acid gas into -chalk, a calcareous stone void of taste. Furthermore, poisonous -substances, deadly in a very small dose, may become harmless and even -enter into the composition of our food when they are combined with -other substances. Thus it is with phosphorus. What, then, is united -with phosphorus in the form in which it ceases to be poisonous and -enters into the composition of meat and flour? That is what we will now -consider. - -“When phosphorus is burned it produces a thick white smoke, of which -you can get some idea by striking a number of matches all at once. This -white smoke with the slightest trace of humidity is reducible to an -extraordinarily acid liquid called phosphoric acid. Since this compound -results from the combustion of phosphorus, just as carbonic acid is the -result of the combustion of carbon, it must and in fact does contain -the air without which no combustion can take place. Phosphoric acid is -no longer inflammable, however much it may be heated; being itself the -product of combustion, it cannot burn again. But if there is no danger -of its catching fire, phosphoric acid is nevertheless dangerous on -account of its intense acidity, which makes it violently corrosive in -its action on flesh. If mixed with lime, however, this formidable -compound loses its injurious properties and is changed into a white -substance without the least taste or the slightest poisonous effect. -This substance is called phosphate of lime. Burnt phosphorus and lime, -thus united, furnish the greater part of the mineral matter found in -bones. Put a bone into the fire: the grease and juices that permeate -its substance will be burnt up and the bone will lose a part of its -weight and become friable and perfectly white. Well, this bone, -calcined in the fire for a long time, is composed chiefly of phosphate -of lime. It contains phosphorus, the most combustible of substances, -and yet is itself absolutely incombustible; it contains one of the most -poisonous substances, and yet is itself quite harmless; into its -composition there has entered an ingredient possessing atrocious -acidity, and yet the compound itself has no taste. Similarly combined -and equally harmless, phosphorus is found in meat, milk, cereals, in -flour and bread. - -“A cow can furnish each week about 70 liters of milk containing 460 -grams of phosphate. This phosphate comes from hay, which obtains it -from the soil. But as the soil contains only a moderate quantity of it, -and the hay continually takes it away, the supply will at last become -exhausted and the milk will become poorer and less abundant. If a -kilogram of powdered bones, containing about the same quantity of -phosphate as the 70 liters of milk, is spread over the pasture, it will -make good the weekly loss in phosphate that the soil undergoes in the -production of the cow’s milk. Hence the efficacy of powdered bones on -exhausted pasture land. - -“Phosphoric acid combined with other substances is found in all our -agricultural products, and hence the phosphate from bones has a very -marked effect on our crops. Harvests have been doubled as if by magic -through the use of powdered bones. A kilogram of this powder contains -enough phosphoric acid for the growth of a hundred kilograms of wheat. -Despite their great value as a fertilizer bones will never be thus used -except to a limited extent, because they are not abundant enough and -also because they are much in demand in various arts and manufactures. -Fortunately in some localities phosphate of lime is found in certain -coarse pebbles called nodules or coprolites. These precious stones are -carefully collected and ground to powder in a mill. Then, in order to -make the substance more soluble in damp soil, and thus better fitted -for the nutrition of plants, it is sprayed with an extremely corrosive -liquid called sulphuric acid or, more commonly, oil of vitriol. In this -way is obtained the superphosphate of lime which manufacture gives to -agriculture as one of the most powerful of fertilizers, especially for -the raising of grain. - -“We were wondering a little while ago what substances could be -contained in the ashes of a burnt plant, and we have now found potash -to be one of them. Moreover, since all vegetation must have phosphate -in order to thrive, this also ought to be found in the ashes, phosphate -being indestructible by heat. And, in fact, after the incineration of -any vegetable matter whatever, as a bundle of hay or a handful of -grain, the delicate processes of science can always recover this -compound of phosphorus; and they further find lime, iron in the form of -rust, the silicious component of pebbles, and divers other substances -of less interest. - -“To finish this difficult but very important subject of the nutrition -of plants, I must say a few words about ammonia. This word does not -tell you anything since it is a new word to you. But I will make its -meaning clear to you by a familiar illustration. - -“You must have noticed the strong, penetrating odor prevalent in -ill-kept water-closets; and you have also perceived the same odor when -soiled garments are cleaned with a certain liquid that looks like clear -water. Well, this odor, so pungent that it almost produces the effect -of fine needles thrust up into the nostrils and brings tears to the -eyes, is the odor of ammonia. - -“Ammonia is an invisible gas capable of being taken up in large -quantities by water, the mixture being known as aqua ammoniæ, or water -of ammonia. Combined with other substances ammonia loses its pungent -odor and forms compounds which are among the most effective -fertilizers. These compounds furnish vegetation with one of its -essential ingredients called nitrogen. By itself nitrogen is an -odorless and colorless gas. In this state it forms four-fifths of the -volume of ordinary air, the air we breathe. The other fifth is composed -of a second gas called oxygen, also colorless and odorless. It is -oxygen that our lungs demand when we breathe, and it is oxygen that is -necessary when we wish to burn anything. It is this alone that plays -its invaluable part in the combustion of certain substances in our -blood and in the generation of natural heat; it is this that in the -process of combustion releases carbon, phosphorus, sulphur, and other -combustibles, to combine with them and produce a compound known as -carbonic acid gas in the case of burnt carbon, phosphoric acid in the -case of phosphorus. In fact, to it belong the properties that we have -until now attributed to the atmosphere as a whole. As for nitrogen, it -has no other purpose in the atmosphere than to moderate by its presence -the too violent energies of oxygen; it plays there the part of the -water that we put into too strong wine. - -“All vegetation requires nitrogen. Wheat, for example, must have it to -develop the grain in the ear; peas, beans, lentils demand it in order -to fill out their pods; the pasture and the hay-field need it if they -are to furnish the nutriment that the sheep and the cow will transform -into milk. But plants cannot take this nitrogen from the air, where it -is so abundant; it must be served up to them after a certain necessary -preparation. We ourselves need phosphorus, since it enters into the -composition of our bones; we need carbon still more, the principal fuel -used in maintaining the heat of the body. But are we to eat the -charcoal that the charcoal-burner manufactures in his furnace, and the -phosphorus used in the making of matches? Certainly not. The first -would be a frightful mouthful, the second an atrocious poison. We must -have them prepared in a suitable way, such as they are found in bread, -milk, meat, fruits, vegetables. In the same manner plant-life requires -nitrogen, not as it occurs in the atmosphere, but as it exists in -certain combinations, of which the most notable are the compounds of -ammonia. This explains to us the highly beneficial effect of manure on -our crops. Manure is composed of the bedding used in stables and the -animal excrement with which it has become mixed and impregnated. Now -this excrementitious matter, especially urine, yields ammonia in -decomposing, as is proved by the odor arising from latrines in hot -weather and so powerfully affecting the eyes and nose. Thus manure may -be said to hold ammonia compounds in storage, and from them plants -derive their nitrogen, as also many other ingredients. - -“Let us summarize these details. In the nutrition of plants four -substances are of prime importance. First, carbonic acid gas, which -yields carbon, the most widely diffused of all the elements (but which -we need not dwell upon here), since plants take it chiefly from the -atmosphere, to which it is supplied unceasingly. After carbonic acid -come potash, phosphoric acid, and nitrogen, all of which the roots -extract from the soil, where it occurs in some compound or other. These -are the ingredients that the soil, if it is to remain fertile, must -have given back to it as fast as they are exhausted by the crops. Such -is the part played by fertilizers, without which the soil becomes -exhausted and ceases to produce.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -VEGETATION AND THE ATMOSPHERE - - -“The carbonic acid gas produced simply by the breathing of the great -human family amounts every year to about 160,000,000,000 cubic meters, -which represents 86,270,000,000 kilograms of burnt carbon. Piled up, -this carbon would form a mountain one league round at its base and -between four hundred and five hundred meters high. So much carbon is -required by man to maintain his natural heat. All of us together eat -this mountain of carbon in our food and in the course of the year -dissipate it all in the air, a breathful at a time; after which we -immediately begin the dissipation of another mountain of carbon. How -many mountains of carbon, then, since the world was created, must -mankind have exhaled into the atmosphere! - -“We must take account, too, of the animals, which, collectively, those -of the land and those of the sea, use up a big mountain of combustible -matter. They are much more numerous than we; they inhabit the entire -globe, both continents and seas. What a quantity of carbon it must take -to sustain the life of our planet! And to think that it all goes forth -into the air, as a deadly gas, of which a few breaths would cause -death! - -“Nor is that all. Fermentation, as in grape-juice and rising dough, and -putrefaction, as in decaying manure, produce carbonic acid gas. And it -needs only a light layer of manure to cause a cultivated field to give -forth between one hundred and two hundred cubic meters of carbonic acid -gas per day for each hectare. - -“The wood, coal, and charcoal burnt in our houses, and especially the -quantities consumed in the great furnaces of factories—are not they -also returned to the atmosphere in the form of harmful gas? Just think -of the amount of carbonic acid gas vomited into the atmosphere by a -factory furnace into which coal is poured by the carload! Think also of -the volcanoes, gigantic natural chimneys which in a single eruption -throw up such quantities of gas that furnaces offer no comparison. It -is very clear: the atmosphere is constantly receiving carbonic acid gas -in torrents that defy computation. And yet animal life has nothing to -fear for the present or for the future, since the atmosphere, though -continually being poisoned with carbonic acid gas, is at the same time -always being purged of it. - -“And what is the purgative agent commissioned by Providence to maintain -the salubrity of the atmosphere? It is vegetation, my friends, -vegetation, which feeds on carbonic acid gas to prevent our perishing -and turns it into the bread of life for our sustenance. This deadly -gas, which absorbs into itself all sorts of putrefaction, is the -choicest of nourishment for plant-life; and thus out of the bosom of -death the blade of grass builds up new life. - -“A leaf is riddled with an infinite number of excessively minute -orifices, each encircled by two lips which give it the appearance of a -half-open mouth. They are called stomata. On a single leaf of the -linden more than a million can be counted, but so small are they as to -be quite invisible without a magnifying-glass. This picture shows you -how they look under a microscope. Well, through these orifices the -plant breathes, not pure air such as we breathe, but poisoned air, -fatal to an animal but wholesome for a plant. It inhales through its -myriads of millions of stomata the carbonic acid gas diffused through -the atmosphere; it admits this gas into the inner substance of its -leaves, and there, under the sun’s rays, a marvelous process follows. -Stimulated by the light, the leaves operate upon the deadly gas and -take from it all its carbon. They unburn (the word is not in the -dictionary, more’s the pity, for it gives the right idea)—they unburn -the burnt carbon, undo what combustion had done, separate the carbon -from the air with which it is bound up; in a word, they decompose the -carbonic acid gas. - -“And do not think it any easy thing to unburn a burnt substance, to -restore to their original condition two substances united by fire. -Scientists would need all the ingenious means and powerful drugs they -possess to extract carbon from carbonic acid gas. This task, which -would tax the utmost resources of the man of science, leaves accomplish -noiselessly, without effort, even instantaneously, and with the sole -requirement that they shall have the aid of the sun. - -“But if sunlight fails, the plant can do nothing with the carbonic acid -gas, the chief item in its diet. It then pines away with hunger, shoots -up as if in quest of the missing sunshine, while its bark and leaves -turn pale and lose their green color. Finally it dies. This sickly -state induced by the absence of light is called etiolation. It is -artificially produced in gardening for the purpose of obtaining -tenderer vegetables and of lessening or even entirely removing the too -strong and unpleasant taste of some plants. In this way some salad -greens are bound with a rush so that the heart, deprived of the sun’s -rays, may become tender and white; and thus, too, celery is banked up -and left to whiten, since otherwise its taste would be unbearable. If -we cover grass with a tile or hide a plant under a pot turned upside -down, we shall after a few days of this enforced darkness find the -foliage all sickly and yellow. - -“When, on the other hand, the plant receives the sun’s rays without -hindrance, the carbonic acid gas is decomposed in no time, the carbon -and the air separate, and each resumes its original properties. Freed -of its carbon, the air becomes what it was before this admixture: it -becomes pure air, fit to maintain both fire and life. In this state it -is restored to the atmosphere by the stomata to be used again in -combustion and respiration. It entered the plant as a fatal gas, it -leaves it as a vivifying gas. It will return some day with a new charge -of carbon, which it will deposit in the plant, and then, restored to -purity once more, it will recommence its atmospheric round. A swarm of -bees goes and comes, from the hive to the fields and from the fields to -the hives, on one trip lightened and eager for booty and on the other -heavily laden with honey and returning to the comb on wearied wing. In -the same way air on coming to the leaves is charged with carbon from an -animal’s body, a burning fire-brand, or decaying matter; it gives it to -the plant and departs for a fresh supply. - -“It is thus that the atmosphere preserves its salubrity despite the -immense torrents of carbonic acid that are cast into it. The plant -lives on deadly gas. Under the action of the sun’s light it decomposes -the gas into carbon, which it keeps for building up its own substance, -and breathable air, which it returns to the atmosphere. From this -carbon combined with other substances come wood, sugar, starch, flour, -gum, resin, oil, in fact every kind of vegetable product. Animal and -plant are of mutual assistance, the animal producing carbonic acid gas, -which nourishes the plant, and the plant changing this deadly gas into -air fit to breathe and into food. Thus our dependence on plants is -twofold: they purify the atmosphere and they give us food.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -LIME - - -To make mortar with which masonry is held in place it is customary to -use lime. In a sort of trough lined with sand are placed lumps of stone -having a calcined appearance, and on these stones water is poured. In a -few moments the pile becomes heated to high temperature, cracks and -splits and finally crumbles into dust, at the same time absorbing the -water, which disappears little by little as it is taken up by the solid -matter or vaporized by the heat. More water is added to reduce it all -to paste, which is finally mixed with sand. The product of the mixture -is mortar. Such is the process often witnessed by Emile and Jules, who -are always surprised, that stone, by having water poured on to it, -should become hot and turn the water into jets of steam. “Lime,” Uncle -Paul explained to them, “is obtained from a widely diffused stone -called limestone or, in more learned language, carbonate of lime. The -process is of the simplest sort. It consists of heating the stone in -kilns built in the open air in the vicinity of both limestone and fuel, -so as to avoid the expense of transportation in the manufacture of a -product that it is desirable to furnish at a low price. - -“A lime-kiln is about three meters high, and is lined with fire-proof -brick. An opening at the bottom serves for taking out the lime when the -firing has continued long enough. In filling the kiln it is the usual -practice to begin by laying large pieces of limestone so as to form a -sort of rude vault over the fireplace, and on this vault are piled -smaller fragments until the entire cavity is filled. The fuel used may -be fagots, brushwood, turf, or coal. After the firing has gone on long -enough, operations are suspended and the lime is withdrawn by breaking -down the vault supporting the entire mass, which crumbles and comes -crowding out at the lower opening, whence it is usually removed. - -“Another method still followed in some localities and of more ancient -origin consists of filling the kiln with alternate layers of fuel and -limestone. The whole rests on a bed of fagots that serves for starting -the fire. As soon as the fire has spread throughout the mass, the -opening at the top is closed with pieces of sod in order to make the -combustion slower and more even.” - -“Nothing could be simpler,” said Jules, “than lime-making. Now I should -like to know what effect the heat of the kiln has on the limestone. How -does it happen that stone turns into lime by passing through fire?” - -“Limestone,” answered his uncle, “contains two different substances: -first, lime, and then an invisible substance, impalpable as air itself, -in fact, a gas, carbonic acid gas. The name of carbonate of lime given -to the limestone denotes precisely this combination. As it is when -taken from the ground, the stone contains the two substances closely -united, so incorporated indeed as no longer to have the qualities -characterizing them when apart. Heat destroys this union: the lime -stays in the kiln, and the carbonic acid gas is dissipated in the -atmosphere with the smoke from the burnt fuel. After this liberation of -the gas the lime is left in its pure state, no longer masked by the -presence of another substance, but just as it is needed by the mason -for making mortar.” - -“Then all that the fire does,” queried Jules, “is just to break apart -the limestone and drive out the carbonic acid gas that it contained?” - -“What takes place in the lime-kiln,” replied his uncle, “is nothing but -the separation of the lime and the gas. Now let us turn our attention -to the mortar. When lime is watered, it gets very hot, swells, cracks -open, and crumbles into a fine powder like flour. The heat that is -generated comes from the violence with which the two substances rush -together. Before absorbing water lime is called quicklime; after this -absorption, which has reduced it to powder, it is called slaked lime. -This slaked lime is reduced to a paste with water, and then well mixed -and kneaded with sand. The result is the mortar used in laying stone -and brick in order to hold the courses firmly together and give -solidity to the building. - -“There is one thing I advise you to note, if you have not already done -so, since it will explain to you the part played by mortar in masonry. -Look at the water that for several days has covered a bed of lime -slaked by the masons. You will see floating on the surface small -transparent particles resembling ice. Well, these tiny fragments of -crust are nothing but stone like that from which the lime was obtained; -in a word, they are limestone or carbonate of lime. To make stone of -that kind two substances are necessary, as I have just told you: lime -and carbonic acid gas. The lime is furnished by the water, in which it -must be present in solution, since the water covers a thick bed of this -material; and as to the carbonic acid gas, it is furnished by the air, -where it is always to be found, though in small quantities. Lime, then, -has this peculiarity, that it slowly incorporates the small amount of -carbonic acid gas present in the atmosphere, and so once more becomes -the limestone that it was before. - -“A similar process goes on in mortar: the lime takes back from the -atmosphere the gas that it had lost in the heat of the lime-kiln, and -little by little becomes stone again. The sand mixed with it serves to -disintegrate the lime, which thus more easily absorbs the air necessary -for its conversion into limestone. When the mortar has fully resumed -the form of limestone the courses of masonry are so strongly bound one -to another that the stones themselves sometimes break rather than give -way. - -“What is known as fat lime is lime that develops great heat when -brought into contact with water, and also increases considerably in -volume, forming with the water a thick, cohesive paste. On the other -hand, poor lime develops but little heat, disintegrates slowly, and -increases scarcely any in volume. The first kind comes from nearly pure -limestone and can be mixed with a large proportion of sand, thus making -a great quantity of mortar. The second kind is obtained from limestone -having various foreign substances and will admit of but a small -admixture of sand, thus yielding less mortar than the other. Both have -the property of hardening in the air by the absorption of carbonic acid -gas which converts them into limestone. - -“There is a third variety of lime called hydraulic lime, which has the -peculiar merit of being able to harden under water. It is made from a -limestone containing a certain proportion of clay. Hydraulic mortar is -used for the masonry of bridges, canals, cisterns, foundations, vaults, -in fact for all stone and brick work under water or in damp soil.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -LIME IN AGRICULTURE - - -“To be fertile a soil must contain limestone, sand, and clay, besides -the organic substances coming from humus and fertilizers. Now it may be -that nature has not endowed the soil with a sufficient quantity or with -any of these three constituents. Then the character of the soil must be -corrected by giving it what it lacks. That is what is called improving -the land. Thus a soil that is too sandy is improved by the addition of -limestone and clay; one that is too compact, too clayey, is improved by -adding sand and, still more, by adding limestone. Mineral substances -thus added to the soil to correct it are called correctives. These -substances coöperate also in the nutrition of plants, and from this -point of view may be regarded as mineral fertilizers. - -“One of the most valuable of correctives is lime, which is -indispensable to soils lacking limestone, indispensable also to the -nutrition of nearly all our cultivated vegetables. It acts in various -ways. First, it energetically attacks vegetable substances, decomposing -them and converting them into humus. A pile of leaves that would take -long months to rot becomes in a short time a mass of humus when mixed -with lime. Hence its great utility in fields overgrown with weeds, and -in newly cleared land—in short, wherever there are old stumps, piles of -leaves, remnants of wood, and patches of heather, which need to be -decomposed. With the help of lime all these herbaceous or woody -substances are quickly converted into humus, with which the soil -becomes enriched to the great advantage of future crops. - -“In the second place, lime corrects or neutralizes the acidity peculiar -to certain soils, as is proved by the following experiment. Let us mix -some vinegar, no matter how strong, with a little lime. In a short time -the smell and acid taste of the vinegar will have disappeared. Now -wherever masses of vegetable refuse, such as leaves, mosses, rushes, -old stumps, are undergoing decay, there are produced certain -sour-tasting substances or, in other words, acids, which are invariably -harmful to agriculture. This generation of acid occurs notably in turfy -soils, which have an excessive acidity favorable to the growth of -coarse rushes and sedges that are valueless to us, and at the same time -this acid is highly injurious to all our cultivated plants. Lime, -therefore, which is sure to correct this acidity, works wonders in -marshy lands, damp meadows, and turfy soils. We are warned of the need -of lime by the appearance of ferns, heather, sedge or reed-grass, -rushes, mosses and sphagnei. - -“Thirdly, when once mixed with the soil, lime speedily resumes the form -it wore before passing through the lime-kiln; that is to say, it -becomes limestone, but in the shape of fine powder. This return to the -limestone condition is brought about by union with the carbonic acid -gas coming from the atmosphere or thrown off by the substances decaying -in the ground. Under this new form lime continues to play a useful part -by supplying the calcareous ingredient to soil that lacked it, and also -by preventing the clay from becoming too cohesive, too impervious to -air and water. - -“The addition of lime to the soil should take place at the end of -summer, when the ground is dry. Little heaps of quicklime, each -containing about twenty kilograms, are placed at intervals of five -meters and covered with a few spadefuls of earth. In a short time the -moisture in the atmosphere reduces the lime to a fine powder, which is -then spread evenly with a shovel and covered with earth—an operation -involving no severe labor. - -“Lime should never be applied with seed. Mere contact with it would -burn the young shoots. Neither should it be mixed with manure before it -is used, since the immediate result would be a total loss of great -quantities of ammonia, thrown off in gaseous form; and ammonia, as I -have explained, is one of the richest of fertilizers. Lime and manure, -therefore, should be used separately. - -“Soils rich in turf, clay, or granite are the ones on which lime acts -most beneficially. Because of the important results attained by the use -of lime, its manufacture for purely agricultural purposes by certain -expeditious and effective methods is customary in many places. Thus in -Mayenne, where this application of lime has converted tracts of -uncultivated clayey land into rich pastures or into wheat fields of -exceptional fertility, lime is made in enormous kilns a dozen meters -high and supported by the cliff that furnishes the limestone and -sometimes the fuel also. - -“All animal matter makes excellent fertilizer. Of this class are old -woolen rags, stray bits of leather, fragments of horn, dried blood from -slaughter-houses, and flesh not fit for human consumption. All these -substances are rich in nitrogen and phosphates, and if mixed with farm -manure they add greatly to its value. Lime furnishes us the means of -utilizing one of these substances, flesh, in the best way possible. - -“Dead bodies of animals, heedlessly left for dogs and crows and magpies -to devour, should be cut up in pieces and then buried with a mixture of -earth and quicklime. This attacks the flesh and quickly decomposes it, -so that in a few months’ time there would be available a deposit of the -most powerful fertilizer instead of a useless, disease-breeding -carcass. As to the bones, resistant to the action of lime, they are -burned to render them more friable, and then reduced to powder. This -bone-dust, mixed with the fertilizer furnished by the decayed flesh, -will contribute to grain-field or pasture a rich supply of phosphorus. -To uses of this sort the farmer should put all horses and mules that -have had to be killed, as well as all large farm animals that have died -of disease.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -PLASTER OF PARIS - - -“Though less important than lime, plaster of Paris is nevertheless much -used in building, especially for ceilings, molded chimney-pieces, and -in the filling of cracks and cavities. It is a white powder which is -made into a paste by adding water, prepared a little at a time and only -as fast as needed.” - -“I’ve seen them do it,” Emile interposed; “the workman takes a few -handfuls of that powder out of a bag, and then he mixes it with a -little water in his trough with a trowel. He scrapes the paste all -together in his hand and uses it immediately, before making any more. -Why don’t they mix all the plaster at once, as they do with lime when -they make mortar?” - -“Plaster is not all prepared beforehand for the reason that it hardens -very quickly, turns to stone, and is then unfit for use. Accordingly, -to have it in a suitable state of softness, it must be prepared at the -moment of using.” - -“And what do they make that powder of that turns to stone when it is -mixed with water?” - -“Plaster is made from a stone called gypsum, which, always the same as -to its nature, varies much in appearance according to its state of -purity. Sometimes it is a shapeless rock, whitish and more or less -grained; sometimes a fine fibrous mass with a silky luster; or, again, -a substance as transparent as glass and splitting into very thin scales -which show, here and there, the superb colors of the rainbow. Struck by -their beauty, workmen engaged in quarrying gypsum have given the name -of ‘Jesus-stone’ to these brilliant laminæ. Also, from their brilliance -and their cheapness, they are called ‘donkey’s mirrors.’ In ancient -times these beautiful sheets of transparent gypsum were used as -window-panes. - -“Impure gypsum, in the form of shapeless rock, is used for ordinary -plaster, while pure gypsum, which comes in glass-like sheets or in -blocks of a silky appearance, is used for fine plaster, as in all sorts -of molding. The stone from which plaster is obtained occurs in -abundance in several departments of France, where it forms hills and -even whole mountains, as for example in the departments of the Seine, -the Mouths of the Rhone, and Vaucluse. For conversion into the usual -plaster of Paris this stone must be subjected to a moderate heat. To -this end it is the practice to build with gypsum blocks a row of small -vaults, and on these vaults to pile fragments of smaller size. Then the -firing is done by burning fagots and brushwood under these vaults.” - -“And is it carbonic acid gas this time, too, that is driven out by the -heat, as in the manufacture of lime?” asked Jules. - -“No, my friend: gypsum does not contain any carbonic acid gas. It is -made of lime, as in limestone, but united with sulphuric acid, which -heat is powerless to drive out. Besides this it contains water, which -forms a fifth of the total weight of the stone. This water, and nothing -further, escapes under the action of heat. With this expelled the -gypsum is turned to plaster. - -“But this latter has a strong tendency to take on again the moisture -parted with in the kiln, and thus to become once more what it was in -the beginning—primitive stone. It is this peculiarity that renders -gypsum suitable for plaster. Moistened in the trough, the powdery -matter quickly incorporates the water that is thus restored to it, and -the whole hardens into a block having the solidity of gypsum that has -not yet passed through the kiln. Lime turns to stone by being permeated -with carbonic acid gas, which restores it to its limestone state. -Plaster becomes stone by absorbing water, which brings it back to the -state of gypsum. The transformation of lime is slow, of plaster very -rapid. - -“As soon as it comes from the kiln plaster is ground under vertical -millstones and then sifted. The powder must be kept in a very dry -place, since it contracts moisture easily and then will not harden or -set, as they say, when mixed with water. You will perceive clearly -enough that after being more or loss impregnated with moisture plaster -cannot have the same tendency to absorb the water necessary to change -it into a solid mass; the substance being already somewhat soaked will -not show the same thirst when the time comes for using it. All damp -and, still more, all wet plaster is of no further use. - -“Statues, busts, medallions, and various other ornamental objects are -made by casting with fine plaster of Paris. This is prepared from the -purest gypsum, those beautiful transparent scales I told you about a -little while ago. It is heated in ovens similar to those used by -bakers, and cut off from contact with the burning fuel, so as to -preserve its whiteness. The powder, which looks like fine flour, is -mixed with water and reduced to a smooth paste, which is then poured -into molds. When the plaster has set, the mold, which is in several -pieces, all joined together, is taken apart and the finished cast -withdrawn.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -PLASTER OF PARIS IN AGRICULTURE - - -“In agriculture plaster of Paris has by no means the importance of -lime; nevertheless it produces excellent results on clover, sainfoin, -and lucerne. It is used in the spring for sprinkling the young leaves -when they are still damp with the morning dew. Still, foggy weather is -the most favorable for this work. Plaster also acts well on rape, flax, -buckwheat, and tobacco, but has no effect on cereals. - -“The intelligent farmer puts plaster of Paris to still another use. In -every dunghill there is always going on a slow combustion, or -fermentation, giving forth ammonia in vaporous form; and this ammonia -escapes into the air as a total loss, whereas it ought to be retained -as far as possible in the manure, since the compounds of ammonia -constitute the source whence plants obtain nitrogen. Therefore to -prevent this waste, plaster is sprinkled over the dunghill. Sometimes, -too, it is sprinkled over each layer of manure as the pile rises. The -plaster absorbs the ammoniac vapors, gives them a little of its -sulphuric acid, and converts them into a compound, sulphate of ammonia, -which is proof against vaporization. Hence we say that plaster of Paris -fixes ammonia, that is to say prevents its being dissipated. - -“To illustrate the fertilizing effect of plaster of Paris on lucerne, -the following incident is related. Franklin, one of the chief glories -of the United States of North America, aware of the great fertilizing -power of plaster, wished to extend the agricultural use of this -substance among his fellow-citizens; but they, clinging to old customs, -would not listen to him. To convince them, Franklin spread plaster over -a field of lucerne by the side of the most frequented road leading out -of Philadelphia, but spread it in such a way as to form letters and -words. The lucerne grew all over the field, but much taller, greener, -and thicker where the plaster had been applied, so that the passers-by -read in the field of lucerne these words traced in gigantic letters: -‘Plaster of Paris was applied here.’ The ingenious expedient was a -great success and plaster was very soon adopted in agriculture.” - -“The doubters must have been convinced,” said Jules, “on seeing those -big green letters rising above the rest of the lucerne. Did not -Franklin do some other remarkable things? I remember the name; I have -seen it several times in books.” - -“Yes,” replied his uncle, “Franklin became by his learning, one of the -most remarkable men of his time. Among other things, we owe to him the -invention of the lightning-conductor, that tall pointed iron rod -erected on the roofs of buildings to protect them from the thunderbolt. -It was he who first had the superb audacity to evoke the lightning from -the midst of the thunder-clouds, to direct it according to his wishes, -and to bring it to his feet that he might study its nature. One stormy -day in 1752 he went out into the country near Philadelphia in company -with his young son who carried a kite made out of a silk handkerchief -tied at the four corners to glass rods. A pointed piece of metal -terminated the apparatus. A long hemp cord, with a shorter cord of silk -tied to the lower end, was fastened to the kite, which was then sent up -toward a black thundercloud. At first nothing happened to confirm the -previsions of the American sage, and he was beginning to despair of -success when there came a shower of rain and with it a flash of -lightning. The wet cord proved a better conductor than when dry. -Without thinking of the danger he ran, and transported with joy at -having brought within his reach that which causes thunder, Franklin put -his finger near the cord and made little spurts of fire dart out, -lighted brandy from these sparks out of the sky, and only brought his -perilous experiment to an end when he had fully determined the origin -and nature of thunder and lightning. This was the way he studied the -mystery at close quarters, discovered its nature, and finally succeeded -in protecting buildings by means of a pointed iron rod. - -“Benjamin Franklin was born in Boston, North America, in 1706. He was -the youngest [2] of seventeen children. Hence, as his father was a poor -tallow-chandler and soap-boiler, he could not acquire at home anything -beyond a knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic. At ten years of -age he was taken from school and set to performing small tasks about -the house. He cut candle-wicks and poured the tallow into the molds, -waited on customers in his father’s shop, and ran errands. His work -brought him in a few pence which he did not yet know how to spend -judiciously. He tells us the following little story on this subject, -which we may all profit by. - -“‘One day,’ says he, ‘finding myself the possessor of a handful of -coppers, I ran out to buy some toys, when a little boy of about my own -age happened to pass that way with a whistle in his hand. Delighted -with the sound of the whistle, I proposed to my comrade to exchange all -my money for his musical instrument. To this he very willingly agreed. -Elated with my purchase, which I thought very fine, I returned home, -where I continued whistling to my great joy, but to the great -displeasure of the ears of my family. I told them of the magnificent -exchange I had just made. My brothers and sisters made fun of me, -saying that for the price I had paid I might have bought dozens of such -whistles at the toy-shop. Only then did it occur to me what fine things -I might have bought with my money, and I began to cry with vexation. -Chagrin at the exchange I had made now caused me more pain than the -whistle had before given me pleasure. This little incident made an -impression on me that has never been effaced and has been of service to -me on more than one occasion. Ever since, whenever I am tempted to buy -some useless thing, I say to myself, “Do not pay too much for your -whistle”; and so I save my money.’” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -NATURAL FERTILIZERS—GUANO - - -“Plant-life finds a part of its sustenance provided by nature in the -atmosphere; it finds carbonic acid gas, whence it derives the carbon it -requires; but the care and ingenuity of man have to supplement these -natural resources by providing fertilizers. - -“One of the chief of these fertilizers, farm manure, is furnished by -the bedding and excrement of animals. To obtain an excellent dressing -of this sort it is customary to use for bedding, as far as possible, -the straw from grain, since this, being composed of hollow stalks, is -capable of holding considerable moisture. But, as in certain cases -straw would hardly be able to absorb all the fluid matter, it is well -to make a trench in the stable and thus carry off the excess of liquid -to a reservoir outside, where another heap of straw or similar material -is in readiness to receive it. Then, at a distance from all rain-spouts -and gutters, and in the shade of trees, a substantial layer of clay is -spread on the ground, and on this is erected the pile of manure. All -around it is dug a little trench which conducts the brown liquid that -oozes from the manure, and that is known as liquid manure, into a hole -large enough to admit of the use of a bucket in drawing out the liquid. - -“Liquid manure is composed of the fluid matter with which the bedding -is steeped, and it holds in solution a great part of the nutritive -constituents of the manure. Agriculture knows no richer fertilizer. -Hence care should be taken not to let it go to waste in neighboring -ditches or soak into the ground. That is why the pile is placed on a -layer of clay, which keeps the liquid manure from soaking into the -ground where it would be wasted; and it is also the reason for digging -a trench to receive this fluid matter and conduct it to the hole. When -this hole is full the liquid manure is drawn out with a bucket and -thrown back on to the dung-hill. - -“Nor is that the whole of the story. A slow combustion will soon begin -throughout the pile of manure; its mass will ferment and become heated, -and as a consequence the nitrogenous constituents will decompose and -will liberate ammonia, which will escape into the air and be lost if -the fermentation is excessive. It is to avoid too rapid a heating that -the manure-pile is placed in the shade and not under the direct rays of -the sun. Moreover, the liquid manure thrown on to the heap from time to -time also moderates the fermenting process. - -“Compare this careful method with the practice on most farms, where the -manure is heaped up without any precaution, without shelter from the -sun, unprotected from the drenching rains, which wash away the soluble -constituents. Think of those rivulets of liquid manure trickling away -in this direction and that, and collecting here and there in puddles of -infection. See how all the inmates of the poultry-yard scratch at the -heap, turning over and scattering its contents, and thus causing the -ammonia to escape into the atmosphere. Can such a dung-hill be as -valuable as one that is attended to properly? - -“Liquid manure being the richest part of the whole pile, care should be -taken not to let escape what the bedding does not absorb. It should be -first diluted with water and then applied to the growing crops. When it -is desired for use in non-liquid form, it should be mixed with enough -earth to absorb it, and the result is an excellent fertilizer. - -“In summer it is not unusual to enclose with hurdles a piece of land -soon to be cultivated, and into this enclosure a flock of sheep is -driven to pass the night under the care of the shepherd in his movable -hut, and with the protection of trusty dogs well able to cope with any -marauding wolves. The next night the flock is quartered in another -spot, and so on until the entire field has thus served, a little at a -time, as stable for the flock. The purpose of this procedure is to -utilize the excrement, both solid and liquid, left behind by the flock. -In one night a sheep can fertilize a square meter of surface. This -method of fertilizing is very effective because of the complete -absorption of the fluid matter by the soil. - -“Off the coast of Peru in South America are several small islands which -form a common rendezvous for great numbers of sea-birds. Birds that -frequent the sea are all notorious for their insatiable appetite. -Constantly in search of fish, which they live on, they spend the day -exploring the surface of the waters at immense distance from land. -Nature has endowed them with prodigious flying power. To these -indefatigable rovers an aërial promenade of some hundreds of leagues -before dinner is a mere nothing. Scattered during the day in all -directions in quest of prey, they reach the islets in the evening to -spend the night, arriving in flocks so dense as to darken the sky. -Being well fed, thanks to their foraging excursions, they cover the -ground at night with a thick layer of excrement. And as this has been -going on century after century ever since the world was made, these -deposits, piled one on another, have at last become massive beds twenty -or thirty meters thick, and so hard, so compact, that to break them it -is necessary to use a pick or a petard, just as one would in quarrying -stone. Workmen operate this dung mine, and vessels from all parts of -the world fetch cargoes of this valuable material, which is called -guano. This enormous mass of dung, which has by the lapse of ages been -turned into a sort of whitish loam, gives Peru an annual revenue -amounting to sixty millions of francs. - -“Guano is the strongest fertilizer known to agriculture. It is -scattered broadcast over the field when vegetation is starting, and for -the best results a rather damp time is chosen for this work in order -that the moisture may convey to the roots of the plants, by gradual -infiltration, the soluble constituents of the fertilizer. The action of -guano on vegetation is of the promptest, most powerful sort.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE STALK OF THE PLANT - - -“The stalk is the common support of the plant’s various parts. It is -called annual or herbaceous when it lives only one year, as in the -potato, spinach, parsley, and all forms of vegetation that from their -soft structure belong to the class of herbs. Ligneous is the name given -to the stalk when, designed to live for a greater or less number of -years, it is made of strong woody fibers, such as we find in the trunks -of trees. - -“Let us make a clean cut through any tree-trunk, that of an oak for -example. We shall find it divided into three parts: in the center the -pith or marrow, very slightly developed; around the marrow the wood -proper; and, finally, on the outside, the bark. A closer examination -shows that the wood is formed of concentric layers which are indicated -in the cross-section by a series of circles having the marrow for a -common center. These layers are called ligneous zones or, since one is -formed every year, annual layers. During the summer there is a downward -flow, throughout the tree, of a peculiar liquid, the descending sap, -which constitutes the fluid nourishment of the tree. This liquid runs -between the wood and the bark and becomes, little by little in its -course, on one side a layer of wood which attaches itself to the outer -surface of the preceding year’s layer, and on the other side a thin -sheet of bark which is added to the inner surface of the bark already -formed. - -“Thus each year both bark and wood form a new layer; but this added -layer is applied in opposite ways in the two instances,—outside on the -wood, inside on the bark. The wood thus encircled from year to year by -new layers increases in age toward the center and becomes younger and -younger toward the circumference, whereas the bark, lined every year -with a fresh sheet, shows its youth on the inside and its age on the -outside. The first buries inside the trunk its decrepit and dead -layers; the second thrusts its old layers outside, where they crack and -fall off in large scales. This aging process is simultaneous on the -outside and in the center of the tree-trunk; but between the wood and -the bark life is always at work, creating fresh accretions. - -“Here are some experimental proofs of this annual formation of a -ligneous layer. A strip of bark is removed from the trunk of a tree, -and on the wood thus laid bare is fastened a thin sheet of metal. The -bark is then replaced and bound with ligatures so that the wound may -heal. We will suppose ten years have passed. The bark is raised again -at the same place. The metal sheet is no longer visible; to find it you -must bore deep into the wood. Now, if you count the ligneous layers -removed before reaching the metal sheet, you will find precisely ten, -just the number of years that have passed. - -“A number of observations like the following are familiar: Some -foresters cut down a beech bearing on its trunk the date 1750. The same -inscription was found again in the inner substance of the wood, but to -reach it they had to cut through fifty-five layers on which no mark -whatever appeared. If now, we add 55 to 1750 we obtain precisely the -year when the tree was felled, or 1805. The inscription carved on the -trunk in the year 1750 had passed through the bark and reached the -layer of wood that was then outermost. Since that event fifty-five -years had passed and new layers, exactly the same in number, had grown -over the first. - -“Thus a tree is composed of a succession of woody sheaths, the outer -ones enveloping the inner. The stem or trunk contains them all; the -branches, according to their age, contain more or fewer. Each one -represents a single year’s growth. The woody sheath of the present year -occupies the exterior of the trunk, immediately under the bark; those -of former years occupy the interior, and the nearer they are to the -center the older they are. The layers of future years will come one at -a time and take their places over preceding layers, so that what is now -the outermost layer will in its turn be found embedded in the body of -the trunk. - -“Of all these ligneous zones of unequal age the most important to-day -is the outside one; its destruction would cause the death of the tree, -since through it the nutritive juices of the earth reach the buds, -leaves, and young branches. In their time the interior layers, one by -one, when they formed the surface, rendered the same service to the -buds of their day; but now that these buds have become branches the -inner layers have only a secondary office, or even none at all. Those -nearest the outside still have some aptness for work and help the layer -of the year to carry the juices from the earth to the branches. As to -the innermost ones, they have lost all activity; their wood is hard, -dried up, encrusted with inert matter. In their decrepitude these -interior layers are incapable of service in the work of vegetation; the -most they can do is by the support of their firm woody structure to -give solidity to the whole. Thus the tree’s activity decreases from the -outside toward the center. On the surface are youth, vigor, labor; in -the center old age, ruin, repose.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE ROOT - - -“The stalk or trunk is the upward-growing part of the plant, and needs -air and light. The root, on the contrary, is the downward-growing part, -and it needs soil and darkness. The extreme ends of the root’s various -subdivisions are always growing, always young, of delicate structure, -and for that reason admirably fitted for imbibing, very much as a fine -sponge would do, the liquids with which the soil is impregnated. -Because of their facility in absorbing moisture these ever-growing -tip-ends are called spongioles. The spongioles terminate the rootlets, -that is to say the final subdivisions of the root, subdivisions known -as root-hairs on account of their resemblance to real hair. - -“The root takes various forms, which are all reducible to two -fundamental types. Sometimes it consists of a main body or tap-root, -which sends out branches as it bores deeper into the soil. This -designation, tap-root, is a common and familiar term. Sometimes the -root assumes the form of a tuft, a bunch of rootlets, simple or -branching, which, springing from the same point, continue to grow at a -nearly equal rate and on an equal footing as to importance. Roots of -this sort are commonly known as fibrous roots. - -“As a general rule, the growth of the root keeps pace with that of the -stem or trunk. Thus the oak, elm, maple, beech, and all our large trees -have a vigorous, deep-growing root as anchorage for the enormous -superstructure, to brace it firmly against the wind. But there is no -lack of lowly herbage that has roots quite out of proportion to the -other parts,—veritable tap-roots of greater size and vigor than many a -plant of far greater aërial development can boast. To this class belong -the mallow, carrot, and radish. Lucerne has for support to its meager -foliage a root that bores two or three meters into the ground. - -“An agricultural practice of supreme interest is based, at least -partly, on the excessive development of certain roots. The plant is a -laboratory where life converts into nutritive matter the manure from -our stables and poultry-yards. A cart-load of dung becomes at the -farmer’s pleasure, after passing through one sort of plant or another, -a crop of peas or beans, a basket of fruit, or a loaf of bread. Hence -this fertilizer is a very precious thing which nothing can replace and -which must be utilized to the very utmost. The nourishment of us all -depends on it. Enriched with this fertilizer, the soil produces, we -will say, a first harvest of wheat. But wheat with its bunch of short -and fine roots, has drawn only upon the upper layer of fertilizing -material, leaving intact all that the rain has dissolved and carried -down into the lower layers. It has performed its mission admirably, it -is true; it has made a clean sweep and converted into wheat all the -fertilizer contained in the layer of soil accessible to its roots, so -that if wheat were sown a second time no harvest would be obtained. The -soil, then, is exhausted on the surface, but in its underlying strata -it is still rich. Well, what crop shall we choose for the utilization -of these lower strata and the production of still further supplies of -food? It cannot be barley, oats, or rye, since their little fibrous -roots would find nothing to glean in the surface soil after the first -crop of wheat. But it will be lucerne, since this plant will send down -its roots, each as thick as your finger, to the depth of one, two, or -even three meters, if need be, and give back the fertilizer in the form -of forage, which, with the help of the animal that feeds on it, will be -converted into nutritious meat, valuable dairy products, excellent -wool, or, at the very least, animal power for draft service or other -work. This succession of two or more different kinds of crops for the -utmost utilization of a given area of prepared soil is called rotation -of crops, of which there will be more to say later. - -“Deep roots, so admirably adapted to the utilization of the lower -strata of the soil, become in other circumstances a source of serious -difficulty. Suppose a tree is to be transplanted. Its long tap-root -will make the operation difficult and hazardous. You must dig deep, -both in pulling it out and in replanting it; and then you must be -careful not to injure the root, for it is all in one piece and if it -does not take hold and grow the sapling will die. In this case it would -be much to the tree’s advantage to have fibrous roots running down only -to a slight depth; it could then be pulled up easily, and if some roots -perished in the operation enough would be left intact to insure the -success of the transplanting. - -“This result can be obtained: it is no difficult matter to make the -tree lose its tap-root and acquire, not a regular bundle of roots of -even length; but a short and much ramified root that possesses the -advantages of the bunch of small roots without having its shape. Thus -in nurseries where young trees remain for some years before being -transplanted, after two years’ growth a spade is passed under the -surface of the soil to cut off the main root, which would in time -become a deep tap-root. The stump that remains then branches out -horizontally without going deeper. Another way is to pave the nursery -bed with tiles. The tap-root of the young tree pushes downward until it -reaches this barrier, where it is straightway forced to stop growing in -depth and compelled to send out lateral branches. - -“The kind of root we have thus far been talking about is primordial, -original; every plant has it on emerging from the seed; it appears as -soon as the seed germinates. But many plants have other roots that -develop at different points of the stem, replacing the original root -when that dies, or at least coming to its aid if it continues to live. -They are called adventitious roots, and they play a highly important -part, notably in certain horticultural operations such as propagating -by slips and layers, which we will talk about later. - -“Besides these two operations, the object of which is to multiply the -plant, it is customary to prompt the growth of adventitious roots -either for the purpose of fixing the plant more firmly in the ground or -in order to increase its yield. The best way to attain this result is -to bank up the earth at the base of the stalk. This process is -sometimes called earthing up. The buried portion soon sends out a great -number of roots. Indian corn, for example, if left to itself is too -poorly rooted to resist wind and rain, which beat it down. In order to -give it greater stability the farmer earths up the corn. In the earth -banked up at the base of the stalk bundles of adventitious roots form -and furnish the plant a firmer support. - -“Wheat stalks bear on their lower ends buds which, according to -circumstances, perish to the detriment of the harvest or develop into -roots and promote the growth of more ears of grain. Let us suppose -wheat has been sown in the autumn. In that cold and rainy season -vegetation is slow, the stalk grows but little, and the various buds -remain very close together almost on a level with the ground. But if -they are favored by having damp soil near them, these buds send forth -adventitious roots which nourish them directly and promote a fullness -of growth that the ordinary root by itself could not have secured. Thus -stimulated by nourishment, these buds develop into so many -wheat-stalks, each one ending at a later period in an ear of grain. But -if wheat is sown in the spring, its rapid growth under the influence of -mild weather brings the buds too high for them to send out roots. The -stalk then remains single. In the first case from one grain of wheat -sown there springs a cluster of stalks producing as many ears; in the -second case the harvest is reduced to its lowest terms: from one grain -of wheat one stalk, one ear. Hence this development of the lower buds -of cereals is of the greatest importance. To obtain it, or, in -agricultural terms, to make the wheat send up suckers, the lower buds -must send down adventitious roots, as they will do if they are brought -into contact with the soil. To this end, shortly after germination a -wooden roller is passed over the field, and this roller, without -bruising the young stalks, pushes them deeper into the ground.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -BUDS - - -“Let us take a branch of lilac or any shrub. In the angle formed by -each leaf and the branch that bears it, an angle called the axil of the -leaf, we shall see a little round body enveloped in brown scales. That -is a bud or, as it is also named, an eye. - -“Buds make their appearance at fixed points, and it is the rule for one -to form in the axil of each leaf; it is also the rule for the tip-end -of the branch to bear one. Those situated in the axils of the leaves -are called axillary buds, and those that are found on the ends of -branches, terminal buds. They are not all equally vigorous, the -strongest being at the top of the branch, the weakest at the bottom. -The lower leaves even shelter such small ones in their axils that only -the closest scrutiny will reveal them. These diminutive buds often -perish without developing unless artificially encouraged to do so. On a -lilac branch it is easy to note these differences of size from bud to -bud. - -“Both terminal and axillary buds are divided into two classes. In -developing some sprout up and produce only leaves; these are called -leaf buds. When fully developed they become shoots or scions, and -finally branches. Others push upward but little and bear only flowers -or leaves and flowers simultaneously. They are called flower buds, or -simply buds. It is very easy to distinguish one kind from the other on -our fruit-trees, the leaf buds being long and pointed, the flower buds -round and thicker. - -“All summer long the leaf buds grow in the axils of the leaves; they -are gaining strength to go through the winter. Cold weather comes and -the leaves fall, but the buds remain in their place, firmly implanted -on a ledge of the bark, or a sort of little cushion, situated just -above the scar left by the falling of the adjacent leaf. To withstand -the rigors of cold and dampness, which would be fatal to them, winter -clothing is indispensable. It consists of a warm inner envelope of -flock and down, and a strong outer casing of well varnished scales. Let -us examine for instance the bud of a chestnut-tree. Within we shall -find a sort of wadding enswathing its delicate little leaves, while on -the outside a solid cuirass of scales, arranged with the regularity of -tiles on a roof, wraps it closely. Furthermore, to keep out all -dampness, the separate pieces of this scale armor are coated with a -resinous cement which now resembles dried varnish, but softens in the -spring to let the bud open. Then the scales, no longer stuck together, -separate, all sticky, and the first leaves unfold covered with a -velvety red down. Nearly all buds, at the time of their spring travail, -present in different degrees this stickiness resulting from the -softening of their resinous coating. I will mention especially the buds -of the ash, alder, and, above all, the poplar, which when pressed -between the fingers emit an abundant yellow glue, of bitter taste. This -substance is diligently gathered by the bees, which use it to make -their bee-glue, that is to say the cement with which they stop the -fissures and rough-coat the walls of their hive before constructing the -combs. Under its modest appearance the bud is a veritable masterpiece: -its varnish excludes dampness; its scales protect it from harmful -atmospheric influences; its lining of flock, wadding, downy red hair, -keeps out the cold. - -“The scales form the most important part of the bud’s winter clothing. -They are nothing more nor less than tiny leaves hardened and toughened, -in short so modified as to serve the purpose of protection. The leaves -immediately under them and constituting the heart of the bud have the -usual form. They are all small, pale, delicate, and arranged in a -marvelously methodical manner so as to take up the least possible room -and at the same time to be contained, all of them, despite their -considerable number, within the narrow limits of their cradle. It is -surprising what a quantity of material a bud can make room for under -its sheath of scales in a space so small that we should find it -difficult to pack away there a single hemp-seed; and yet it holds -leaves by the dozen or a whole bunch of flowers. The bunch enclosed in -a lilac bud numbers a hundred and more blossoms. And all this is -contained in that narrow cell, with no tearing or bruising of any -portion of it. If the various parts of a bud were disconnected, one by -one, if the delicate arrangement were once undone, what fingers would -be clever enough to put it together again? The principal leaves lend -themselves to a thousand different modes of arrangement in order to -occupy the least space possible. They take in the bud the form of a -cornet; or they roll themselves up in a scroll, sometimes from one edge -only, sometimes from both; or they fold up lengthwise or crosswise; or -they may roll up into little balls, or crumple up, or fold like a fan.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -ADVENTITIOUS BUDS - - -“Buds such as we have been considering appear in the spring and then -spend the summer in gaining strength, after which they remain -stationary and as if wrapped in deep sleep all through the winter. The -following spring they wake up and grow into branches or blossom into -flowers. It is plainly to be seen that these dormant buds, as -arboriculture calls them in its picturesque language, must, in order to -withstand the summer heat and the winter’s cold, be clothed so as not -to be parched by the sun or killed by the frost. They are all in fact -covered with a wrapping of scales, and for that reason are called scaly -buds. Buds of this class are found in the lilac, chestnut, pear, apple, -cherry, poplar, and in fact nearly all the trees of our country. - -But if a tree can wait and devote a whole year to the development of -its buds, which are clothed in a sheath of scales because of this -waiting, there are a multitude of plants that have only a limited time -at their disposal: they live only a year, and hence are called annuals. -Such are the potato, carrot, pumpkin, and a great many more. In a few -months or days they must hastily develop their buds. These, not having -to pass through the winter, are never enveloped in protecting scales: -they are naked buds. As soon as they appear they elongate, unfold their -leaves, and become branches taking part in the work of the whole. Very -soon, in the axils of their leaves, other buds make their appearance -and behave like their predecessors; that is to say, they develop -quickly into branches which in their turn produce other buds. And so on -indefinitely until winter puts a stop to this scaffold of branches and -kills the whole plant. Thus annuals ramify rapidly. In one year they -produce several generations of branches implanted one on another, -sometimes more, sometimes fewer, according to their species and their -degree of vigor. Their buds, designed for immediate development, are -always naked. On the contrary, those forms of vegetation that have a -long life, such as trees, ramify slowly; they have only one generation -of branches a year, and their buds, destined to live through the -winter, are scaly. - -Certain examples of plant-life have both kinds of buds. Such, for -instance, are the peach-tree and the grape-vine. At the end of winter -the vine-shoot bears scaly buds lined with flock, and the peach -branches scaly buds coated with varnish. Both belong to the class of -dormant buds: they have slept all winter in their sheaths of fur and -scales. In the spring they develop into branches according to the -general rule; but at the same time there appear in the axils of the -leaves other buds without any protecting covering, and these develop -immediately into branches. Thus the grape-vine and the peach-tree beget -two generations in one year: the first, the issue of the scaly buds -that have endured the winter; the second, naked buds formed in the -spring and developing very soon after their formation. The branches -arising from these latter finally give birth to scaly buds, which sleep -through the winter and reproduce the same order of things the following -year. - -“Both axillary and terminal buds are in the normal order of plant-life: -they appear in all forms of vegetation that live several years. But -when the plant is in danger, when by some accident the regular buds are -lacking or insufficient, others spring into being here and there at -haphazard, even on the root if necessary, to restore a languishing -vitality and put the plant once more in a flourishing condition. These -accidental buds are to the part of the plant above the ground what -adventitious roots are to the part below the ground: the menace of the -moment calls them into existence at any endangered point. The edges of -the wound caused by the lopping off of a branch, the part of a -tree-trunk constricted by a band, portions of the bark injured by -contusion, these are the points where they appear by preference. They -are called adventitious buds, but their structure does not differ from -that of normal buds. - -“Adventitious buds lend themselves to valuable uses. Suppose a number -of young saplings to be planted at proper intervals in the ground. If -they are then left to themselves these saplings grow each into a single -trunk and form collectively a wood or forest. But it may be of -advantage to replace each of these single trunks by a group of several -trunks. In that case the young plantation is cut down to the level of -the ground, and around the edge of each cross-section there presently -spring a number of adventitious buds which shoot up into an equal -number of stems, so that each sapling that would have developed only -one trunk is transformed into a stump from which start numerous sprouts -or suckers, all of the same age and strength. Then instead of a wood or -forest we have a growth of underbrush, or a copse. When the suckers -have acquired the desired size, a fresh cutting back lays them low and -induces a still denser growth of shoots by multiplying the number of -wounds. It is thus that from a single stock, repeatedly cut back and as -often reinvigorated by the growth of adventitious buds, a quantity of -wood is obtained exceeding that produced by the free and solitary -development of one tree. - -“Spared by the axe, the poplar rises in a majestic obelisk of verdure. -The willow, so ungraceful in appearance along the banks of our ditches, -with its shapeless top bristling with shoots sticking out in all -directions, is, in its natural state, a tree of rare elegance on -account of the suppleness of its branches and the fineness of its -foliage. Considered as a thing of beauty, it certainly has nothing to -gain by man’s interference with its mode of growth. But, alas, -productivity does not always go hand in hand with beauty; and if it is -desired to make these two trees, the poplar and the willow, produce a -great mass of branches and fire-wood, decapitation, repeated -periodically, transforms them into pollards, seamed with scars, gaping -with bleeding wounds, disfigured with bruises, but at the same time -contending against all this hard usage by a never-failing growth of -adventitious buds which constantly replace with increasing prodigality -the brushwood that has fallen victim to the axe. - -“To finish the subject of adventitious buds—buds that persist in -multiplying even when the parent stock languishes, and that withstand -destruction until utter exhaustion has set in—let us recall for a -moment certain weeds such as dog’s-tooth grass, cock-spur grass, and -other grasses that are so hard to keep out of our garden paths unless -we do something more than merely rake the surface of the ground. You -may have taken infinite pains, we will say, to clean the paths, and -have left them immaculate, or at least you think so. But you are -mistaken. In a few days the grass has all come back in richer tufts -than ever. The reason is plain enough now: your raking simply cut back -the stems, leaving wounds that immediately covered themselves with -adventitious buds, which quickly sent up new stalks. Thus, instead of -destroying, you have multiplied. The only way to clear the ground of -weeds is to pull them up by the roots; that done, you may consider the -job well done.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -BULBS AND BULBLETS - - -“After attaining the requisite degree of strength the buds of certain -plants leave the parent stalk and, if we may so express it, emigrate; -that is to say, they detach themselves and take root in the earth, to -draw nourishment directly therefrom. Now it is evident that a bud -designed for independent development cannot have precisely the -structure of one destined never to leave the parent stem. To satisfy -its first needs before roots capable of nourishing it have been sent -down into the soil, it must of necessity have a certain prepared store -of nutriment. Therefore every bud that emigrates carries a supply of -food with it. - -“There is cultivated in gardens a pretty little lily native to high -mountains, bearing orange-colored blossoms, and known as the -bulbiferous lily. Here is a piece of the stalk with its buds situated -in the axils of the leaves. These buds must pass through the winter and -develop the following spring. They are covered with succulent scales, -very thick, tender, and fleshy, good for nourishment as well as for -protection. This store of provisions makes the bud quite plump. Toward -the end of summer some of these buds leave the mother plant; they fall -at the slightest wind, scatter on the ground, and are henceforth given -over to their own resources. If the season is a wet one, many of them, -still in place at the axils of the leaves, send out one or two little -roots that hang in the air as if trying to reach the ground. Before -October arrives all the buds have fallen. Then the mother stalk dies. -Soon the autumn winds and rains cover the scattered buds with dead -leaves and mold. Under this shelter they swell all winter from the -juices of their scales, plunge their roots into the ground little by -little, and, behold, in the spring each one displays its first green -leaf, continues henceforth its independent growth, and finally becomes -a plant like the original lily. - -“The fleshy, scaly buds destined to develop independently of the mother -stalk are called bulblets. No plant known to agriculture could furnish -us so striking an example of bud-emigration as the bulbiferous lily; -but in our kitchen gardens we have garlic, which acts in almost the -same way. Take a whole head of garlic. On the outside are dry, white -wrappings. Strip these off and underneath you will find large buds -which can easily be detached one by one. Then come more white wrappings -followed by new buds, so that the entire head is a package of alternate -wrappings and buds. - -“These wrappings are the dried-up lower portions of the old leaves of -the plant, leaves blanched where the soil covered them, and where they -still remain, and formerly green where exposed to the air, though that -part is now lacking. In the axils of these leaves buds have formed -according to the general rule; only, as they are destined to develop by -themselves, they have stored up supplies in their thickened scales, and -that is what makes them unusually large. Split one of them lengthwise. -Under a tough sheath you will find an enormous fleshy mass forming -almost the whole of the bud. That is the storehouse. With such supplies -of food the bud is well able to take care of itself. And, in fact, when -a market-gardener wishes to raise a crop of garlic, he does not have -recourse to the seed; that would take too long. He turns his attention -to the buds; that is to say, he plants in the ground, one by one, the -bulblets of which the heads of garlic are composed. Each of these -bulblets, sustained at first by its own reserves of food, puts forth -roots and leaves and becomes a complete garlic plant. - -“From the bulblet to the bulb, from garlic to an onion, there is but a -single step. Let us split an onion in two from top to bottom. We shall -find it composed of a succession of fleshy scales compactly fitted -together. In the heart of this cluster of succulent scales, which are -nothing but leaves so modified as to form a food-storehouse, are found -other leaves of normal shape and green color. An onion, then, is a bud -provisioned for an independent life by the conversion of its outside -leaves into fleshy scales; and it is called a bulb, not a bulblet, -because of its size, the latter term being the diminutive form of -‘bulb.’ Bulb and bulblet differ merely in size: the bulb is larger, the -bulblet smaller, and that is all. - -“Every one has noticed that an onion hanging on the wall ready at hand -for the cook, is awakened to life in the course of the winter by the -heat of the room, and from within its envelope of red scales puts forth -a beautiful green shoot that seems to protest against the rigors of the -season and reminds us of the sweet pleasures of spring. As it develops, -its fleshy scales wrinkle, soften, become flabby, and finally fall off -in decay to serve as fertilizer for the young plant. Sooner or later, -however, its store of provision being exhausted, the shoot perishes -unless placed in earth. There we have a striking example of a bud that -develops independently by means of its own accumulated supplies. The -leek is also a bulb, but very slender in shape. Like the onion, it -consists of a cluster of lower leaf-parts sheathed one inside another. -Among ornamental plants having bulbs are the lily, the tulip, and the -hyacinth.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -TUBERS—STARCH - - -“There are buds that, though called to an independent existence, do -not, before separating from the mother plant, store up provisions nor -thicken their scales; but the plant itself is charged with feeding -them. When it is intended that the stem or branch shall itself maintain -the buds it bears, then, instead of coming out into the open air where -it would speedily cover itself with foliage and flowers, it remains -underground and has for leaves only rudimentary scales. It grows so -corpulent and deformed as to cease to bear the name of branch and to -take instead that of tuber. As soon as necessary supplies have been -stored up, the tuber detaches itself from the mother plant, and -thenceforth the buds it bears find in it abundant nourishment for their -separate existence. A tuber, then, is an underground branch swollen -with nutritive material and having undeveloped scales in place of -leaves, and it is also dotted here and there with buds which it must -feed. - -“Let us now look at a potato. What do we see on the surface? Certain -small cavities or eyes; that is to say, so many buds, for these eyes -develop into branches if the potato is placed in favorable conditions. -On old potatoes, late in the season, the buds are seen to send forth -sprouts which need only a little sunshine to turn green and become -stalks. Agriculture makes good use of this peculiarity: to propagate -the plant it is customary to put into the ground, not the seeds, which -would yield no harvest before the lapse of several years, but the -tubers, which produce abundantly the same year. Or else the potato is -cut into pieces and each piece, planted in the ground, sends up a new -plant on condition that it has at least one eye; if it has none it rots -without producing anything. - -“Furthermore, you can see on the eyes tiny little scales, which are -leaves modified to adapt them to an underground life, leaves with the -same right to the name as the tough scales of an ordinary bud. Since it -has leaves and buds the potato is therefore a branch. Should there -remain any lingering doubts on this subject, it might be added that by -earthing up the plant, that is to say by heaping soil around the stalk, -the young branches thus buried can be converted into potato-bearers; -and it might also be added that in rainy and cloudy seasons it is not -rare to see some of the ordinary branches thicken and swell up in the -open air, and thus produce potatoes more or less perfect. Accordingly -the potato is to be regarded as an underground branch swollen with -nourishment—in short, a tuber. - -“Many other plants produce similar branches that grow under ground. In -this number is the Jerusalem artichoke, the tubers of which have buds -arranged two by two on opposite swellings, from front to back and from -right to left in turn, exactly as are leaves and buds on the stem. - -“The potato feeds it buds on a farinaceous substance called fecula or, -in less learned language, starch. It is the very material that makes -the vegetable so rich in nutriment for us. We turn to our own account -what the plant has stored up for its young shoots. Starch is contained -in the extremely small cavities with which the flesh of the tuber is -all riddled. These cavities are called cells. They are microscopic sacs -made of a fine membrane and having no opening. Crammed full of starch -grains and crowded one against another, they compose the fleshy -substance of the potato. But these cavities are so small that a person -would strain his eyes in vain in any attempt to see them in the -cross-section of a potato. A magnifying glass is necessary. So minute -are the cells that in a piece of potato no larger than a pin’s head -there is room for dozens and dozens of them. This picture shows you, -but much larger than in nature, a potato cell with the grains of starch -it encloses.” - -“How beautifully,” exclaimed Emile, “those grains of starch are -arranged in their little cubby-hole! They might be taken for a nest of -eggs. And you say there are heaps and heaps of these little starch -cells?” - -“Yes, my boy; in a medium-sized potato they could be counted by -millions and millions.” - -“It must be rather a curious sight to look at a little piece of potato -through a powerful magnifying-glass.” - -“It is indeed one of the most curious sights, this countless multitude -of starch grains, all the same shape, all white as snow, gathered -together by tens, dozens, scores, and even more, in their delicate -little box-like cells. - -“Let us perform an experiment not beyond our means; let us remove the -starch from a potato. All we need to do is to tear open the cells in -order to liberate the starch grains, and then filter them out. Watch me -do it. With a kitchen grater I reduce the potato to pulp and thus tear -the cells open. Now I put the pulp on a piece of linen over a large -glass and pour a little water through it with one hand while with the -other I keep stirring the pulp. The grains of starch from the ruptured -cells are washed away by the water and carried through the meshes of -the fabric, while the remnants of the cell-walls, being too large to -pass through, stay behind in the filter. - -“Thus I obtain a glassful of turbid water. Look at it under a bright -sun. In the water a multitude of white satiny specks are falling like -so much snow and piling up on the bottom. In a few moments the deposit -has settled. I then throw away the clear water above it and have left a -powdery substance, magnificently white, which if pressed between the -fingers creaks like fine sand. It is the starch of the potato, and is -made up of such fine grains that it would take from one hundred and -fifty to two hundred to equal the head of a pin in size. Nevertheless -these grains, minute though they are, have a very complicated -structure, each one of them being composed of a large number of tiny -leaflets folded one over another. The picture I showed you just now -will serve to give you an idea of these superposed leaflets that go to -make, all together, a single grain. Now if some of this starch is -boiled in a little water, the successive leaflets of the grain open and -separate, and the whole becomes an unctuous jelly far exceeding in -volume that of the starch used.” - -To prove this assertion, Uncle Paul proceeded to heat in a little water -the starch taken from the potato, and soon the powdery matter was -reduced to a beautiful pellucid jelly. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -USES OF STARCH - - -“That jelly,” remarked Jules, “looks just like the paste that I make -with laundry starch. Your potato starch there in the bottom of the -glass has exactly the same appearance as starch dissolved in cold water -for ironing clothes.” - -“That close resemblance,” replied his uncle, “is explained by the fact -that potato starch and laundry starch are at bottom the same thing. -Both substances are chemically known as fecula; but laundry starch is -made from cereals, particularly wheat, while fecula, properly speaking, -comes either from potatoes or from various grains and roots. - -“Like the starch of the potato, laundry starch is in the form of -superposed leaflets, but its grains are much smaller: ten thousand -would hardly be enough to make a pellet the size of a pin’s head. And -there are some still smaller. It would take sixty-four thousand grains -of Indian corn starch to make a pin’s head or, to be more exact, to -fill the inside of a cube measuring one millimeter on a side; and in -the case of the beet it would take ten millions. You see that in spite -of their excessive smallness, a smallness that makes them invisible to -the naked eye, the starch grains of the potato are giants in -comparison. - -“It is chiefly by the varying size of their microscopic grains that the -starches of different kinds are distinguished from one another. In -substance and structure they are all alike. Placed in warm water, their -grains swell, burst, expand their leaflets, and the starch, from -whatever source, is changed into a glutinous jelly. - -“Starch is the food supply of plant-life. Wherever we find buds that -are intended to develop by themselves, wherever we find germs, there -also we shall find a supply of starch serving as a sort of food -reserve. Hence this peculiar provision is met with in tubers, bulbs, -bulblets, seeds, and fleshy roots. Now when these buds and germs -develop, the starch becomes, in the process of vegetation, a kind of -sugar which, being soluble in water, can be sent to all parts of the -young plant and serve it for food. - -“By certain artificial devices this same change of starch into sugar -can be brought about. The simplest of these devices is the application -of heat, which always enters into the preparation of farinaceous food. -Let us take a few examples. A raw potato is uneatable. Boiled in water -or roasted in the ashes, it is excellent. What has happened, then? Heat -has converted a part of the starch into sugar, and the tuber has become -a sugary farinaceous paste. The same can be said of the chestnut. Raw, -it is no great delicacy, although at a pinch it can be eaten; cooked, -it is worthy of all the praise we can give it. I appeal to you to back -me up in this assertion. Here, then, we have another transformation of -starch into sugar by the action of heat. Beans, peas, both as hard as -bullets in the dry state and of no agreeable flavor, are unmistakably -sweetened by being boiled in water and having their starch acted on by -heat. Our various farinaceous foods behave in the same way. Ingenuity -brings into play a more powerful agent than heat alone to convert the -starch into sugar. It is boiled in water and during the boiling a -little sulphuric acid or oil of vitriol is added. Under the influence -of this energetic fluid the starch is changed into a sugary syrup. It -is of course to be understood that this syrup, as soon as it has been -thus produced, is separated from the oil of vitriol which has served to -make it. - -“The sugar thus obtained is a soft, sticky substance, and almost as -sweet as honey, but very different from ordinary sugar, which is solid -and comes in beautiful white loaves. [3] It is called starch-sugar or -glucose. Confectioners use it a great deal. When you crunch a -sugar-plum—and I am persuaded that you do not underestimate the -excellence of sugar-plums—do you know what you are eating? A -composition of starch and starch-sugar. I pass over the almond in the -center; that is beside the question.” - -“Do you mean to say,” demanded Jules, “that a bag of sugar-plums comes -from such stuff as potatoes and oil of vitriol?” - -“Such is undoubtedly the origin of the delicious sugar-plum,” was the -reply; “and indeed many of the delicacies of the pastry-cook, of the -confectioner, and of the manufacturer of refreshing beverages, which -you believe to be sweetened with ordinary sugar, really owe their sweet -taste to syrup made from starch—a much cheaper product than sugar. You -see the potato furnishes something else besides the modest dishes with -which it supplies our table. - -“Nor is that the whole story. Starch-sugar, or glucose, is exactly the -same as the sugar of ripe grapes. With potato-flour, water, and a few -drops of oil of vitriol there is artificially produced, in enormous -boilers, the same sugary substance that the vine produces in its -bunches of grapes with the help of the sun’s rays. Now grape sugar -turns to alcohol by fermenting. Glucose must undergo a similar change. -And, as a matter of fact, in northern countries too cold to admit of -the cultivation of the vine, alcoholic liquors are made from starch -previously changed into sugar. On account of their origin these liquors -go under the general name of potato-brandy. All seeds and roots rich in -starch can be used in similar manufacture. - -“Beer is a product of this sort. First barley is made to germinate by -being kept moist and warm. In the process of germination the starch is -changed into glucose for the nourishment of the young shoots. When the -little plants begin to develop, the grain is dried and ground to flour. -This mixed with water furnishes a sugary liquid which ferments, turning -partly to alcohol and finally becoming beer.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -HISTORY OF THE POTATO - - -“Next to wheat no plant in our part of the world is of so much -importance for food as the potato. Its use was not introduced into this -country until toward the end of the eighteenth century. The first -appearance of the potato among our people is a curious piece of -history. Why should I not relate it to you? It will show you what noble -efforts and perseverance are sometimes necessary to bring about the -adoption, on the part of those wedded to blind routine, of the -simplest, most natural idea, and one so rich in future possibilities. - -“The potato is native to South America; it came to us from the high -plains of Colombia, Chile, and Peru. Its first appearance in Europe -dates from 1565. A century and a half later the potato flourished in -England. Its introduction into general use in France was slower. The -first dish of potatoes, then a high-priced rarity, was served at the -table of King Louis XIII in 1616. - -“The royal dish is to-day at the command of the poorest; but this was -not effected without a good deal of trouble, as you will see. For a -long time the American tuber remained in our country a simple object of -curiosity to which were attributed injurious properties, and which -agriculture would have nothing to do with. Finally, toward the end of -the eighteenth century a worthy man succeeded in overcoming these -prejudices and popularized the culture of this valuable food plant. His -name is Parmentier. Remember this venerated name, my friends; he who -bore it banished famine by making the potato supply the deficiency of -wheat. - -“Parmentier communicated his ideas to Louis XVI. ‘The potato,’ said he, -‘is bread already made and requiring neither miller nor baker. Take it -just as it comes out of the ground and bake it in hot ashes or cook it -in boiling water, and you will have a farinaceous food rivaling wheat. -Poor land unfit for other crops will raise it, and it will henceforth -relieve us of all fear of those terrible dearths that France has so -often suffered in the past.’ - -“Louis XVI listened to this proposal with eager attention, but the -difficulty was to make others listen also. In order to interest the -world of fashion in the culture of the disdained tuber the king -appeared at a public festival one day with a large bouquet of potato -blossoms in his hand. Curiosity was aroused at the sight of these white -flowers tinged with violet and set off by the dark green of the leaves. -They were talked of at court and in town; florists made imitations of -them for their artificial bouquets; in ornamental gardens they were -used for the borders; and as the surest way to royal favor the nobles -sent potatoes to their tenant farmers with orders to plant and -cultivate them.” - -“Behold the potato fairly started on the right road!” interposed Jules. -“It cannot fail to become popular now, under the protection of king and -court.” - -“Not so fast, my little friend. Persuasion is a good deal better than -command. The tubers patronized by royalty were thrown on the dunghill. -At most, here and there a farmer, afraid of being reprimanded, allowed -them to grow as best they could in some neglected corner.” - -“And then?” - -“Then the only thing to do was to convince, not the nobleman who cared -nothing for the potato except as a means for winning the king’s favor, -but the peasant himself directly interested in this affair. It was -necessary to overcome his repugnance, a repugnance that made him reject -the potato even as fodder for cattle; he must be taught by his own -experience that the tuber of ill repute, far from being a poison, is -excellent food. All this Parmentier thoroughly understood and he set to -work without delay.” - -“This time he is sure to succeed.” - -“Not at first and not without great pains. In the suburbs of Paris he -bought or rented for farming large tracts of land which he caused to be -planted with potatoes. The first year the harvest was sold at a very -low price. A few people bought some.” - -“Now we are nearing the goal.” - -“Not yet. Good is not accomplished so easily. The second year the -potatoes were given away for nothing. Nobody wanted them.” - -“And Parmentier was left with the whole crop on his hands?” - -“The excellent man could not find a welcome for a single basket of -potatoes. In the country they laughed maliciously at his obstinacy in -cultivating a vile root that no peasant would even feed to his pigs. -But Parmentier did not despair. A singular idea came to him: to see -whether the charm of forbidden fruit would not accomplish what he had -failed to effect by his writings, his advice, his personal example, and -his generous offers. - -“A large field was planted with potatoes, and when the crop was ripe a -fence was built about the field as if to protect a most valuable -harvest. And more than this, Parmentier caused it to be trumpeted -abroad throughout the neighboring villages that it was expressly -forbidden to touch the potatoes under penalty of all the rigors of the -law against marauders. During the day the guards kept strict watch over -the field, and woe betide whoever should try to climb over the fence!” - -“It seems to me,” said Emile, “that with all those prohibitions and -guards and fences Parmentier was more likely than ever to have all his -potatoes to himself.” - -“Such was not his purpose; far from it. The guards kept good watch -during the day, but they had orders to stay at home at night and leave -unmolested any who might attempt to get into the field. ‘What, then, is -this plant that is guarded with such jealous care?’ the peasants asked -one another, attracted by the strictness of the prohibitory measures. -‘It must be very precious. Let us try to get some when the night is -dark.’ - -“Some bold marauders climbed the fence, hastily pulled up a dozen -tubers, and scampered off again, looking back to make sure they were -not pursued. Not a guard was to be seen. Word soon spread that the -field was not guarded at night. Then the pillage began in earnest: the -tubers hitherto so despised were carried off by sackfuls. In a few days -there was not a potato left in the ground. - -“People came and told Parmentier of the devastation of his field. The -worthy man wept for joy; the one robbed blessed his robbers. By his -ruse he had endowed his country with an inestimable food-supply; for, -once placed in the hands of those who would consent to cultivate it, -the potato was valued at its true worth and spread rapidly.” - -“Oh, what a curious story!” cried Louis, when Uncle Paul had finished; -“what a curious story! Who would have thought it took all that trouble -to make people accept a food that to-day is of such value to us? Is it, -then, so very hard to spread a good idea when it is new?” - -“Very hard indeed,” replied Uncle Paul, “as those well know who make it -their mission to fight against prejudice and ignorance.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -ASCENDING SAP - - -“Now let us see how the plant is nourished by the various substances of -which we have just studied the most important. Every form of plant-life -is made up, not of a compact and uniform mass of matter with no -occasional empty spaces, but, on the contrary, with the aid of a -microscope it is seen that an infinite number of very minute cavities -called cells are interspersed throughout the body of the plant. These -cells may be regarded as extremely small closed sacs, sometimes round, -sometimes oval, but more often with irregular and angular outlines by -reason of the mutual pressure exerted by the cells. The cell-wall is -composed of an excessively fine membrane. In the pith of the elder, all -riddled like a sponge, you have an example of cells large enough to be -seen without a microscope. Other cavities are long, pointed at both -ends and swollen in the middle like a spindle. They are called fibers. -Still others form canals of uniform size throughout, as fine as a hair -and long enough to extend from the roots to the topmost leaves. These -canals are called ducts. Look closely at the cross-section of a very -dry vine-branch, and you will see a multitude of orifices into which it -would be possible to thrust a hair. Those are the openings into so many -broken ducts. Everything in the plant, absolutely everything—root, -stalk, wood, bark, leaves, flowers, fruit, seeds, no matter what—is -composed of a mass of cells, fibers, and ducts. - -“That understood, let us consider the root of the plant. In its new -parts, at the tip-ends of its finest ramifications, tip-ends that we -have called spongioles, it is composed of cells just formed and -consequently tender and fitted for absorbing easily the moisture in the -soil. Spongioles, then, fill themselves much as sponges would do. That -done, conduits offer their services for conveying the liquid to the top -of the plant: they are the ducts just referred to, and comparable here -to the water-pipes in our own fountains. But if in fountains water runs -by its own weight, going from the highest to the lowest point, it is -not so with the liquid absorbed by the roots, a liquid running from -below upward. What then is the force that makes it ascend? - -“This force is in the buds or, to speak more correctly, in the leaves. -Each leaf is the seat of an active evaporation whose object is to rid -the plant of the great quantity of water required for dissolving in the -soil and then conveying to the leaves the nutritive substances present -in the soil. This evaporation leaves a void in the cells that have -given up the evaporated water. But this void is immediately filled from -the neighboring cells, which give up their contents and receive in turn -the contents of the next lower layers. From cell to cell, from fiber to -fiber, from duct to duct, a similar transfer takes place at points -farther and farther away from the evaporating surface, until the -tip-ends of the rootlets are reached, where a continuous absorption -makes good the loss of moisture by evaporation. The process reminds one -somewhat of the working of our pumps, in which the piston leaves behind -it a void that is immediately filled by the water in the pipe, which in -its turn gets water from the bottom of the well. This liquid which -ascends in every plant, absorbed by the spongioles of the rootlets and -put in motion by the evaporation from the leaves, is called ascending -sap, or crude sap. The sap is called ascending because it passes from -below upward, from the roots to the branches; and it is called crude -because it has not yet undergone the preparation that will turn it into -the nutritive liquid of the plant. Thus we have learned our first -lesson, namely: ascending sap is carried especially to those parts of -the plant where buds are numerous, where leaves abound; it seeks by -preference the ends of the branches, where evaporation is most active. - -“We know that the surface wood is the newest; it is formed of cells, -fibers, and ducts whose cavities are free and whose walls are -permeable. The interior wood is older; its cells, fibers, and ducts are -encrusted, stopped up, decrepit, out of use. The liquid accordingly -makes its way where circulation is possible, and ceases to flow where -the passage is obstructed. That is to say, the ascent of the sap takes -place through the sap-wood and chiefly through the outermost layers, or -those of most recent formation. Repeated experiment leaves no doubt on -this point. When a tree is cut down at the time of the sap’s greatest -activity, we find the sap-wood moist and the older wood perfectly dry. -Finally, in herbaceous plants the sap ascends through the whole body of -the stem. Suspended during the winter on account of the absence of -foliage, this ascent of the sap becomes remarkably brisk at the -awakening of vegetation. Then it is that fruit-trees shed tears, so to -speak, where the pruning-hook has left its mark; or, in other words, -the ascending sap oozes from the openings of the severed ducts. These -tears are especially noticeable in the grape-vine, where it has -recently been trimmed. - -“Now what would you expect to find in this liquid if you collected some -of it as it trickles in the form of tears either from the vine or from -a fruit-tree? Many things, doubtless, you will say, since this precious -liquid is the prime source of all that the plant contains in itself. If -such is your thought, undeceive yourselves: ascending sap is little -more than clear water, and often it is very difficult for science to -prove beyond a doubt the presence in it of various substances in -solution, so minute a fraction of the whole do they compose. Among -these substances the most frequent are compounds of potash, of lime, of -carbonic acid gas, traces of phosphates, and compounds of nitrogen or -ammonia. In short, the liquid from which the plant is to derive its -nourishment is the weakest sort of broth, composed of an enormous -quantity of water and a very small proportion of dissolved substances. -These inconsiderable substances are the only or almost the only things -utilized by the plant; and the water that has collected them in -filtering through the soil, and has then carried them from the roots to -the leaves through the sap-wood, the water that forms almost the whole -of the ascending sap, is destined, as soon as the journey is -accomplished, to leave the plant and return as vapor to the atmosphere -whence it descended in the form of rain.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -DESCENDING SAP - - -“Ascending sap, a liquid composed of a large quantity of water and a -very small proportion of dissolved nutritive substances, is absorbed in -the ground by the roots and carried to the leaves through the sap-wood. -It is not yet a nutritive fluid for the plant; it becomes so in the -foliage by a double process. First, on being distributed to the leaves, -which furnish a vast surface for evaporation, it exhales its -superabundant water in the form of vapor and thus concentrates its -usable ingredients. Then, under the influence of the sun’s rays and -through the medium of the green matter contained in the leaves, it -undergoes modifications that work a fundamental change in its -character. Among the processes here taking place, one of the best known -is the decomposition of the carbonic acid gas taken from the air by the -leaves and from the soil by the roots. - -“We have seen that this gas, the plant’s chief source of nourishment, -is composed of carbon combined with the breathable part of the air, or -oxygen. Under the action of the sun’s light the leaves decompose this -gas, liberating the oxygen in a condition henceforth fit for the -respiration of animals and for combustion, while the carbon remains in -the plant, mixes with the substances brought by the ascending sap, and -with them becomes the nourishing liquid, the descending or elaborated -sap, from which all future parts of the plant are to be formed. This -liquid cannot be called wood, bark, leaf, flower, or fruit; it is not -at all like any of these, and yet it is essentially a little of them -all. An animal’s blood is neither flesh, bone, nor fleece; but bone, -flesh, and fleece are of its substance. Likewise the elaborated sap is -a liquid designed for the sustenance of all parts of the plant; it -contains matter for fruit and wood, leaves and flowers, bark and buds. -It is the plant’s blood; everything in the plant gets from it its -nourishment, its wherewithal to develop. What a wonderful, what an -incomprehensible process its production appears to us! In the crowded -ranks of the leaf-cells, where one would suppose everything to be at -rest, what activity, what transformations beyond the reach of human -science! Liquids swell the cells, ooze from one to another, transpire, -infiltrate, circulate, exchange their dissolved substances; vapors are -exhaled, gases come, others go; the sun’s light separates what was -united, unites what was separated, and the raw materials of the -ascending sap combine henceforth with the materials of life. - -“The elaborated sap descends from the leaves to the twigs, from the -twigs to the branches, from the branches to the stalk or trunk, and -from the latter to the root, distributing itself here and there on its -way. It circulates between the wood and the bark. It is this sap that, -in the spring, when it is in great abundance, forms between the wood -and the bark a thin layer of slightly viscous moisture and makes the -bark easy to peel from its branch. Which of you in the month of May has -not taken advantage of this peculiarity to peel off all in one piece a -tube of bark from a very smooth twig of willow or lilac in order to -make a whistle, trumpet, or other noisy plaything, the delight of boys -of your age? - -“Nothing is easier than to prove the passage of sap from above -downward. If you remove from a tree-trunk an annular band of bark, the -nourishing liquid oozes and accumulates at the upper edge of the wound, -but nothing of the sort takes place at the lower edge. Arrested thus by -a break in its path, the sap accumulates above the uncovered ring and -causes there an abundant growth of wood and bark, which piles up in the -form of a thick circular swelling, while below the ring the trunk -preserves its former size. - -“A tight ligature, by compressing and obstructing the passages through -which the nutritive fluid has to pass, causes the formation of a -similar swelling above the line of stoppage. You may have seen a -sapling, bound too tightly to the stake intended for its support, -strangled by its own growth if the gardener has forgotten to loose the -band in time. Little by little the trunk swells above this band, which -is finally overgrown by the bark and even hidden within its substance. -Indeed, it is not rare to find a tree with its trunk caught fast in a -narrow passage, as for example in the crevice of a rock, and swollen -above the obstacle into an unsightly excrescence. The stoppage of the -sap in its downward course explains this phenomenon. - -“If the tree-trunk is not completely encircled by the stricture, if -somewhere there is a strip of bark left free to serve as a passage, the -nourishing juice takes this way to get around the obstacle, and so -pursues its course to the roots. Then the tree continues to live. But -if the barrier is absolutely insuperable, as in the case of an -unyielding ligature or when the tree has been girdled, the sap cannot -descend to the roots to nourish them; and with the death of these the -end of the tree is not far distant. - -“An important lesson remains to be drawn from these details concerning -the circulation of this nutritive liquid in plants. Henceforth, when we -fasten a plant to its prop or supporting stake, we shall be careful not -to tie the string too tight or else to loosen it at the proper time, -since otherwise we should run the risk of strangling the plant and so -causing its death.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -TREE-PRUNING - - -“Self-preservation is the first law of a tree’s life, and next to that -the preservation of its species, which is to be perpetuated by means of -seeds. All this is perfectly natural, for no posterity would be -possible to the tree unless its own existence were maintained in the -first place. Accordingly the tree lives first for itself, accomplishing -this object by covering itself with buds that develop into branches -covered with leaves. It is indeed on the leaves that the fundamental -principles of the plant’s life are based; it is in their substance -that, with the sun’s help, the descending sap is elaborated, this sap -being the nutritive fluid, the life-blood as it were, of the vegetable -organism. The propagation of the species comes next in importance. This -duty devolves on the flower-buds or those that blossom and produce -fruit, in the center of which are the seeds. - -“Thus, left to its own impulses, a tree, if vigorous and enjoying -favorable conditions, at first uses all its sap in making buds for the -increase of its own woody structure; it covers itself with stout -branches and abundant foliage before making up its mind to blossom. -Later, when its limbs are strong and the ardor of growth begins to -abate, the flower-buds appear, but usually in small numbers because a -prodigal production of fruit causes rapid decline. Copious blossoming -comes only toward the latter part of life; a tree never blossoms better -than when it is about to die, as if, foreseeing its end, it strove -before succumbing to leave behind it a numerous progeny. A thriving -tree blossoms little or not at all; a sickly tree makes haste to -blossom. But it is to man’s interest that a tree should blossom and -bear fruit as early and as abundantly as possible; we demand from it -not the branches it would give us without our intervention, but baskets -of fruit induced by our care. From this struggle between the natural -tendencies of the tree and our own needs has sprung the practice of -pruning, or the art of manipulating fruit-trees so as to obtain from -them an abundant harvest. - -“Here let us examine the general principles that are to guide us in the -practice of this art. The shape to be given the tree’s superstructure -of branches and foliage is the first question we must consider. This -shape is far from being unimportant; it is, on the contrary, very -important, since the circulation of the sap and the distribution of the -sun’s rays, essential conditions to plant-life, are strictly dependent -on it. If the tree is left free to develop by itself and to take its -natural form, the sap from the roots will, under the impetus of its -ascent, always seek by preference the highest points, where growth will -in consequence proceed with vigor, while the lower parts will languish -and die out for want of sufficient nourishment. If the branches are not -properly thinned the central ones, deprived of the sun’s vivifying -rays, will remain poor, puny, more or less blanched. On the other hand, -the tree ought to fill, as far as possible, the place assigned it, in -order that there may be no unproductive space. - -“These conditions prescribe the tree’s shape. First of all, it should -be symmetrical, in order that the distribution of nourishment may be -even and no part of the tree be gorged with sap while another part is -deprived of it. Secondly, the sun’s rays should be allowed to penetrate -everywhere so as to ripen the fruit and facilitate in the foliage the -important work of sap-elaboration. To attain these different objects -custom has fixed upon three principal shapes: the trellis, the pyramid, -and the goblet. In trellis pruning the tree spreads its branches -symmetrically, right and left, against a wall. The wall serves it as -support and as shelter from the wind; it also gives the foliage and -fruit additional heat and light by reflecting the sun’s rays upon them. -When pruned to take the pyramid form, the tree has its branches so -trimmed as to decrease in length regularly from the base to the summit -and to remain far enough apart to admit the light to the center. The -whole forms a sugar-loaf, a cone, into the midst of which sun and air -enter freely. It is the shape most in accord with nature. Finally, the -goblet-shaped tree has a certain number of branches of equal vigor -disposed in a circle around a central space that remains empty and thus -receives its share of sunlight without hindrance.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -PINCHING—BUD-NIPPING - - -“When the desired shape has been obtained the next thing is to keep it, -despite all opposition on the part of the tree, which revolts in its -own peculiar fashion; that is, it strives to restore the natural -conformation of its branches. Suppose, for example, that a pear-tree, -pruned after the manner of wall-fruit, has grown all out of symmetry -and developed one side more than the other. How shall the two halves be -restored to correct proportions? How shall the too vigorous part be -weakened and the too feeble part strengthened? Several methods offer -themselves. - -“On the vigorous side let us cut back the branches with the pruning -shears, leaving only the base of each with a small number of buds; in -other words, let us cut them very short. On the weak side, on the -contrary, let us leave the branches intact or cut them very long, thus -leaving them the greater part of their buds. What will come of this -treatment? Since abundant foliage, the active laboratory of the -descending sap and also a kind of pump that sucks up the sap and causes -it to ascend from the roots, is the prime cause of vigorous vegetation, -the weak part, with its numerous buds developed into leafy shoots, will -grow stronger, while the strong part, with its small number of buds, -will become weaker. Both effects will tend to the same result: the -restoration of the desired symmetry. - -“With the ends of the fingers and the help of the thumb-nail, it is -customary to pinch off from the too vigorous side the tips of the young -branches while they are still tender. This operation we may call -pinching. The sap that would have been used for the development of -these branches is diverted from its course and carried toward the weak -shoots, which it renews and stimulates. If the weak side itself needs -pinching to arrest shoots that impair the desired symmetry, the -operation is postponed as long as possible, while on the strong side it -is carried out very early. The sap thus turned away from the vigorous -side toward the ailing one has a whole season in which to restore the -lost equilibrium. - -“Instead of limiting ourselves to pinching off the tips of the young -shoots with our thumb-nail, we can suppress them altogether while they -are still tender. This is done as early as possible on the strong side, -only the indispensable shoots being left. If it is necessary on the -weak side, it is not done until the latest possible moment. This -operation we may style bud-nipping, since the word ‘bud,’ by which we -designate the germ of the future branch when it is still enveloped in -scales, applies also for the sake of convenience to the branch already -developed but still young and tender. It is evident that nipping off -the buds from the strong part tends, even more than pinching, to -promote the desired growth of the weak part. The more branches we -suppress entirely, the fewer will be left to share the sap needed by -the branches we wish to strengthen. - -“What turns aside the sap from the part pruned, pinched, or nipped, -toward the part left intact, is evidently the more or less complete -suppression of foliage. It is primarily the leaves that by the -continual evaporation of which their surface is the seat determine the -ascent of the liquid drawn from the soil by the roots. The more -numerous these leaves are at any one point, the more abundant the flow -of sap to that point; the scarcer they are, the less the flow of sap. -To diminish at any point the number of leaves by pinching, bud-nipping, -or any other means, is therefore to diminish at the same point the flow -of sap, which will go in some other direction, to the parts that have -more leaves and hence a more rapid rate of evaporation to summon the -sap. It is plain, then, that a middle course may be followed between -the pinching that partly suppresses the foliage of a young branch and -the bud-nipping that suppresses it entirely. This middle course -consists in cutting a certain number of leaves from the too vigorous -shoots; and they should be cut clean without tearing, by severing the -stem and leaving its base undisturbed. - -“The easiest way for the sap to run from the roots to the foliage is -from bottom to top in a vertical line. Anything that interferes with -this course hinders also the upward impetus. Thus in branches with -sharp elbows and abrupt bends the rush of sap is slackened just as the -rate of flow of a water-current is diminished by the windings occurring -in its bed. Thus, again, in a branch having a decided incline downward -the sap moves with difficulty, because its movement toward the -extremity of this branch is in a direction contrary to that which is -natural to it. The application of this principle is evident. If we wish -to moderate a too vigorous growth of branches, we bend them toward the -ground; if we wish to stimulate a too feeble growth, we straighten up -the branches until they assume a vertical posture. - -“We can also turn to account the exhausting effect of fruit-bearing. -The more fruitful a branch is, the weaker it becomes, since the use of -sap in fruit means so much the less for foliage, and it is foliage that -invigorates the branch. Accordingly we will leave the greatest possible -quantity of fruit on the strong part of our tree, and suppress it on -the weak part.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -MAKING FRUIT TREES BEAR - - -“If one side of a tree is pruned very short and the other very long, -the natural course of the sap is to some extent diverted from the first -side toward the second, which is richer in buds and consequently in -foliage. We have just seen how this principle is utilized to check the -growth of too vigorous a part in order to stimulate that of one that is -too feeble and thus redress the balance between the two. But what would -be the result if the whole tree were pruned at once? - -“Let us first see what takes place in a single branch. Pruned long, it -preserves the greater part of its buds, all of which call for -nourishment from the sap flowing in that direction; pruned short, it -keeps only a few buds, which having the sap of the entire branch at -their disposal, will receive each a supply that is superabundant in -proportion to the fewness of the buds. For example, what twelve would -ordinarily have had for consumption, two or three will now have to -themselves; and because of this superabundance of nourishment each bud -will develop much more vigorously than it would otherwise have done. -Hence if the whole tree is pruned with an unsparing hand, all the sap -drawn from the soil by the roots, having no longer a tendency to go to -one side rather than the other, will be distributed evenly; and the few -buds left intact by the pruning-shears will show a luxuriance of growth -in proportion to the supply of nourishment placed at their disposal. -Thus thorough pruning applied to the whole tree has the effect of -giving it new vigor, of rejuvenating it in some measure, or, in other -words, of replacing its worn-out branches with vigorous ones. -Accordingly when a tree has become exhausted by abundant fruit-bearing, -it is pruned without stint one year in order to restore its vigor of -growth. - -“Let us now see what we should do if we had quite the opposite end in -view; that is, if we wished to make a tree blossom and bear fruit. Here -two principles will serve us as guides. First, in the fulness of its -vigor a tree puts forth long branches and thick foliage, but does not -cover itself with blossoms, bearing in fact only a few. It is not until -it has become somewhat enfeebled that it begins to flower in profusion. -Secondly, what would in the tree’s youthful strength have been a -branch-producing bud becomes in its enfeeblement a flower-bud; so that -a flower may be regarded as a branch which, instead of developing -freely and covering itself with leaves, has remained stunted, thrown -back upon itself, for lack of vigor, and has exchanged its leaves for -floral organs,—sepals, petals, stamens, pistils. Weaken a tree and you -weaken the buds; such, in a word, is the prevailing principle. - -“To weaken the buds individually, the pruning-shears will be plied but -sparingly, leaving the buds almost intact; then these, being many in -number, will have so much the less for each one separately, and some of -them, especially toward the lower part of the branch, will find -themselves too feeble to contend with the others and therefore will -take the form of flower-buds, whereas they would have produced branches -and not flowers if a more thorough pruning had rid them of their -rivals. - -“To weaken the tree as a whole, all that we have to do is to pinch off -or cut off with the thumb-nail the tender tips of the young branches; -then we bend these branches back so as to give them a number of crooks -and turns that will impede the circulation of the sap. Finally, the -woody branches of the preceding year are broken by the hand, sometimes -wholly, sometimes half, so that the tip is left hanging down. If the -tree is not too vigorous these three methods, pinching, bending, and -breaking, are generally sufficient to make it bear. - -“But when we have to do with very exuberant vegetation, more energetic -methods are necessary. One of these we may call arching. The branches -are all bent down so that each forms an arch; that is, the tip-end of -each is pulled down to the ground and fastened there in any way that -may be easiest. This abnormal position of the branch, with its top -downward, is contrary to the ascending movement of the sap, which -consequently flows less freely to the buds. The resulting dearth is -conducive to fruit-bearing, and as soon as this effect is assured the -branches are allowed to return to their natural position; otherwise the -tree would become exhausted. - -“Another method is as follows. Pruning is done very late, when the -young shoots are already some centimeters long. The sap used up in the -growth of the shoots cut off by the pruning shears is a great loss to -the tree, which, being no longer able to supply ample nourishment to -the lower buds of the branches, turns them into flower-buds. - -“If these means do not suffice to make the tree bear fruit, there are -more violent ones which are employed only in the last extremity. Toward -the end of winter, before the sap has started, an incision some -millimeters wide and deep enough to penetrate the outer layers of wood -is made all around the base of the trunk. Sap, as we know, ascends -through these exterior layers, the newest, the most permeable by -liquids; so if we partially intercept its passage it will flow less -abundantly to the buds and the weakened tree will soon begin to bear. - -“Still another expedient is to strike at the very source of the sap, -the roots. The foot of the tree is laid bare in the springtime, its -main roots being denuded of their covering and left thus exposed all -summer to the open air and the hot sun. No longer enjoying the coolness -and darkness necessary to their office, they furnish less nourishment -to the tree, and this scarcity causes the formation of flower-buds. A -still more drastic method, but one that would kill the tree if employed -imprudently, is to strip the roots of the refractory subject without -mercy, cutting and mutilating a certain number of them and then putting -back the earth that has been removed. A diminution in the flow of sap -must necessarily result from this surgical operation. Finally, if the -tree is small enough for the purpose, it is dug up at the end of -autumn, with care to preserve the roots as far as possible, and planted -again somewhere else. The disturbance caused by this change of place -suffices to make the tree blossom the next year.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE SEED - - -“The ovary of the flower, after being fertilized by the pollen, becomes -the fruit, the apple on the apple-tree, the cherry on the cherry-tree, -the walnut on the walnut-tree, the grain of wheat in the wheat-ear, and -so on for all plants. The fruit contains seeds in greater or less -number, and sometimes only one, as in the peach, plum, and almond; -often several, as in the apple and pear; while in other instances they -can be counted by hundreds and thousands, as in the melon, the pumpkin, -and the poppy-head. The natural function of the fruit is first to -supply nourishment and then to protect its seeds by means of coverings, -these being sometimes fleshy, sometimes thin and dry, sometimes hard -and in the form of strong shells. In their turn the seeds have as their -task the propagating of the species. Every form of plant-life, from the -giants of the forest, the oak, beech, fir, and others, to the tiniest -moss, has its beginning in the seed. Every plant has its flowers, its -fruit, and its seeds. It is in the seed that vegetation is preserved in -a thriving condition through the ages; it is by the seed that every -tree, every shrub, every blade of grass propagate their kind and leave -a numerous progeny. - -“Who would not like to know,” continued Uncle Paul, “something about -the formation of the seed that is sown in the ground to become either a -little plant or an enormous tree? What is inside it? How can an oak -come from an acorn and a pear-tree from the pip of a pear? I will try, -my friends, to satisfy the very natural curiosity such a mystery cannot -fail to arouse in you. - -“Let us look at the fruit of an almond-tree. First it has an outside -skin, green and tender, which at maturity opens of its own accord, -dries up, folds back, and lets its contents out. Examining the latter, -we find a shell, sometimes fragile enough to be broken with the teeth, -but at other times very hard and yielding only to the hammer. Breaking -the shell, we come to the seed. Of what use are the two parts we have -just removed? We must be very stupid if we cannot recognize in them the -coverings intended to protect the seed, the wrappings that shelter the -delicate germ from cold, heat, rain, and the teeth of animals. The -outer envelope, covered with a short, velvety down, serves as a -protection against the weather; the inner one is a veritable strong-box -which we have to break between two stones before we can get at its -contents. Similar means of defense are found in all fruit, but with -wide differences in the different kinds of plants. The cherry, plum, -peach, and apricot have the hard shell, the strong-box, of the almond, -and also an outer envelope of juicy flesh. The apple and pear have -their seeds or pips, as they are called, snugly ensconced in five -little cavities grouped in the shape of a five-pointed star, as may be -seen in a cross-section of the fruit. These little cavities have walls -of a tough, scaly material somewhat resembling horn, while all about -them is a thick rampart of flesh. Beans and peas are arranged in a sort -of long sheath that opens in two pieces. Chestnuts are packed in a bag -covered with long prickles. All these protecting coverings, whatever -their shape and character and degree of toughness, form part of the -fruit. - -“Let us go back to the almond. The shell being broken, we come to the -seed, which is all in one piece. This seed, as we have just seen, is -protected by two coverings, the inner one of which is a very firm, hard -casing called the stone. As a protection is it enough? Not quite. -Beneath the exterior defensive armor comes the fine inner covering that -wraps the seed closely and shields it from contact with the hard shell. -This covering is double and is composed on the outside of a reddish -skin and inside of an extremely thin and flexible white cuticle. -Similar double clothing is found on all seeds. The inner one is always -very fine, as indeed it should be, since it comes next to the most -essential and delicate part of the seed. Do we put coarse cloth, rough -woolen stuff next to the tender flesh of a new-born babe? Certainly -not; but rather the finest of linen, and over that the woolen fabric. -The plant does the same with its tender young seeds. The outer -envelope, much firmer and tougher than the inner, looks very -differently in different plants. In the almond and walnut it is a -reddish skin, and so it is also in the stones of the peach, apricot, -and plum. In the pips of the pear and apple it is a tough brown casing. -In beans it is smooth and shiny, sometimes quite white, sometimes black -and white, sometimes speckled with red spots. In addition, peas and -beans of all kinds have at one point on their surface a sort of little -oval eye. To this eye was once attached a small short cord that -fastened the seed to the wall of the pod and served as a pipe for -supplying it with nourishment. All seeds have this attachment, or -nursing-cord, as we may call it, but not all have so clearly marked as -in the bean the eye where the cord is fastened. - -“After the two coverings of the seed have been removed, which is very -easily done when the almond is new, there remains a white object, firm -and savory, the eatable part of the fruit of the almond-tree. That -object is the seed proper; that is to say, the part that would have -become a tree if planted in the ground. It is round at one end and -rather pointed at the other. From the pointed end projects a little -nipple, and all around the edge runs a slight furrow indicating that -here the seed may be split in two. Let us insert the point of a knife -into this furrow and exert a little pressure. One half will come away -and the other half will show us what you see in this picture. - -“The little pointed nipple (r) is called a radicle. It is the part -that, if allowed to grow, would push down into the earth, send out -branches there, and become the root. At the point marked g is a compact -bunch of tiny leaves, all white, forming a kind of bud, but one that is -much feebler and more delicate than buds that grow on branches. It is -called a gemmule. This bud will unfold and send forth the first leaves. -Finally, the narrow line of demarcation between the radicle and the -gemmule is called the tigella, and from it the trunk of the tree will -take its start. Such is the almond-tree in its seed. The large tree -that will send out a mass of branches and foliage into the air and -thrust powerful roots into the ground is now contained in an -insignificant corpuscle just large enough to be seen.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE SEED’S FOOD-SUPPLY - - -“When it has leaves and roots that are sufficiently developed, the -little almond-tree will nourish itself by drawing what it needs from -the earth and air. But until then it must live, it must grow stronger, -and it must increase a little in size. As nothing can come from -nothing, the germinating seed must find somewhere the material for its -first growth. This cannot be in the soil so long as the radicle is -nothing but a point, incapable of any work; neither can it be in the -air so long as the little leaf-bud has not unfolded and developed into -foliage. The seed, then, must have a certain supply of nutriment stored -up within itself. Let us turn our attention to this prepared stock of -food. - -“In the almond we have studied the gemmule or leaf-bud, the radicle, -and the tigella; but there still remain two large pieces, easily -separable from each other, and constituting by themselves alone almost -the entire bulk of the seed. These two pieces are the plant’s first -pair of leaves, but leaves of a peculiar structure, being very thick, -fleshy, and relatively enormous in size. They are the alimentary -reservoirs, the storehouses of food from which in its beginning the -young plant must draw its sustenance. When germination begins, these -two large leaves, swollen with nutritive matter, yield little by little -a part of their substance to the tiny plant and suckle it, as it were. -They might therefore be called vegetable udders, nursing-leaves, but -science calls them cotyledons. The unhatched chick in its shell has the -yolk of the egg to furnish substance for its growth, the young lamb has -its mother’s milk, the germ of the plant has the juice of the -cotyledons. - -“The same structure, with two cotyledons of great size and easy to -observe, may be found in the broad bean, pea, kidney bean, and acorn, -and in the stones of the peach, apricot, and plum. It would also be -found in the pips of pears and apples as well as in the seeds of most -of our cultivated plants, but more difficult to distinguish in -proportion to the smallness of the seed. In every instance the seed -would be found to have two cotyledons as food-storehouses, and also a -gemmule and a radicle united by the tigella. Other plants, on the -contrary, like maize, wheat, and the other cereals, as also the lily, -tulip, and iris, have but one cotyledon, one nursing-leaf for the new -vegetable organism. - -“It is not always easy, especially when the seed is very small, to -ascertain whether it has two cotyledons or only one; but as soon as -germination has begun, this difficulty disappears. Then the seed with -two cotyledons is seen to push up two leaves, the very first to appear, -situated opposite each other, and very often differing in shape from -those that come later. In the radish, for example, they are -heart-shaped; in the carrot, long and narrow like little tongues. These -two leaves that precede the others are known as seminal leaves. They -come from the two cotyledons, which generally open in the air and grow -green while nourishing the young plant with a part of their substance; -but sometimes, as in the acorn, they remain hidden underground. On the -other hand, seeds having but one cotyledon come up with only one -seminal leaf, generally narrow and long. This is what we observe if we -watch the germination of a grain of wheat. - -“A simpler and quicker method may be used for ascertaining how many -cotyledons a seed has. Hold a leaf up to the light and you will see its -texture traversed by a multitude of little cords which serve it as a -kind of framework. These cords are called veins or nerves. Now then, if -you compare the leaf of a pear-tree with a blade of wheat, or reed, you -will see that in the former the veins are more and more subdivided and -ramified, joining one another and thus forming a network with irregular -meshes, while in the latter the veins do not branch, but run in -parallel lines without forming meshes. We should find the same -difference of framework between the leaves of the elm, poplar, and -plane-tree, on the one hand, and those of the iris, narcissus, and -tulip, on the other. This difference being established, I will add that -with few exceptions, of no interest to us here, every plant with -netted-veined leaves has two cotyledons in its seed, and that every -plant with parallel-veined leaves has but one. Consequently it is only -necessary to glance at the foliage in order to know whether the seed -has two cotyledons or only one. I will say further that pines, firs, -and the other resinous trees have as many as ten cotyledons, which show -themselves as a delicate tuft of leaves when the little plant comes out -of the ground.” - -Uncle Paul then led the children into the garden to fix in their minds -by observation the lesson they had just learned. “Gather haphazard,” -said he, “the first leaves you come to; then examine them and tell me -how many cotyledons the seed must contain. First, here is the iris, -with large blue flowers and sword-shaped leaves.” - -“I see,” said Jules, “veins running in regular lines side by side, -without ever joining one another. Since these veins are parallel the -iris seed has only one cotyledon.” - -“And this blade of grass, this also that I pick from a corn-stalk?” -asked his uncle. - -“They, too, have parallel veins, both of them; and so their seeds must -have only one cotyledon.” - -“And this grape-leaf, this leaf of the cherry tree?” - -“It’s my turn now,” Emile hastened to interpose. “The veins form a sort -of lace with very fine meshes. The grape and the cherry have two -cotyledons.” - -“It is as easy as that, my friends. The leaf with its arrangement of -veins shows us the fundamental characteristics of the plant. It tells -us whether the germ is fed by one nursing-leaf or two, whether the -young plant comes up with one seminal leaf or two.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -GERMINATION - - -“The germ in the heart of the seed is in a state that may be likened to -deep sleep: its life is, as it were, arrested, suspended. But under the -stimulus of certain conditions it awakens, throws off its coverings, -gathers strength from its stored-up food, unfolds its first leaves, and -appears above ground. This opening of the seed is called germination. -Moisture, warmth, and air are the determining causes; without their -coöperation the seed would remain a certain length of time in good -condition for sowing, after which it would wither and lose its -germinating power. - -“No seed germinates without the help of moisture. Water plays a -multiple part. First it soaks into the germ and the parts surrounding -it, causing these to swell more than the envelope, so that the latter, -however hard a shell it may be, is burst open. Through the cracks of -this broken envelope the gemmule pushes out on one side and the radicle -on the other, and henceforth the little plant enjoys the benefit of sun -and air. Germination is more or less slow according to the degree of -resistance offered by the walls of the seed. If these are hard and -stony it is only with extreme slowness that the germ absorbs moisture -and manages to burst its cell. Therefore, to shorten the period of -germination care is taken to thin the shells of excessively hard seeds -by rubbing them with a stone. - -“Besides the mechanical part played by water in opening the seed, it -has still another relating to nutrition. The various changes undergone -by the alimentary contents of the perisperm and the cotyledons in -becoming liquefied and capable of absorption cannot take place without -the aid of water. Furthermore, this liquid is indispensable for -dissolving the nutritive ingredients, introducing them into the young -plant, and distributing them evenly throughout. It is plain, then, that -if the seed remains dry it is absolutely impossible for it to -germinate, and that in order to preserve seeds the first condition is -to protect them from moisture. - -“With moisture there must also be warmth. As a general rule, -germination proceeds most satisfactorily when the thermometer registers -between ten and twenty degrees centigrade, our spring and autumn -temperature. Outside these limits, be it above or below, germination is -retarded, ceasing altogether in extreme temperatures. - -“The coöperation of air is not less necessary. Seeds might have the -proper temperature and sufficient moisture, but if air were lacking -germination would not follow. This capital condition explains to us why -seeds planted too deep fail to come up; why germination is much easier -in soil that is mellow and can be permeated by the air than in soil -that is compact; why delicate seeds should be covered with very little -earth or even simply sown on the surface of the moist ground; and, -finally, why ground on being broken often becomes covered with fresh -vegetation from the sprouting of seeds that have for years lain dormant -in the soil, needing only to be stirred up and brought into contact -with the air in order to germinate. - -“Under like conditions of temperature, moisture, and air, by no means -all seeds require the same length of time for germinating. Common -garden cress germinates in about two days. Spinach, turnips, and beans -take three days to come up; lettuce, four; melons and pumpkins, five; -cereals, about a week. Two years and sometimes more are needed by the -rose-bush, the hawthorn, and various stone-fruit trees. Generally seeds -with thick and hard shells are slow in germinating on account of the -obstacle they oppose to the penetration of moisture. Finally, when sown -fresh, immediately after coming to maturity, seeds germinate quicker -than when old, because old seeds have to recover by a prolonged sojourn -in the ground the moisture lost through prolonged drying. - -“According to their kind, seeds retain for a longer or shorter period -their power of germinating; but why this vitality is more enduring in -one instance and less so in another, we cannot tell. Neither the bulk -of the seed nor the character of its outside coverings, nor the -presence or absence of a perisperm, appears to decide its longevity. -Such and such a seed lives for whole years, even centuries, while -another loses its germinating power in a few months, from no cause that -we can discover. Thus the seeds of the angelica will not come up unless -they are sown immediately after maturing; but beans have been known to -germinate after being kept more than a hundred years, and rye after a -hundred and forty. Excluded from the air, certain seeds may be kept for -centuries, always ready to germinate whenever favorable conditions -shall present themselves. This explains why strawberry, bluet, and -camomile seeds from ancient tombs have germinated just as new seeds -would have done. Finally, rush seeds have been made to germinate that -were dug up from great depths in the Island of the Seine, the original -site of Paris. Doubtless those seeds dated from the time when Paris, -under the name of Lutetia, consisted of a few mud and reed huts on the -marshy borders of the stream. But despite these remarkable exceptions -let us never forget that recent seed is preferable to old for sowing; -it comes up better and in greater abundance. - -“We have just seen that certain seeds are very slow in coming up, as -for example the peach, apricot, and plum, whose thick shells resist the -moisture required for germination. Put directly into the ground in the -very places that the young plants are to occupy later, these seeds -would be exposed to not a few dangers during their leisurely -germination. Prolonged rains might make them rot; various marauders -that are partial to them, such as rats, field-mice, jays, magpies, and -crows, might dig them up and devour them. Besides, they would occupy -for a long time, with no profit to any one, the ground in which they -had been planted. All these objections are avoided by making a -preliminary planting after a method known as stratification, from the -Latin word stratum, meaning bed or layer. In a large, deep earthen pan, -with holes in its bottom, or in any other suitable receptacle, such as -a box, a pot, or a tub, likewise pierced with holes, it is the practice -to place first a layer of small pebbles. The holes at the bottom and -this layer of pebbles are to give easy access to the air and drain off -the excess of water after each irrigation. Next comes a bed of fine -sandy soil, then a layer or stratum of seeds arranged side by side, and -on top of that a second bed of earth. On this is placed another stratum -of seeds, which in its turn is covered with earth; and so the process -goes on with alternating layers of seeds and earth until the receptacle -is full. Then it is watered and placed in a cellar or a dark shed. All -that is necessary after this is to keep the contents of pan or tub -sufficiently moist by an occasional sprinkling. Enclosed thus in a -small space easy to watch over, with no danger from marauding animals, -and without needlessly occupying ground that might be used for other -purposes, the seeds can now take their own time to break their hard -shells and can germinate with all the slowness natural to them. - -“When the shells at last crack open and the radicle appears, it is time -to proceed to the final planting. The half-germinated seeds are then -put into the ground one by one in an open field, each at the exact spot -the young plant is to occupy. - -“Stratification offers still another advantage. Fruit trees as well as -other trees have a stout tap-root which bores vertically into the -ground to a considerable depth and gives a good deal of trouble if -transplanting is undertaken. To alter this tap-root into a root not -growing so deep, but branching horizontally, would be decidedly -advantageous. In speaking of the root we saw what the nursery-man does -to obtain this result. He passes the sharp edge of his spade under the -base of each tree-trunk so as to sever the tap-roots of his young -plantations. In stratification the method is much simpler and success -surer. With his thumb-nail the gardener nips off the tip of the tender -radicle before the final planting is done. That is all. Deprived of its -growing end the young root henceforth branches out horizontally instead -of descending vertically.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -THE BLOSSOM - - -“Here is the fennel-flower, which, with the corn-flower and the poppy, -is so common in our fields of grain. It is purplish red, while the -poppy is scarlet and the corn-flower, or bluet, is of an azure like -that of the sky, as its alternative name indicates. On the outside of -the fennel-flower are five green, firm pieces joined together at the -bottom but terminating in long points at the top. Each of these pieces -is called a sepal, and the five together form the calyx. Inside are -five other pieces, thin, fine, broad, purplish red in color. Each one -bears the name of petal, and collectively they form the corolla. - -“Most flowers have two envelopes like these, one within the other. The -outer one, or calyx, is nearly always green in color and firm in -structure; the inner one, or corolla, much more delicate in texture, is -tinged with those magnificent hues that please the eye so much in -flowers. - -“The sepals of the calyx and the petals of the corolla are sometimes -separated from one another and sometimes joined together. In the -fennel-flower the sepals are united below in a common sheath bristling -with coarse hairs; but in their upper part they are separated into five -narrow and pointed strips. The corolla we find to be composed of five -pieces, five petals distinct from one another. On the contrary, in the -blossom of the campanula the five petals of the corolla are joined at -the edges and form a beautiful blue bell which looks as if made of one -piece. The five large teeth that border the opening of the bell -nevertheless show that the corolla is really composed of five petals, -of which these teeth are the termination. - -“The calyx and the corolla are the flower’s clothing, a double clothing -having both the substantial material that protects from cold and storm, -and the fine fabric that charms the eye. The calyx, the outer garment, -is of simple form, green in color, and of firm texture suitable for -withstanding bad weather. It has to protect the still unopened flower, -to shield it from the sun, from cold and wet. Examine a rose-bud and -note with what delicate precision the five sepals of the calyx are -united so as to cover the rest. Not the slightest drop of water could -penetrate the interior, so carefully are their edges joined together. -There are flowers that close their calyx every evening and snuggle down -inside to keep from getting chilled. - -“The corolla or inner garment unites elegance of form and richness of -tint with fineness of texture. It is the flower’s finery and is what -especially captivates our eye, so that we commonly consider it the most -important part of the blossom, whereas it is really nothing but an -ornament. - -“Of the two garments, the calyx is the more necessary. Many flowers -have no corolla, but they always have at least a calyx, which in its -simplest form is reduced to a tiny leaflet shaped like a scale. Flowers -with no corolla remain unnoticed, and the plants that bear them seem to -us to have no blossoms. It is a mistake: all trees and plants bloom, -even the oak, willow, poplar, pine, beech, wheat, and multitudes of -others whose blossoming is unheeded by the inattentive eye. Their -flowers are extremely numerous, but as they are very small and have no -bright-colored corolla they escape any but the closest scrutiny. - -“It would be knowing a person very little only to be able to say that -he wears such and such a coat; nor does one know a flower any better -when one can merely say that it is clothed with a calyx and a corolla. -What is there under this clothing? - -“Let us examine together a lily, which by its size lends itself readily -to study. It has no calyx, [4] but it does have a superb corolla formed -of six petals gracefully curved inward at the edges, and whiter than -ivory. I take away these six petals. What is left now is the essential -part; that is to say, the thing without which the flower could not -perform its function, could not, in short, bear fruit or seed. Let us -carefully consider this remaining part. You will find it well worth the -trouble. - -“First there are six filaments or little white rods, each one -surmounted by a tiny bag full of yellow powder. These six pieces are -called stamens. They are found in all flowers in greater or less -number, and in the lily there are six of them. The little bag that tops -the stamen is called an anther. The yellow dust contained in the anther -is called pollen; that is what daubs our nose when we smell the lily -too closely. - -“I take away the six stamens. There remains a central body swollen at -the bottom, narrowed at the top to a long filament, and surmounted by a -kind of head wet with a sticky moisture. In its entirety this central -body bears the name of pistil; the swelling at the bottom is called the -ovary, the filament growing out of it is the style, and the sticky head -terminating this filament is known as the stigma. - -“What big names for such little things! you will say. Little, yes; but -of unrivaled importance. These little things, my friends, give us our -daily bread; without the miraculous work of these little things the -world would come to an end. - -“With a penknife I cut the ovary in two horizontally. In three -compartments grouped in a circle we see some tiny grains arranged so -that each compartment has two rows of them. They are the future seeds -of the plant. The ovary, then, is the part of the plant where the seeds -are formed. After a certain time the flower withers, the petals wilt -and fall, the calyx does the same, or sometimes it remains to play the -part of protector a while longer, the dried stamens break off, and only -the ovary remains, growing larger, ripening, and finally becoming the -fruit that contains the seeds. - -“Every sort of fruit—the pear, apple, apricot, peach, walnut, cherry, -melon, grape, almond, chestnut—began by being a little swelling of the -pistil; all those excellent things that the tree and plant give us for -food were first ovaries.” - -“Then a big juicy pear began by being the ovary of a pear blossom?” -queried Emile. - -“Yes, my friend,” was the reply; “pears, apples, cherries, apricots, -even big melons and enormous pumpkins begin by being the little ovaries -of their respective flowers. I will show you an apricot in its -blossom.” - -Uncle Paul took an apricot blossom, opened it with his penknife, and -showed his listeners what is here reproduced in the picture. - -“In the heart of the flower,” he explained, “you see the pistil -surrounded by numerous stamens. The head at the top of it is the -stigma; the swelling at the bottom is the ovary or future apricot.” - -“That little green thing,” Emile exclaimed incredulously, “would have -turned into a plump, juicy apricot such as I am so fond of?” - -“Yes,” affirmed his uncle, “that little green thing would have turned -into an apricot such as Emile is so fond of. A similar little green -thing would have turned into a big juicy pear, into a fragrant apple, -or into a huge pumpkin, so heavy that it rests lazily on its stomach. -To conclude, I will show you the ovary from which come wheat and -consequently bread.” - -Uncle Paul took a needle; then with the skill and patience necessary -for this operation he isolated one of the numerous flowers that -collectively make up the ear of wheat. The delicate little flower -displayed clearly, on the point of the needle, the different parts -composing it. - -“The blessed plant that gives us bread,” continued Uncle Paul, “has -very modest flowers. Two poor scales serve it for calyx and corolla. -You can easily recognize three hanging stamens with their -double-sacheted anthers full of pollen. The main body of the flower is -the plump ovary which, when ripe, will be a grain of wheat. It is -surmounted by the stigma, which has the shape of an elegant double -plume. Such is the modest little flower that furnishes us all with the -staff of life.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -POLLEN - - -“In a few days, even in a few hours, a flower withers. Petals, calyx, -stamens fade and die. Only one part survives: the ovary, which is to -become fruit. Now, in order to outlive the rest of the flower and -remain on its stem when all else dries up and falls, the ovary at the -moment of blossoming, receives an access of vigor, I might almost say a -new life. The magnificence of the corolla, its sumptuous coloring, its -perfume, all serve to celebrate the solemn moment when this new -vitality is awakened in the ovary. This great act accomplished, the -flower has had its day. - -“Well, it is the dust of the stamens, the pollen, that gives this -increase of energy without which the nascent seeds would perish in the -ovary, itself withered. It falls from the stamens on to the stigma, -which constantly wears a sticky coating designed to hold it; and from -the stigma it makes its mysterious influence felt in the very depths of -the ovary. Animated then with new life, the nascent seeds develop -rapidly, while the ovary swells so as to give them the nourishment and -the space they require. The final result of this incomprehensible -travail is the fruit, with its contained seeds all ready to germinate. - -“Let us cite a few of the numerous experiments that prove the absolute -indispensability of pollen. - -“Most flowers have both stamens and pistils; but there are plants that -have their stamens and pistils in separate flowers. Sometimes the -flowers with stamens only and those with pistils only are found on the -same plant; sometimes they are found on separate plants. Plants having -flowers with stamens only and flowers with pistils only on the same -stock are called monœcious plants. This expression means ‘living in one -house.’ The flowers with stamens and those with pistils do indeed live -together in the same house, since they are found on the same plant. The -pumpkin, cucumber, melon, hazel-nut-tree are monœcious plants. - -“Where flowers with stamens and those with pistils are found on -different stocks, the plants are termed diœcious; that is to say, they -are double-house plants. Hemp, the locust-tree, and the date-tree are -diœcious. - -“It is especially in monœcious and diœcious plants that the pollen’s -indispensability is plainly manifest on account of the natural -separation of the stamens and pistils. Let us take for example the -locust, a tree of extreme southern France, bearing seeds in pods -similar to those of the pea, but brown, very long, and very wide, and -containing in addition to the seeds a sugary pulp. Supposing we took a -notion, if the climate permitted, to grow locust seeds in our garden, -what locust tree must we plant? Evidently the one with pistils, because -it alone produces the ovaries that become fruit. But that is not -enough. Planted by itself, the locust tree with pistils will indeed -blossom profusely every year, but will never in all eternity bear any -seeds, for its flowers will fall without leaving a single ovary on the -branches. What is wanting? The action of the pollen. Near the locust -with pistils let us plant one with stamens. Now fructification proceeds -as we wish. Puffs of wind, insects that pilfer from one flower and -carry to another—these convey the pollen from the stamens to the -stigmas, the torpid ovaries spring to life, and the locust pods grow -and ripen perfectly. With pollen, seeds; without pollen, no seeds. - -“Another example. In spots of fertile land in Northern Africa, spots of -land called oases, the Arabs cultivate numerous date-trees which -provide them with dates, their principal food. Date-trees, too, like -the locust, are diœcious. Now, in the country of the date-tree, a sandy -plain parched by the sun, spots of watered and fertile land are rare -and have to be turned to the utmost possible account. Accordingly the -Arabs plant only date-trees with pistils, the only ones that will -produce dates. But when they are in flower, the Arabs go long distances -to fetch bunches of blossoms with stamens from wild date trees in order -to shake the pollen on the trees they have planted. Without this -precaution there is no harvest. - -“But I am coming to an example that will be more familiar to us. The -pumpkin is monœcious: flowers with stamens and flowers with pistils -inhabit the same house, the same vine. Before they are full-blown they -can easily be distinguished from each other. The flowers with pistils -have under the corolla a large swelling which is the ovary, the future -pumpkin. The blossoms with stamens have not this swelling. Well, from -one pumpkin vine standing apart in the garden let us cut off all the -buds with stamens before they open, and leave those with pistils. For -greater surety we will wrap each one of these latter in a piece of -gauze large enough to let the flower develop without hindrance. This -operation must be carried out before the buds open, in order to make -sure that the stigmas have not already received any pollen. Under these -conditions, not being able to receive the vivifying dust, since the -flowers with stamens are cut off, and since also the gauze wrappings -keep out the insects that might bring the pollen they had pilfered from -some neighboring pumpkin vine, the pistillate flowers will wither after -languishing awhile, and their ovaries will dry up without growing into -pumpkins. If, however, we wish any selected blossoms to fructify in -spite of their gauze prison and the suppression of the staminate -blossoms, we take a small camel’s hair brush and gather a little pollen -which we put on the stigma. That is enough, the pumpkin will come. - -“The absolute necessity of pollen for the formation of fruit explains -to us the harmful effect of violent winds and prolonged rains in -blossoming time. Swept away by blasts of wind, or washed away by rains, -or simply spoiled by long-continued moisture, the dust of the stamens -no longer acts on the ovaries, and the flowers fall without -fructifying. This ruin of the harvest from lack of pollen is known as -blight.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE GRAIN OF WHEAT - - -“Now turn your attention to this picture of an ivy seed cut through -lengthwise. Where is the germ or little plant in its egg? It is that -little white thing, rather long and narrow, embedded in the substance -of the seed at one end. A fine line marks the division of the two -cotyledons, which are now pressed close together. Next to them comes -the tigella, or little stalk, ending in the radicle, or rootlet. -Notice, my friends, how small these cotyledons are, how different from -the enormous nursing-leaves of the almond, acorn, broad bean, kidney -bean, and pea. These poor little plant-udders must soon get dried up, -and if there were no other resources available at the time of -germination the ivy would speedily starve to death. - -“But look: under the skin of the seed we find a goodly store of -farinaceous matter, in which the germ is embedded. Almost the whole of -the seed consists of this accumulation of flour. So here we have the -food-supply that will supplement that contained in the cotyledons, a -very insufficient provision in itself. This granary of plenty within -which the germ is lodged, this storehouse of food is called the -perisperm. The almond, acorn, pea, bean, with a host of others, are -quite lacking in anything of the sort, having under the skin only the -germ and nothing more, absolutely nothing. The reason for this -difference is plain enough. The almond, bean, pea, acorn, with their -big cotyledons bursting with nutritive matter, do not need a -supplementary ration; the germ will be sufficiently suckled by the -udders nature has provided in the form of these cotyledons. But the -ivy, with its poor little cotyledons, calls for help, and finds it in -the farinaceous storehouse of the perisperm. - -“Thus a seed may have a double supply of nourishment to meet the needs -of the young plant: that contained in the cotyledons and that stored up -in the perisperm. Cotyledons are never lacking, but the perisperm is -not found in all seeds. There is none in the almond, acorn, chestnut, -apricot, bean, or pea; but to make up for this lack their cotyledons -are of considerable size. On the other hand, buckwheat, chickweed, and -ivy, whose cotyledons are small, are provided with a perisperm. All -this may be reduced to one general rule. Cotyledons and perisperm play -similar parts: they both help to nourish the little plant in its -infancy. So, generally speaking, the seed with large cotyledons has no -perisperm, while the seed with small cotyledons has one. - -“I have just told you that many plants have only one cotyledon. I will -add that this cotyledon is usually very small. It is especially in -these plants that the perisperm is present. The grain of wheat offers a -notable illustration of this truth. Cut lengthwise and looked at -through a magnifying-glass, this seed would reveal to us what is -represented in the picture I now show you. At the bottom and toward one -side is the germ, forming but a very small part of the seed. At c is -the single cotyledon, whence will come the first leaf, the seminal -leaf. At e is the gemmule, which will furnish the next leaves. At the -opposite end is a short nipple, the radicle, whence the root will -spring. Now compare the tiny cotyledon of the wheat with the two -voluminous ones of the almond. The latter, with their rich store of -nourishment, will easily be able to feed the young plant until it has -vigorous roots; but the cotyledon of the wheat, so poor and slender—can -it nourish the young plant? Certainly not. Then the wheat germ must -without fail have a storehouse of provisions. This storehouse is the -perisperm (pr), a farinaceous mass constituting nearly the whole of the -seed. This same perisperm, the first food of the wheat’s first shoot, -is also the chief food of man; it is what, under the millstone, becomes -flour, of which bread is made. But how can the farinaceous substance of -the perisperm nourish the plant? A very simple experiment will show us. -Put some wheat in a saucer and keep it slightly moist. In a short time -the seed will germinate. As soon as the young sprouts show their green -points take one of the grains: you will find it softened all through. -You can crush it between your fingers and squeeze out a white fluid, -very sweet to the taste and much resembling some sort of milk. What has -taken place ought not to be beyond your power to surmise from the -account I gave you of the wonderful change starch may undergo. The -perisperm of the wheat-grain consists chiefly of starch. During -germination this accumulation of starch is converted into a sugary -substance, into glucose in fact. Thence comes the sort of plant-milk -with which the seed is now swollen. The germ is immersed in this sweet -liquid; it imbibes it, soaks it up almost as a fine sponge would; and -with the matter thus absorbed it augments its own substance, which -lengthens into root, stem, and leaves. With what furnishes us bread the -grain of wheat suckles the starting wheat-stalk.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -CULTIVATED PLANTS - - -“Three modes of plant-propagation are in use among horticulturists, -namely: layering, slipping, and grafting. To get an adequate notion of -the great usefulness of these operations let us dwell for a moment on -the origin of our cultivated plants. - -“You perhaps imagine that from the beginning of time, in view of our -need of food, the pear-tree was eager to bear large fruit, plump and -juicy; that the potato, just to accommodate us, stuffed its big tubers -with farinaceous matter; that the cabbage, in its desire to gratify us, -conceived the idea of gathering those beautiful white leaves into a -compact head. You imagine that wheat, pumpkins, carrots, grapes, beets, -and no one knows what besides, possessed with a great interest in man, -have always worked for him of their own accord. You think that our -grapes of to-day are like those from which Noah extracted the juice -that made him drunk; that wheat, ever since it appeared on the earth, -has never failed to yield its annual harvest of grain; that the beet -and the pumpkin had at the beginning of the world the plumpness that -makes them prized by us now. You imagine, in short, that our -food-plants came to us originally just as we have them now. Undeceive -yourselves: the wild plant is usually of very little nutritive value to -man. His is still the task of so cultivating it as to derive advantage -from its natural aptitudes by improving them. - -“In its native country, on the mountains of Chile and Peru, the potato -in its wild state is a poor diminutive tuber about as large as a -hazel-nut. Man takes the worthless wild stock into his garden, plants -it in rich soil, tends it, waters it; and behold, from year to year the -potato thrives more and more, gaining in size and in nutritive -properties, and finally becoming a farinaceous tuber as large as your -two fists. - -“On the sea-coasts, exposed to all the winds that blow, there grows a -wild cabbage with a tall stalk and a few green leaves of bitter taste -and rank odor. But beneath its rude exterior it may perhaps hide -invaluable aptitudes. Apparently this suspicion occurred to him who -first, so long ago that the record of it is lost, took the sea-coast -cabbage under cultivation. The suspicion was well-founded. The wild -cabbage has been improved by man’s incessant care: its stalk has become -firmer and its leaves have multiplied, whitened, acquired tenderness, -and massed themselves in a compact head, so that we have the crisp and -succulent cabbage of to-day as the admirable result of this notable -metamorphosis. There on the sea-coast rock was the first beginning of -the excellent plant; here in our gardens is its present attainment. But -what about its intermediate forms which, through the centuries, marked -the gradual development of the species to its present high state of -perfection? Each of these forms was a step forward, and each had to be -preserved, kept from degenerating, and made the subject of still -further improvement. Who could tell the story of all the labor and -pains it has taken to produce the cabbage-head as we now have it? - -“And the wild pear-tree—are you acquainted with it? It is a frightful -bramble-bush, all bristling with sharp thorns; and the pears -themselves—a most repellent fruit, sure to choke you and set your teeth -on edge—are very small, sour, hard, and full of grit that reminds one -of gravel-stones. Surely he must have had an extraordinary inspiration -who first pinned his faith on this crabbed specimen of underbrush and -foresaw in the remote future the butter-pear on which we regale -ourselves to-day. - -“In the same way, by the painstaking culture of the primitive vine, -whose grapes were no larger than our elderberries, man has, in the -sweat of his brow, developed the luscious fruit of the modern vineyard. -From some poor species of grass now forgotten he has also produced the -wheat that to-day supplies us with bread. A few wretched herbs and -shrubs, far from promising in appearance, he has cultivated and -improved until they became the vegetables and fruit trees so prized by -us at present. This old earth of ours, in order to make us work and -thus fulfill the law of our existence, has behaved to us like a harsh -stepmother. To the birds of the air she gives food in abundance, but to -us she offers of her own free will nothing but wild blackberries and -sour sloes. But let us not complain, for the stern struggle with -necessity is precisely what constitutes our grandeur. - -“It is for us, by our intelligence and labor, to work our way out of -the difficulty; upon us it is enjoined to put into practice the noble -creed, God helps those who help themselves. - -“Thus from the earliest times it has been man’s study to select from -the countless forms of vegetation at his disposal those that best lend -themselves to improvement. The greater number of species have remained -useless to us, but others, predestined no doubt, and created especially -with a view to man’s needs, have responded to our efforts and acquired -through cultivation qualities of prime importance, since our sustenance -depends on them. Nevertheless the improvement attained is not so -radical that we can count on its permanence if our vigilance relaxes. -The plant always tends to revert to its primitive state. For example, -let the gardener leave the headed cabbage to itself without -fertilizing, watering, or cultivating it; let him leave the seeds to -germinate by chance wherever the wind blows them, and the cabbage will -quickly part with its compact head of white leaves and resume the loose -green leaves of its wild ancestors. In like manner the vine, set free -from man’s constant attention, will degenerate into the little-esteemed -wild species that haunts our hedge-rows and yields a scant harvest that -will not, all together, be worth a single bunch of cultivated grapes. -The pear-tree, if neglected, will again be found on the outskirts of -our woods, once more bristling with long sharp thorns and bearing -under-sized and extremely unpalatable fruit. Under like conditions the -plum-tree and the cherry-tree will bear nothing but stones covered with -a sour skin. In short, all the riches of our orchards will in similar -circumstances undergo such deterioration as to be worthless to us. - -“This reversion to the wild state occurs even under cultivation and in -spite of efforts to prevent it when seed is used for propagating the -plant. Suppose the seeds from an excellent pear are put into the -ground. Well, the trees that spring from those seeds will bear for the -most part only mediocre or poor, even very poor, pears. Another -planting is made with the pits of the second generation, and the result -shows still further decline. Thus if the experiment is continued with -seeds taken each time from the immediately preceding generation, the -fruit, becoming smaller and smaller, bitterer and harder, will at last -return to the sorry wild pear of the thicket. - -“One more example. What flower equals the rose in nobleness of -carriage, in perfume and brilliant coloring? Suppose we plant the seeds -of this superb flower; its descendants will turn out to be miserable -bushes, nothing but wild roses like those of our hedges. But we need -not be surprised at this. The noble plant had the wild rose for -ancestor, and in trying to propagate it by its seed we have simply -caused it to resume its native characteristics. - -“With some plants, let us note in conclusion, the improvement attained -by cultivation is more stable and persists even when the seed is used -for purposes of propagation; but this persistence is only on the -express condition that our vigilance shall not relax. All plants, if -left to themselves and propagated by seed, revert to the primitive -state after a certain number of generations in which the -characteristics imposed by human skill and care gradually disappear.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -DIFFERENT WAYS OF PROPAGATING - - -“Since our fruit-trees and ornamental plants, if propagated by seed, -revert sooner or later to the wild type, how can they be propagated -without risk of degeneration? This must be done by means of the buds -instead of the seeds. Buds or branches of a plant or tree must be -transplanted from one stock to another; this is called grafting; or -they may be planted directly in the soil by processes known as layering -and slipping. These are invaluable methods, since they enable us to -stabilize in the plant the improvements attained after long years of -labor, and thus to profit by these improvements, which we owe to our -predecessors, instead of beginning all over again a course of training -that would demand far more than a single life-time. - -“Layering, slipping, and grafting insure the faithful reproduction of -all the qualities of the parent stock. As are the fruit, flowers, -foliage of this parent stock which has furnished the buds or slips for -transplanting, so will be the fruit, flowers, foliage of the resulting -plant or tree. Nothing will be added to the qualities we wish to -perpetuate, but on the other hand nothing will be subtracted. To the -double flowers of the original from which came the layer, the slip, or -the graft, will correspond the double flowers of the plant developing -from this layer, slip, or graft: the same shade of coloring will be -reproduced, and the fruit will have the same size, savor, and -sweetness. The slightest peculiarity which, for unknown reasons, -appears in a plant grown from the seed, and which sometimes is found -only on a single branch, as the indented outline of the leaves or the -variegation of the blossoms, is reproduced with minute accuracy if the -graft, slip, or layer is taken from the branch having this -modification. By this means horticulture is daily enriching itself with -double flowers or a new shade, or with fruit remarkable for its size, -its early or late ripening, its juicy flesh, its more pronounced aroma. -Without the help of graft and slip these fortunate accidents, occurring -but once and no one knows how, would lead to no further profit after -the death of the plant thus favored by chance; and horticulture would -find itself compelled to repeat over and over again its attempts to -bring about improvements which, almost as soon as effected, would -invariably be lost for want of means to fix them and render them -permanent. - -“If history had preserved the record, what long and painful efforts to -develop our various cultivated plants from worthless seedlings should -we not read there! Just think of what a happy inspiration it must have -taken to select exactly the kind of vegetable or other plant -susceptible of improvement, what patient experimental attempts to -subject it to cultivation, what wearisome labor to improve its quality -from one year to another, what care to prevent its degenerating and to -hand it down to posterity in perfect condition. Think of all this and -you will see how the smallest fruit, the smallest vegetable, represents -more than the toil of him who has raised it in his garden. It -represents, perhaps, the accumulated effort of a hundred generations, -an effort indispensable if we are to have a succulent pot-herb as the -descendant of a worthless weed. We live on the fruit and vegetables -created by our predecessors; we live on the labor, strength, ideas of -the past. May the future in its turn live on our strength both of arm -and thought! So shall we worthily fulfill our mission. - -“It was not chance that gave man the idea of layering, slipping, and -grafting, but rather the thoughtful observation of nature’s methods all -about him. He who was first, for example, to note how the strawberry -grows and multiplies, received the first lesson in layering. Let us in -our turn examine this curious process. - -“From the parent stock of the strawberry vine a number of runners start -out, long, slender, and creeping on the ground. These runners are also -known as stolons or creeping suckers. After reaching a certain distance -they expand at the end into a little tuft which takes root in the -ground and is soon self-supporting. The new tuft of the strawberry -vine, as soon as strong enough, in its turn sends out long runners -which follow the example of the first ones; that is to say, they creep -along the ground, end each in a rosette of leaves, and take root. The -picture shows us a first tuft, more vigorous than the others. From the -axil of one of its leaves starts a runner whose terminal bud has -developed into a small plant already provided with roots of some vigor. -A second runner sprung from this plant bears a third rosette whose -leaves are beginning to unfold. After sending out an indefinite number -of similar runners the mother plant finds herself surrounded with young -suckers, established here and there, as many as the season and the -nature of the soil permit. At first these suckers are attached to the -mother plant by the runners, and sap flows from the old plant to the -young ones; but sooner or later there is a severance of ties, the -runners dry up and are henceforward useless, and each offshoot, -properly rooted, becomes a separate strawberry vine. Here we find, -without any of man’s ingenuity or skill, all the details of layering; -and it was undoubtedly the natural process that suggested the -artificial method. A long branch bends down to the ground, takes root -there, and then becomes detached from the parent stock by the death or -destruction of the connecting part. The horticulturist lays a long -shoot in the ground, waits until it sends down adventitious roots, and -finally severs the connection with his pruning-shears. That is -layering.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -LAYERING - - -“Some plants, and among them the pink, send out from the base of the -mother stalk straight, pliant shoots which can be used for obtaining so -many new plants. These shoots are bedded by being bent elbow-wise and -having the angle stuck into the ground and fastened there with a -crotch; then the end is raised upright and held so by means of a stake. -Sooner or later the buried elbow sends down adventitious roots, but -until then nourishment is drawn from the parent stock. When the buried -parts have sent down enough roots, the connections are cut between the -old plant and the new ones, and each of these latter, set out by -itself, is thenceforth a distinct plant. This operation is called -layering, and the several shoots used in obtaining new plants are -called layers. - -“Let us now put into practice the method we have just been studying in -theory. In a vineyard, we will suppose, a number of the vines have died -from some cause or other, and it is necessary to replace them. Layering -offers us the readiest means and will occasion least delay to the -harvest. Near the place occupied by the dead vine we select a stock -provided with a vigorous shoot of sufficient length and conveniently -situated. Then we dig down where the old vine stands and pull up all of -the lifeless stalk as well as the roots, since these are seats of decay -that might infect the whole neighborhood. Finally, in the soil thus -stirred we dig a ditch two or three decimeters deep, and in this we lay -the shoot we have selected, taking care in bending it down not to break -or splinter it. The part thus put into the ground is then covered with -a tolerably thick layer of earth, and on this, to complete the filling -of the ditch, is thrown a basketful of manure. The tip of the shoot is -raised upright, tied to a stake, and trimmed in such a manner as to -retain only two eyes or buds above ground. As to the eyes on the part -extending from the mother stem to the point where the shoot plunges -into the ground, they are nipped off because they would needlessly -appropriate a part of the sap. This operation is called vine-layering, -and the shoot bent down and placed in the ground we speak of as a -vine-layer. The best time for this work is the beginning of winter, -because the long rest enjoyed by the shoot in the ground throughout the -season when vegetation slumbers disposes it to sprout with more vigor -upon the renewal of sap-circulation in the spring. - -“Let us now watch the behavior of the partly buried vine-shoot. If it -had remained all in the open air, it would have borne fruit; it would -have had its three or four bunches of grapes. Why should it not do so -under the conditions imposed by the vine-dresser, conditions that have -altered nothing in its relations to the mother stem? It still remains -in uninterrupted communication with the vine that sustains it; it -receives its share of ascending sap drawn from the soil by the roots of -this vine; the buds remaining to it will develop leaves which, with the -help of sunlight, will convert this crude sap into elaborated sap; in -short, it lacks nothing to enable it to function almost as it would -have done had it not been partly buried. And in fact the vine-layer -does bear that same year; if well cared for, it bears several bunches -of grapes. So the proverb says: The vine-layer pays its owner from the -very first year. Meanwhile, acted on by the coolness and moisture of -the soil and the stimulus of fertilization, it puts forth adventitious -roots where it has been placed underground, and these roots grow in -number and vigor until the time comes when they suffice to nourish the -young vine without the help of the mother stem. It is in the third year -that the rooting is far enough advanced for the young offshoot’s -independent existence. Weaning is then undertaken, and the nursling is -deprived of its nurse; that is to say, a stroke of the pruning-knife -close to the ground and on the side toward the parent stock separates -the latter from the vine-layer, which becomes henceforth -self-supporting. - -“With its long shoots so near the ground the vine offers every -convenience for carrying out the operation just described; but as a -general rule shrubs and trees are far less favorably situated: their -branches are not long enough or flexible enough or (a prime essential) -near enough to the ground to be bent down and laid in the trench dug -for receiving the layer. How is this difficulty to be overcome? The way -is very simple. We have already observed the effect of cutting back; we -know that a stem cut back, that is to say cut off close to the ground, -develops around the border of its wound numerous adventitious buds -which grow into so many shoots. They are precisely the sort of shoots -we need, long, flexible, and starting from the level of the ground. -Each of them, if treated as a layer, partly buried in a trench where it -is fixed with a crotch, and held, above ground, in a vertical position -by means of a prop, takes root sooner or later according to its -species, and can then be transferred as an independent plant to any -desired spot. Such is the simple method known both as layering and as -arching, because it is essentially the same as ordinary layering and at -the same time necessitates the bending of the young shoot so as to -describe an arch. - -“The following method dispenses with this bending, which is -impracticable when the wood is too brittle. In the spring the stalk or -trunk that is to furnish the layers is cut back. All around this -cross-section young shoots soon make their appearance, after which it -is only necessary to wait until they are long enough but have not yet -lost their tenderness, a state most conducive to the growth of -adventitious buds; then the parent trunk is earthed up, or in other -words light soil is heaped all about the stump so as to cover the lower -part of each shoot. The earth is piled up in the shape of a truncated -cone with a cup-shaped hollow at the top to receive water from time to -time and thus maintain the necessary degree of moisture and coolness. -Kept damp and cool in this manner, the young shoots will before long -send down adventitious roots, and the following year there will be a -cluster of rooted plants that can easily be detached with a knife. That -is what is called layering by earthing up or by sprouting. - -“If it is found undesirable to cut back the parent stem in order to -obtain shoots for layering, and if at the same time the shoot that we -wish to root is too high to be bent down and inserted in the ground, -the following expedient may be employed. A flower-pot broken in two -lengthwise or a leaden cornucopia is hung on the tree, and the branch -to be rooted is placed lengthwise in the pot or cornucopia. The pot is -then filled with mold or moss kept damp by frequent watering, and the -result, sooner or later, is the growth of adventitious roots. When -these are suitably developed, gradual weaning is next in order; that is -to say, underneath the pot a slight cut is made, and this is deepened -day by day. The end here in view is to accustom the layer little by -little to do without the mother stem and support itself. At last the -separation is complete. This gradual weaning is no less advantageous -when the layers are placed in the ground: it assures the success of the -operation. - -“If the wood is tender, adventitious roots spring without difficulty -from the interred part, and the methods already described suffice for -the success of the layering; but woods of dense structure are more or -less obstinate about taking root, and might remain in the ground -indefinitely without yielding. In such cases our art must intervene, -based on the plant’s manner of living. Let us recall the effect of a -band drawn tightly about a stalk or trunk. Above this line of -strangulation the descending sap accumulates more and more, since it -can no longer continue on its course between the wood and the bark, -this latter being compressed by the ligature. It accumulates and -produces a ring-shaped swelling where the plant tries to discharge on -the outside the superabundance of matter arrested in its passage. Let -this protuberance be heaped about with fresh earth, and adventitious -roots will speedily be developed to allow the sap to continue its -descent. A tiny streamlet, running free, follows its channel without -effort and without any undermining of obstacles. But if we obstruct its -passage the accumulating body of water will gain power to open new -vents for itself through the dam. Sap does likewise. Circulating freely -in its natural channel, it is not diverted from its course by any -allurements on its way; and unless the conditions present in wood and -bark favor the growth of new roots, no sap will be expended for this -purpose. But if its usual passage is barred, the sap devotes its -energies to the formation of adventitious roots in order that it may, -through them, resume its interrupted course. A like result follows if a -ring of bark is removed from the buried part of the branch or shoot -that we wish to take root. The arrested sap produces a ring-shaped -swelling on the upper edge of the wound, and from this swelling spring -roots. - -“Now let us apply these theoretical principles. If the wood is compact -and for that reason rebels against the laws of simple layering, we will -take a piece of wire and strangle (that is the word) the branch we are -operating upon; that is to say, we will bind it tight, but without -breaking the bark. The compression should be made just below a bud or -eye, and about midway of the part that is to be underground. This -process is called layering by strangulation. - -“Or again, still midway of the part to be bedded in the earth, and -immediately under a bud, we cut the bark all around the branch without -injuring the wood; a second incision is made a centimeter and a half -lower down; then tearing off the strip of bark between the two -circumcisions, we remove it all in one piece. This method is known as -annular incision from the ring of bark thus taken away. - -“Or as a third expedient, still midway of the part to be bedded in the -trench, we make with a sharp instrument an oblique incision from below -upward, cutting into the wood as far as the marrow. In this way we are -enabled to raise a tongue comprising half the thickness of the shoot, -and this tongue is held in its lifted position by a small pebble -inserted in the slit. This is what we call a Y-shaped incision, because -the raised tongue forms with the rest of the stem an opening like that -between the two branches of the letter Y. Through the half that remains -intact communication with the mother stem is maintained and the needed -share of crude sap is received, while from the cut and upraised half -adventitious roots are put forth because the course of the descending -sap is arrested there. - -“In order to bring into contact with the damp soil a greater extent of -wounded fiber fit for putting forth adventitious roots, it is customary -to split the upraised tongue in two and keep the two parts gaping by -interposing a small pebble. This method of double incision is used for -trees that offer the greatest resistance to successful layering. - -“To sum up, all these methods and others derived from them have for -their object the fostering of adventitious roots by arresting the -course of the descending sap at a certain point beneath the soil.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -SLIPPING - - -“Propagation by means of a slip or scion cut from the parent tree and -so placed that it will develop adventitious roots we may for -convenience speak of as slipping. The cut end of the slip is set in the -ground in some cool, moist, shady spot where evaporation is slow and -the temperature mild. For delicate slips the shelter of a bell-glass is -often necessary in order to insure the requisite moisture in the -atmosphere and thus prevent the slip from drying up before it has sent -down roots to make good its losses. For greater surety, if the slip has -many leaves, most of the lower ones are removed in order to reduce the -evaporating surface as much as possible without compromising the -plant’s vitality, which resides especially in the upper part. But in -many cases these precautions are needless; thus, to propagate the -grape-vine, willow, and poplar, it suffices merely to thrust the -detached scion into the ground. - -“Trees whose wood is soft and well filled with sap are the ones best -fitted for slipping; to this class belongs the willow, with its notably -tender fiber. On the other hand, wood that is dense and hard gives us -sure warning that this mode of propagation will be found very difficult -or even impossible. Thus it would invariably fail with the oak, the -olive, the box-tree, and a great many more hard-wood trees. -Furthermore, slipping offers far less certainty of success than -layering, since the layer remains in communication with the parent -stock and is thus supplied with nourishment until it has acquired roots -of its own, whereas the slip, all such communication being abruptly cut -off, is obliged from the outset to rely on its own resources and pass -without help through the difficult period of rootlessness. Among -fruit-bearers there are scarcely any except the grape-vine, the -currant-bush, the quince-tree, and a few varieties of plum and apple -trees, that lend themselves to this method of propagation. Among the -larger trees the willow and the poplar take root with no difficulty -whatever when started from the slip. Finally, a great many ornamental -species, herbaceous plants or bushes like the rose, jasmine, and -honeysuckle, multiply easily by this method, the usual one adopted with -them by the flower-gardener. - -“Let us go back now to the very simplest case, the one calling for the -fewest precautions. A damp piece of ground on the water’s edge is to be -planted with poplars or willows. Toward the end of winter the forester -in charge cuts a sufficient number of vigorous young branches as large -around as a stout cane or even a man’s fist, or perhaps larger, and -from one to four meters long. He removes all the lower twigs, clips the -intermediate ones to half their length, and leaves the upper ones -intact if the tree is to be pyramid-shaped; otherwise he gives the top -a truncate form. Finally the lower end is cut to a point with the -hatchet, to make it easier to thrust into the ground. Now the slip is -ready for planting, and all that is necessary is to push it well down -into the earth by its pointed end and leave it to itself. Without any -further attention, if the ground is sufficiently damp, adventitious -roots will start, and each of the stakes thus rudely hacked will become -a poplar or a willow. - -“But other forms of vegetation are far from manifesting this facility -in rooting which makes possible the growth of a tree from a stake -driven into the ground, it may be with the blow of a club; therefore -delicate precautions are necessary for success if these obdurate -subjects are to be propagated by slips. Let us take the grape-vine as -an example. Its slips for planting are shoots of the same year’s -growth. These are tied in a bundle and their cut ends placed in water -to soak for a week or more. Why this long immersion of the part that -later is to be planted in the ground? Because the outside bark is dry -and tough, difficult for tender roots to pierce, especially if the soil -is dry. Accordingly the bark is softened by soaking for some time in -water; and also, when the slips are taken out of the water, they are -lightly scraped where they are to be in the earth, but left untouched -where they are to be in the air. In this way the outer layer of bark is -removed after being softened in water, and there is so much the less -resistance offered to the growing roots; but the inner layers, where -the vine’s vital activities go on, are scrupulously spared. The slight -wounds inflicted by this scraping, let it be further noted, favor the -starting of roots by arresting the sap. After being prepared in this -manner the slips are set out. In soil that has been well worked so that -the young roots may push downward without hindrance, vertical holes are -made with a long iron or wooden dibble, and in each of these holes a -slip is inserted to the depth of about half a meter. Fine earth is then -sifted into the hole and well rammed down to insure perfect contact -with the slip, and the operation is finished. - -“Just as the process of layering is facilitated by the formation of a -ring-shaped swelling where the descending sap is arrested in its course -either by a ligature or by the removal of a ring of bark, so the same -artifice can be advantageously employed in propagating by means of -slips. Around the shoot selected as slip for the next year’s planting -an iron wire is tightly bound; or, instead of this, a ring of bark is -cut away. By autumn a swelling will have formed all about the stem, -whereupon the shoot is detached and placed in the ground for the winter -in order that the swelling may become a little further enlarged and -somewhat softened. In the spring the shoot is taken up again, trimmed -so that it shall have only four or five buds left, and planted like an -ordinary slip. From the ring-shaped swelling caused by the accumulation -of sap roots will start. - -“All the advantages offered by the ring-shaped swelling may be secured -with no expenditure of ingenuity on our part. Take hold of a small -branch and pull it down so as to split it off from the main stem. Thus -torn away it will bring with it a sort of spur or splinter from the -trunk directly under the severed branch. This spur, trimmed with a -knife to give it a less ragged outline, will render the same service as -the ring-shaped swelling: the descending sap will be stopped in its -course at this point, will accumulate, and will foster the growth of -adventitious roots. - -“Instead of breaking off the branch by tearing it away at its base, one -can, with a stroke of the pruning-knife above this base and another -below it, cut the older limb bearing this branch so that the latter -carries with it a piece of the former. With this piece as a sort of -natural bourrelet or swelling, success is rendered more assured than in -any other way. - -“To conclude, let us say a few words about slipping by means of buds, a -kind of planting that uses buds instead of seeds. This method, which -requires the nicest care of any, is adopted only in exceptional cases. -Let us suppose we have a very few shoots, or only one, from some -extremely rare variety of grape-vine, and we wish to obtain from this -single shoot the greatest possible number of slips. To this end the -shoot is cut into small pieces about five centimeters long, each -bearing a bud midway of its length. These pieces are then each split in -two lengthwise, and the part with the bud is retained, the other thrown -away. Thus prepared, the pieces are planted in fertile soil with the -split surface underneath and the bud just peeping out of the earth. But -to insure any likelihood of success with this method, certain special -conditions not called for in ordinary planting must be observed, as -will be readily understood. The delicate slips are arranged with care -in an earthen pan or pot, and covered with a bell-glass to assure them -a moist and warm atmosphere. After roots have started the slips are -transplanted, each being placed in a separate pot where it gains -strength and awaits the proper time for planting in the ground.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -GRAFTING - - -“Grafting is the process by which a twig or a bud [5] is transplanted -from one branch to another, or from one tree to another. That which is -to serve as support and sustenance to the transferred part is known as -the stock, while the twig or bud received by it is called the graft. - -“One absolutely necessary condition must be fulfilled if this operation -is to be successful: the transferred part must find on its new -nursing-branch nutriment to its taste, that is to say, a sap like its -own. This requires that the two plants, the stock and the one that -furnishes the graft, should be of the same species or at least belong -to closely related species, since likeness of sap and its products can -result only from likeness of organization. It would be a mere waste of -time to try to engraft the lilac upon the rose, or the rose upon the -willow, for there is nothing in common between these three species -either in leaves, flowers, or fruit. This difference in structure is -invariably accompanied by a marked difference in respect to nutrition. -Hence the rose-bud would starve to death on a lilac-branch, and the -lilac-bud would meet with the same sad fate on a rose-bush. But lilac -can very well be grafted on lilac, rose-bush on rose-bush, vine on -vine. And one can even go further than this: a peach-bud will flourish -on an apricot-tree, a cherry-bud on a plum-tree, and vice versa; for -between the members of each of these pairs there is a close and easily -discernible analogy. In short, there must be the closest possible -resemblance between the two plants if grafting is to succeed. - -“The ancients were far from having any clear idea on this absolute need -of likeness in organization. They tell us of grafting the holly with -the rose to obtain green roses, the walnut tree with the grape to -produce enormous grapes as large as walnuts. In our own time has not -the project been seriously considered of grafting a vine shoot on to a -mulberry tree in order to restore vigor to the grape whose roots an -underground grub has attacked? Such graftings and others between plants -completely unlike have never been successfully undertaken except in the -imagination of those who dreamt them. - -“We have already seen that, grown from seed, our various fruit trees do -not, as a rule, reproduce the quality of fruit of the parent stock; an -invincible tendency to revert to the wild state causes the fruit to -lose, little by little, from one generation to another, the improvement -it had acquired through cultivation. Thus the pear, through repeated -plantings of the seed, would become increasingly sour, small, and hard, -until it had at last returned to the sorry state of the wild pear -growing on the edge of the woods. But this defect attending growth from -the seed is redeemed by one very desirable quality: the tree thus grown -regains more or less the robustness of its wild type; it is -incomparably more vigorous, healthier, longer-lived, than the -artificially perfected tree whose strength is compromised by the very -excess of its fructification. One has vigor, the other fine fruit. The -two attributes cannot go together; if one increases, the other -decreases. Well then, these robust specimens reared from the seed are -just what we require for grafting. Used as stocks, they supply the -quality inherent in them, namely, vigor; and the cutting engrafted upon -them furnishes the other quality, excellence of fruit. - -“Accordingly it is the practice to plant the pips of pears and apples, -and the stones of apricots and peaches; and on the trees thus obtained -to graft cuttings from pear, apple, apricot, and peach trees that bear -fruit of recognized superiority. In this way there are united in the -same tree the root and trunk of the robust and almost wild kind with -the leaves and blossoms of the weak but artificially improved kind. -Every variety of pear tree is by nature fitted to receive a pear graft, -every variety of peach tree to receive a peach graft, and so on with -all fruit-trees. There is no objection to selecting as stock any wild -pear, cherry, or plum tree that may have sprung up of itself in hedge -or thicket. It is thus for example that the cherry is grafted on two -others of like sort, the wild cherry and the cherry of Saint Lucia, -both frequenters of uncultivated hillsides. The first bears fruit -hardly as large as a pea, black, round, and full of a very dark and -rather bitter juice; the second has still smaller fruit with scarcely -any pulp and uneatable. No matter: with grafts from a suitably chosen -source they will cover themselves with the finest cherries. In like -manner our superb garden roses can be grown on the wild rose stock, the -common dog rose of the hedges, whose modest blossoms have only five -petals of a pale carnation color and are well-nigh odorless. Sometimes, -again, two species of similar characteristics are chosen for grafting -purposes. Thus the pear grafts well on the quince-tree, the fruit of -the latter being, after all, a sort of big pear; the apricot can be -grafted on the plum; the peach on the plum and, still better, on the -almond, so like the peach in its foliage, its early blossoming, and the -structure of its fruit. - -“As a curiosity let us mention the mixing of several kinds of fruit on -the same stock. By means of grafting the same tree can bear, all at one -time, almonds, apricots, peaches, plums, and cherries, because these -five kinds admit of reciprocal grafting; another tree may be covered -simultaneously with pears, quinces, berries of the mountain ash, -medlars, and service-berries. These are very odd instances, certainly, -but of no practical interest. It would be a waste of time to dwell -longer on them did they not teach a useful lesson. They demonstrate -that however many fresh grafts are added to a tree, the new-comers -exert no influence outside their own sphere. Whether offshoots of the -tree itself or aliens, the grafts develop, blossom, and fructify, each -after its own kind, without contracting any of its neighbor’s habits. -Among the curious phenomena observed in this artificial juxtaposition -of mutually independent grafts, we will mention a pear-tree on which -were represented, by means of grafting, all the different varieties of -cultivated pears. Sour or sweet, dry or juicy, large or small, green or -bright-colored, round or long, hard or mellow, each and all ripened on -the same tree and grew again year after year without change, faithful -to the specific character, not of the supporting tree, but of the -various grafts planted on this common stock. - -“The mere bringing together of analogous plants does not suffice for -the success of the operation of grafting; there must be a considerable -extent of contact between those parts of the graft and the stock that -have the most vitality and are consequently best fitted to coalesce. -This contact should be in the inner layers of the bark and in the seat -of plant-growth situated between the wood and the bark. The vital -activity of the plant, in fact, resides especially in this region. It -is between the wood and the bark that the elaborated sap descends; -there is where new cells and new fibers are organized, to form on one -side a sheet of bark and on the other a layer of wood. Hence it is -there and only there that coalescence is possible between the graft and -the stock.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -GRAFTING - -(Continued) - - -“There are three principal kinds of grafting, namely: grafting by -approach (also called simply ‘approaching’ or ‘inarching’), grafting by -shoots or scions, and grafting by buds (commonly known as ‘budding’). -The form given to the two cut ends that are brought together and the -disposition of the parts thus placed in contact give rise, in practice, -to numerous subdivisions that need not be mentioned here. We will -confine ourselves to the essentials. - -“Grafting by approach is analogous to layering, with this difference, -that the tree to be grafted takes the place of the soil that receives -the layer. In layering we induce the growth of adventitious roots by -partly burying in the ground a branch or shoot still adhering to the -stock that nourishes it. When, acted upon by the soil, roots have -started in sufficient number, the shoot is gradually cut loose until at -last it is quite severed from the parent stock. In grafting by approach -it is also proposed to make a branch, a shoot, a tree-top, while still -united to its own stem or stock, take root, so to speak, not in the -ground, but in the substance of a neighboring tree. - -“Let us suppose that two shrubs are growing close together and that we -wish to engraft on one of them a twig or shoot of the other. The parts -to be placed in contact receive each a longitudinal gash that -penetrates to the marrow, or even deeper, and the two gashes are made -of equal length. These parts are then brought together, care being -taken to make the young and growing portions in the one exactly meet -those in the other; that is to say, the inner layer of bark in each, -with the channel traversed by the elaborated sap, is carefully fitted -to the corresponding part in its neighbor. The whole is thereupon made -fast with a ligature, and the two wounds are left to the slow operation -of vital forces. Fed by its own stem or trunk, from which it is not yet -separated, the shoot to be transplanted mingles its sap with the sap of -its neighbor; on both sides there are new growths to cicatrize the -wounds, while the two parts gradually coalesce until, sooner or later, -the graft becomes incorporated with its future support. And now the -graft must be weaned; that is, it must, little by little, be deprived -of the sustenance furnished by its own stock. This is accomplished as -in simple layering, by gradually cutting through the shoot below the -point of union. As soon as the graft is thought to be getting all its -nourishment from the new stem, it is completely severed from the mother -tree. This mode of grafting, the most elementary of all, sometimes -takes place accidentally and unassisted. In a hedge or any dense growth -of bushes, if two branches chance to come into close and prolonged -contact, there will be at this point, first, a slight abrasion and then -a complete wearing away of the bark until the two raw surfaces end, it -may be, in growing together. It is not improbable that natural -occurrences of this kind furnished man with his first notions of -grafting. - -“Grafting by approach is an excellent method to apply whenever in the -arrangement of a fruit-tree’s branches there is a vacant space that -needs filling. Regular distribution, symmetry of arrangement, is a -condition demanded if only to satisfy the eye, which is always offended -by disorder; but there is another and still more convincing reason for -this regularity. The more evenly a tree’s branches are distributed, so -that each shall receive an equal share of sap, sunlight, and heat, so -much the more fruit will it bear. Suppose, then, there is a lack of -branches in some part. To fill this gap and thus restore the tree’s -symmetry, grafting by approach offers a ready means. From a branch near -the vacant space and itself sufficiently supplied with twigs or shoots, -one of these latter, of good length, is selected; then it is properly -cut or gashed and the gash is brought into contact with a similar gash -at the point where it is desired to start a new growth; and, finally, a -ligature is applied to hold the two parts together. As soon as -coalescence is complete the graft is severed below the point of union, -and the lower section, after being straightened up again, is ready to -serve once more as branch to the limb that bears it. In this way, with -no loss to themselves, the more abundant branches furnish offshoots to -the poorer ones. - -“Grafting by means of shoots or scions cut from the parent stock at the -outset is analogous to slipping. It consists in transplanting on to a -new stock a shoot detached from its mother branch. The most common -method is cleft-grafting. It is done in the spring when the buds begin -to open. Shoots of the preceding year are chosen for grafts, care being -taken to select those that are vigorous and that have attained no later -than August the hard and woody condition necessary for resistance to -the severities of winter. One precaution at the very outset must be -taken. When the graft is put in place it will be of the utmost -importance that it shall find in its new position nourishment -proportionate to its needs. It would infallibly perish if it should -prove to be in a more advanced state of vegetation than the stock -selected to nourish it. The latter, therefore, ought to be rather ahead -of than behind the former in this respect. To secure this result, -between one and two months before the operation is to be carried out it -is well to cut the grafts and place them in the ground on the north -side of a wall, where they will remain quiescent while the branches to -which they are to be transferred will make progress and their sap will -start. - -“We will suppose there is a worthless pear-tree in our garden, grown -from a pip or transplanted from its native wood, and we propose to make -it bear good pears. The course to pursue is as follows. We cut off -entirely the upper part of the wild pear tree, trimming the cut with -our pruning-knife so that there are no ragged edges, since these would -not scar over readily and might become the seat of a far-reaching -decay. If the trunk is of moderate size and is to receive but one -graft, it is cut a little obliquely with a small level surface on the -upper edge, as shown in the picture. In the middle of this horizontal -facet a split is made to the depth of about six centimeters. That done, -we take one of the grafts set aside as already indicated, and we cut it -so as to leave only two or three buds, of which the topmost one should -be at the tip of the branch. Then, just under the lowest bud we whittle -the end of the graft into the shape of a knife-blade, letting the bud -stand just above the back or dull edge of the blade. For greater -stability when the graft is put in place, a narrow inverted ledge is -cut at the top of the blade on both sides. A glance at the picture will -show you all these little details. Finally, the graft is slipped into -the cleft of the stock, bark exactly meeting bark, wood meeting wood. -The whole is brought tightly together by binding, and the wounds are -covered with grafting mastic, which may be bought already prepared. If -this mastic is lacking we can use what is known in the country as Saint -Fiacre’s ointment, a sort of paste made of clay, or rather a mixture of -clay and cows’ dung, the fibrous nature of the latter preventing the -former from cracking. A winding of rags holds the ointment in place. -Thus wound, the stump does not suffer from exposure to the air, which -would dry it up. In course of time the wounds cicatrize, and the bark -and wood of the graft coalesce with the bark and wood of the severed -trunk. Finally the buds of the graft, nourished by the stock, develop -into branches and at the end of a few years the top of the wild pear -tree is replaced by that of a cultivated pear tree bearing pears equal -to those of the tree that furnished the graft. - -“The operation of cutting back a branch or trunk to receive the graft -always promotes the growth of numerous buds. What is to be done with -the shoots that spring from these? Evidently they must be suppressed, -for they would appropriate, to no good end, the sap intended for the -graft. Nevertheless the suppression must be done cautiously. Let us not -forget that what primarily causes the sap to ascend is the evaporation -of moisture from the leaves. As long as the graft has not opened its -buds and spread its leaves, it is well to let the young shoots of the -stock remain untouched. They act as helpers, in that their foliage -draws upward the juices extracted from the soil by the roots; so that, -far from having an injurious effect at this time, their presence is -most useful. But the day will come when the graft alone will suffice -for this work of pumping up the sap, and then it is best to get rid of -these messmates which, of heartier appetite than the graft, would soon -starve it out. First the lower shoots of the stock are suppressed, then -gradually those higher up, care being taken not to destroy the top ones -until the graft has developed shoots two or three decimeters long.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -GRAFTING - -(Concluded) - - -“The part of a plant or tree above ground and the part under ground are -mutually dependent, the development of one implying a corresponding -development in the other. If there is a superabundance of foliage, the -roots will be unable to furnish it sufficient nourishment; on the other -hand, if the roots are unduly vigorous, there will be too much sap for -the foliage—an excess of nourishment which, there being no use for it, -will encumber the plant and be injurious to it. Hence if the trunk to -be grafted is strong it must have several grafts, in order that the -number of buds to be nourished may be in right proportion to the number -of nourishing roots. - -“To this end the trunk is cut, not obliquely as for a single graft, but -horizontally. Then it is split all the way across, following a line -that passes through the central pith, and two grafts are implanted in -the cleft, one at each end. It is evident that not more than two can be -placed in the same cleft, because the bark of the graft must of -necessity come in contact with the bark of the stock to insure -inter-communication and coalescence between the sap-canals of the two. -If the size of the stock requires more than two grafts, instead of -splitting the trunk diametrically several times, it is preferable to -make lateral clefts which, leaving the center untouched, cause less -danger to the solidity of the stock. - -“Recourse can also be had to the following method, in which no clefts -whatever are called for, clefts being difficult to cicatrize when the -wood is old. The grafts are cut like the mouthpiece of a flute; that is -to say, at the base half is taken off lengthwise while the other half -is left, but is whittled down, thinner and thinner toward the end, much -like a flute’s mouthpiece. Thus shaped, the grafts are inserted between -the wood and the bark of the stock, an operation facilitated by the -flow of sap in the spring, when the bark separates easily from the -wood. If there is danger of tearing the bark under the strain of the -graft acting as a wedge, a slight incision is made in the bark to give -it the play it needs. In this way the circumference of the stock -receives the number of grafts deemed necessary. It only remains now to -bind the whole securely and cover the wounds with mastic. This method -is called crown-grafting, because the grafts are arranged in a crown on -the circumference of the cross-section. - -“Grafting by buds corresponds to that variety of slipping in which -buds, each one by itself on a small fragment of the branch, are set -into the ground. It consists in transplanting on the stock a simple bud -with the bit of bark that bears it. It is the method most commonly -employed. According to the time of year when the operation is -undertaken, the graft is called an active bud or a dormant bud. In the -first case the grafting is done in the spring, when nature is awaking -from her winter’s sleep, so that the eye or bud implanted in the stock -coalesces with it and very soon develops into a young shoot. In the -second instance the bud is set in place some time in July or August, at -the period of the autumnal sap, so that it lies dormant or, in other -words, remains stationary during the following autumn and winter, after -uniting with the stock. - -“The implement here required is the grafting-knife, furnished at one -end with a very sharp blade, and at the other with a short spatula of -bone or very hard wood. The first thing to do is to remove the bud to -be transplanted. On a branch in which the sap is working we make with -the grafting-knife a transverse cut above the bud and another below; -then, holding the branch in one hand and the grafting-knife in the -other, as the picture shows, we remove the strip of bark lying between -these two cuts and delimited laterally by the line gg´g´´ and its -opposite, in figure F. This strip, which we call the shield, is shown -by itself in H. The leaf that sheltered the bud in its axil has been -removed, but the base of the stem of this leaf has been left and will -be useful later for taking hold of the shield and handling it more -conveniently. The shield must be cut away without any tearing and in -such a manner that no sap-wood is left clinging to the bark. The latter -must be perfectly intact, especially in its inner layers, the seat of -vital activities. Finally, the bud should have its proper complement of -young, greenish wood, which constitutes the germ, the very heart of the -bud. Should this germ be removed by unskilful manipulation, the bud -would have to be thrown away, for the graft would surely fail. - -“The next step is to make a double incision in the bark in the shape of -a T, penetrating as far as the wood but without injuring it. With the -spatula of the grafting-knife the two lips of the wound are raised a -little while the bud with its shield is taken up by the piece of -leaf-stem attached to it and inserted between the bark and the wood. -All that now remains to be done is to draw the lips of the little wound -together and bind the whole with some sort of material sufficiently -pliant and elastic not to compress and finally strangle the bud as it -develops. A rush, a slender thong made of a long and flexible -grass-blade, or, better still, a piece of woolen yarn is well suited to -the purpose. But if despite all precautions the ligature should after a -while prove too tight on account of the swelling of the graft, it would -be necessary to loosen it without delay. As soon as the graft has -‘taken,’ as we say, the young shoots starting out on the stock are -gradually suppressed in the cautious manner prescribed for -cleft-grafting. - -“When the stock is too small to receive a bud in the usual manner, the -following expedient is resorted to. From a shoot of about the same size -as the stock a rectangular strip of bark with bud attached is cut with -four incisions of the grafting-knife. This strip is immediately laid -upon the stock to serve as a pattern while the point of the knife is -passed all around it. In this way there is cut from the stock a strip -of bark having exactly the same shape and size as the pattern, which -latter is thereupon inserted in the vacant place and made fast there by -a ligature. This process may not inappropriately be called veneering. - -“In flute-grafting the bark both above and below the bud is cut -transversely all around the stem, and then another cut is made -lengthwise between these two slashes. A cylinder of bark may thus be -peeled off in one piece. From the stock, which should match this -cylinder in size, a similar cylinder is removed and its place taken by -the other one bearing the bud we wish to transplant.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XL - -ROTATION OF CROPS - - -They are eating dinner at the farm. A large platter of pork cutlets and -beans is smoking in the center of the table. Every one has been served. -It is a pleasure to see these good people eat, they have such hearty -appetites. Jacques, the big ox-driver, is the first to finish. He -throws his bone away. Azor is there to seize it. He lies flat on his -stomach and takes the bone in his fore paws. Hear him bite on his hard -pittance. How it cracks! Let any one beware of teasing Azor now. An -angry growl and a baring of his four formidable canine teeth would warn -the rash intruder to have done with his joking at once, for if -not—well, I will not be responsible for the consequences. Azor is not a -surly dog; far from it; but he is well within his rights when he brooks -no nonsense at his meals. He has done his duty most valiantly as a dog. -Night before last some wolves were prowling about the sheep-fold, and -he drove them off. Let Azor gnaw his bone in peace. - -Ha, there! The big tortoise-shell cat, Master Minet, is otherwise -minded. He draws near, hair erect, tail as large around as your arm, to -try to frighten Azor and rob him of his allowance. Azor, without -dropping the bone, gives a low growl and lifts one paw. That is enough, -the cat flees. So, my bold Minet, what were you after here? The bone is -not for you; your teeth are not strong enough to bite it. Go away! -Martha is calling you to give you some bread soaked in gravy. That will -suit you better than a bone as hard as a stone. - -Ah, here come some more guests. The door stands open and in come the -hens from the poultry-yard. Tap, tap, tap, tap; they peck the crumbs -fallen from the table. Azor has no use for such diet—tiny morsels much -too small for him; nor does the cat want them either, they are too -floury. But the hens feast on them. - -And all, human beings, dog, cat, hens, dine at the same time; only each -must make the best of what the others cannot use. Azor is content with -the bone that big Jacques threw away; the cat is satisfied with a -little bread soaked in gravy, a dish quite inadequate to Azor’s needs; -the hens pick up the crumbs disdained by Jacques, Azor, and the cat. -Martha, it seems, had prepared dinner only for the farm people, and -behold, by utilizing the scraps that are worthless to some, many others -join in the midday meal. From the scraps disdained by man the dog will -gain strength to defend the flock; from those rejected by the dog the -cat will acquire keen eyesight and sharp claws to see and to seize the -mouse; from what is of no value to the cat the hens will make eggs; and -everything, absolutely everything, will go to the profit of the farm. - -“Agriculture in its turn,” remarked Uncle Paul, turning to account this -homely illustration in domestic economy, “prepares dinner for the crops -in its own peculiar manner. It spreads the ground with manure, that -fertile dressing so relished by growing plants. The table is set, or in -other words the field is ready, well plowed and harrowed, and well -manured. Whom shall we call first to the table, for it is plain we -cannot invite all at once. Whom shall we call first? It shall be wheat, -let us say, a plant with tastes hard to please, but one that in return -gives us bread. So wheat is sown. In this soil, full of all sorts of -good things, it cannot fail to thrive, however unfavorable the season -may be. It will select what suits it best and leave the rest. - -“Now that is done. The harvest is in, and it handsomely comes up to our -hopes. The wheat has converted into magnificent grain the fertilizer -put into the ground. Out of decay it has created nourishment. Surely it -has well acquitted itself of its charge. It has made a clean sweep: all -that could be turned into wheat it has appropriated, and there remains -nothing further to be done. What would happen, then, if wheat were sown -again in the same field? Exactly the same thing that would happen to -Simon if he had nothing to eat but the bone that Jacques threw away. He -would die of hunger. Simon must have man’s food, wheat must have -wheat’s food. So if the first crop has exhausted the supply of material -for making wheat, how can you expect to raise a second crop? Evidently -that is asking the impossible; it is running the risk of reaping only a -very mediocre harvest or even none at all. Therefore it is the rule not -to sow wheat twice in succession in the same field. And what is true of -wheat is true also of all other crops. Where a plant has prospered one -year, the same plant will not do well the second year, because the -ingredients required by this plant are more or less exhausted. It is -foolish to invite guests to a table that is stripped bare. - -“If the table were spread again, if more fertilizer were added to the -soil, that would be quite a different matter, and wheat would grow as -well as it did the first time. But such a procedure would be bad -management, for the very utmost should be made of one meal. Before -further expenditure in the way of fertilizer let us exhaust the virtue -of the fertilizer already applied. Azor dined well on what Jacques -discarded; the hens were well fed with what Azor and the cat left. Let -us take an example from this succession of eaters who utilize each in -his own way the remnants worthless to the others. The wheat has -exhausted, or nearly exhausted, all that is suitable for wheat; but -just as Jacques the ox-driver left the bone, it has left in the soil a -good many ingredients that make excellent food for other crops. In -order, therefore, to utilize to the last ounce the first spreading of -fertilizer, we must invite to the repast a guest of different tastes. -This guest may be, for example, the potato. In soil that would have -furnished but starvation diet for wheat the potato will find quite -enough to live on, its tastes not being the same as the cereal’s. - -“Thus we have two successive crops for one coating of manure: we have -sacks of potatoes with no additional outlay in fertilizer. Is that all? -Not yet. After the wheat and the potatoes there is, to be sure, but -meager nourishment left in the upper layer of the soil; but in the -lower layers there remains the part of the fertilizer that the rain has -washed down and dissolved and that the short roots of the preceding -crops could not reach. To utilize this underlying matter and bring it -up again to the surface in the form of forage let us now sow a plant -with vigorous roots, such as clover, sainfoin, or, still better, -lucerne, which will penetrate deeper. And so we get our third crop. - -“After clover we can try a fourth crop, of a different kind; but it is -evident that as the guests succeed one another at the same table the -remnants become more and more scanty and difficult to utilize. -Accordingly we must choose a hardy plant and one that is content with -little. Finally a time will come, and at no very distant date, when the -board will be bare: the coating of manure will have given up its last -particle of nutritious matter. Then the table must be garnished afresh, -the field fertilized anew before beginning again with the same crops or -attempting others. Let us demand no more. You understand, my young -friends, that in order to utilize to the utmost this precious substance -that gives us every kind of food, such as bread, vegetables, forage, -meat, fruit, dairy products—to make the very best use of this we must, -instead of raising the same crop in the same field year after year, -adopt the plan of varying our crops, changing from one of one kind to -another of a different character, so that what earlier plantings have -left in the soil may be turned to account by later ones. This -succession of different sorts of farm produce is called rotation of -crops.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - -ROTATION OF CROPS - -(Continued) - - -“When soil is spoken of as worn out and needing rest, the speaker uses -a figure of speech meaning that the soil has been exhausted by the -crops it has borne. The crops do indeed take from the land a great -quantity of substances necessary for plant-life; and when these -substances are no longer present in sufficient amount, the soil refuses -to produce; it is exhausted. To restore its original fertility would -require a large outlay in fertilizer and hence it is often more -advantageous to accomplish this object by one of the following methods. - -“Sometimes the land is allowed to lie fallow; that is to say, it is -left to itself without any care whatever for whole years. Weeds spring -up freely, and at the same time water, air, and frost act on the soil, -disintegrating and mellowing it and inducing the formation of certain -substances necessary to vegetation. The weeds are converted into mold, -and finally the land, rested and recuperated, is ready to bear a new -crop. Restoration by this process is very slow, taking several years, -and hence it is customary to shorten the period of waiting by working -the soil and even manuring it, although it may not yet be the intention -to sow any seed. In these circumstances the land is called fallow land. - -“There is, however, one way to obtain an uninterrupted succession of -crops from the same land unless the soil is very poor. All plants -derive their nourishment from the soil and the atmosphere; but some -take more from the atmosphere, others from the soil. The plants that -get their sustenance chiefly from the air are those that have luxuriant -foliage. The potato is one of these. You know that it is through their -leaves that plants obtain the carbonic acid gas diffused in the air. -The greater the spread of foliage, the more abundant will this -absorption be. The plants that depend almost wholly on the soil are -those with only a few small, slender leaves, thus taking but little -carbonic acid gas from the air. Such is wheat. - -“Moreover, from the potato plant we take only the tubers, which form -but a small part of the whole, and we turn under the stalks and leaves, -which are thereupon converted into humus. Thus the potato has the -property of enriching the soil at the expense of the atmosphere, and it -gives back more than it takes. It is, then, one of the enriching rather -than impoverishing plants in respect to its action on the soil. -Cereals, on the contrary, are utilized by the harvester both as to seed -and haulm, nothing but the meager roots being left in the ground; and -as, on account of their very scanty foliage, cereals derive almost -their entire sustenance from the soil, they take from it much more than -they give back to it. They accordingly belong to the class of plants -that impoverish rather than enrich the soil in which they grow. - -“It is impossible, thus, except by a ruinous expenditure of fertilizer, -to raise a crop of grain every year on the same land. But if we should -let potatoes succeed wheat, and wheat succeed potatoes, what would be -the result? The latter crop, deriving a large part of its nourishment -from the air, would flourish in soil comparatively exhausted by wheat; -and on having its leaves and stalks turned under it would give back to -the soil a part of its former fertility. Wheat could then be -successfully raised again on the same land. - -“This practice of raising successively on the same land different crops -as little harmful to one another as possible and capable of utilizing -to the utmost the dressing put on to the land, is nothing but that very -rotation of crops that I have already told you something about. Its -purpose is to economize fertilizer and at the same time to secure an -uninterrupted succession of crops. The underlying principle consists in -making an enriching plant succeed an impoverishing one; that is to say, -a plant with luxuriant foliage is made to succeed one with scanty -foliage. The chief enriching plants are clover, lucerne, sainfoin, -potatoes, turnips, and beets. Cereals, on the contrary, are all -impoverishing plants. It is a general custom to raise on the same land -a more or less extended series of different crops, the series running -four, five, or six years, or even longer, after which it begins over -again in the same order. This rotation of crops is designated according -to the number of years the series covers, as for instance a five-year -or a six-year rotation. A six-year rotation might run, we will say, -somewhat as follows: - - - 1st year—potatoes—enriching crop. - 2nd year—wheat—impoverishing crop. - 3rd year—clover—enriching crop. - 4th year—wheat—impoverishing crop. - 5th year—sainfoin—enriching crop. - 6th year—oats—impoverishing crop. - - -“Let us examine in detail this series that we have taken as an example. -The first year the soil is thoroughly manured. One of the effects of -manuring is to start a great crop of weeds that would infest the land -and impoverish the crop were they not carefully removed. Hence the -necessity of weeding. To weed a piece of ground is to destroy the weeds -either by hand or with some implement. But it is not every crop that -admits of weeding: the plants must be a certain distance apart, as -otherwise they will be trampled under foot, cut off, or uprooted in the -weeding process. Wheat cannot be weeded, its stalks are too close -together; but potatoes are far enough apart for weeding without -difficulty. Now, weeding destroys all useless, injurious grasses and -other unwelcome intruders; their future reappearance is prevented by -pulling them up before their seeds ripen, and thus at last the ground -is cleaned and made ready for a choice crop. This will explain to you -the great advantage of letting the potato or some other crop that can -be weeded take precedence of the cereals. - -“The second year comes wheat. Cleaned by the tillage that has gone -before, the ground is no longer covered with grass and weeds. Nor does -it need fresh manure, for if the potatoes have consumed certain -elements in the soil, these are not exactly the same that wheat -requires; and, furthermore, the dead plants, turned under and reduced -to vegetable mold, compensate by what they have derived from the -atmosphere for what the tubers may have taken from the soil. Wheat is -therefore just the crop to raise now. - -“But it would be much against one’s interest to exact from the soil -another crop of wheat the third year. Exhausted by the grain it has -just produced, the soil would yield but a scanty harvest unless it were -freshly manured, a process that would make of the whole operation, not -a piece of farming, but an example of gardening, and would also entail -too great expense. For that reason the third year is devoted to the -raising of an enriching crop, such as clover. After furnishing a supply -of fodder, what is left of the clover is turned under, and all its -remnants of roots, stems, and leaves are reduced to mold, which renders -the soil fit for another wheat harvest the fourth year. A third -enriching crop to be turned under after the final mowing, is likewise -needed for the fifth year; and this crop may be sainfoin. At the end of -the series comes another cereal, oats, for example. The rotation is now -complete, and the program begins all over again. - -“Crop-rotation is capable of innumerable variations, and the series may -be longer or shorter, but there should be the slightest possible -departure from the rule that a cereal crop ought always to be preceded -by some crop that enriches the soil.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLII - -LAND-DRAINAGE - - -“In the bottom of a flower-pot you will find a small round hole. Over -this hole it is customary to lay a bit of broken tile, and on this, if -the plant to occupy the pot is delicate, a few small pebbles. This -done, the pot is filled with vegetable mold. Why this hole, this bit of -tile, these pebbles? That is what we are now about to consider. - -“Water is absolutely indispensable to plants, since it is the medium -that dissolves the various nutritive ingredients of the soil and thus -renders them capable of assimilation by the roots. Accordingly the soil -penetrated by these roots must be constantly supplied with sufficient -moisture either by rainfall or by artificial irrigation. But air is not -less indispensable. It disinfects the soil and by causing slow -combustion of the humus gives rise to a slight but uninterrupted -liberation of carbonic acid gas, one of the nutritive substances -required by vegetation. Should the roots be cut off from this -life-giving agency, they would languish and finally decay. Thus it is -that if vegetation is to thrive the soil in which it grows must have at -the same time both air and water. But if the bottom of the flower-pot -has no opening, or if its opening is stopped up, the water from the -watering-can will not flow through, nor will there be any air admitted -from below, and for lack of this the roots will decay. On the other -hand, if the water, after saturating the earth, runs out freely by the -hole in the bottom of the pot, the damp soil will become a sort of -sponge to which the air will have access from all sides, and the plant -will thrive. - -“This reasoning applies to the most extensive agricultural operations -as well as to the care of a potted plant. After water has soaked into -the ground it should find some channel to carry it off; otherwise the -roots will decay for want of air. That is why clayey soils, which -retain water when they are once saturated, are unsuited to agriculture, -while light soils, having sand mixed with the clay and thus readily -allowing the water to drain off, are well adapted to it. For the same -reason, again, a sandy subsoil accelerates vegetation, and a clayey -subsoil retards it. A sandy subsoil offers the same advantage as a -flower-pot open at the bottom, whereas a clayey subsoil is like a -flower-pot closed at the bottom. In the first case the surplus of water -drains off and the air has free access; in the second the superabundant -moisture finds no outlet and the air cannot reach the roots. - -“Now let us suppose we have a marshy soil to deal with. Because of the -stagnant water either on the surface or a little below it nothing can -grow on this piece of ground except rushes or other hardy plants -designed by nature for this kind of soil. Accordingly we proceed to dig -a number of small ditches, of a depth somewhat greater than that -attained by plant-roots, and we fill the bottom of these ditches with -small stones, on which we finally throw back the earth we have removed. -These underground ditches are suitably inclined, and all empty at the -lower end into a main canal. The water saturating the soil collects in -these ditches, filters through the layer of pebbles, and empties into -the main canal, which carries it off to some river or other stream. Our -marshy soil is now like the potful of earth with a hole at the bottom, -the bit of broken tile, and layer of little pebbles: the air has free -access and brings fertility with it. This operation of ours is called -drainage, a word formed from ‘drain,’ which is both a verb and a noun. -In the latter sense we apply it to the narrow ditch dug for carrying -off superfluous water. - -“A drainage system like that just described is the simplest possible, -but there is one serious objection to it: the layer of small stones -soon becomes clogged with soil washed down by the water, and the latter -can no longer run off. Hence it is customary to use fagots instead of -stones, since they offer less obstruction. But still better results are -obtained with earthenware conduits laid in the ditches. Sometimes these -conduits take the form of drain-tiles such as are used on roofs, and -they rest on sills or ground-pieces of the same material; or, again, -they may be tubular in form, the successive sections loosely fitted -together so that the water to be carried off may enter where the -sections join. - -“The effect of drainage is not merely to carry off the superfluous -water and thus promote the aëration of the soil to the depth reached by -the roots; it also keeps the soil cool and moist by the constant -presence of water in the drainage ditches or pipes. When a heap of sand -is watered at its base, the moisture is seen to mount higher and higher -until it reaches the top. In like manner the water collected in our -drainage ditches soaks into the upper soil in a dry time and thus -reaches the roots of plants growing there, so that water which is -superfluous or even harmful at certain periods is held in reserve and -gradually distributed at the right moment. - -“Another advantage of a drainage system is that it prevents that -cooling of the soil which would result from prolonged evaporation. In -taking the form of vapor water chills the objects that help to promote -the evaporation. For this reason we feel a decided chill on emerging -from a bath; the film of moisture that covered us is passing off in -vaporous form. Similarly a constant evaporation at the surface of a -water-soaked tract of land chills the ground and we have a cold soil. -But if the water is carried off by proper drainage, evaporation ceases -and there is no further chilling of the surface soil. Now, a high -temperature is always favorable to vegetation. - -“Draining is so beneficial that it is not confined to marshy ground, -which without it would be quite unproductive, but is applied also to -ordinary arable land. Wherever the soil is too clayey, or even where -the surface soil is good but the subsoil clayey, rain-water cannot -drain off readily and the ground remains soggy and cold. Eventually, -however, it dries up, but there being no way for the air to permeate -the soil, the latter is left hard and unyielding, so that the roots are -by turns drowned in liquid mud and held fast in a tenacious paste that -has been baked by the sun. Drainage overcomes these difficulties, and -consequently all rich soils that hold rain-water for some time before -infiltration are much improved by being properly drained.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII - -PARING AND BURNING - - -“You see that man over there on the hillside,” said Uncle Paul, -pointing to a laborer who, with a large hoe, was paring the ground, so -to speak, by shaving off great squares of earth covered with grass and -weeds and shrubs. “You see how he stands those pieces up, either in -pairs, back to back, or one at a time, so bent or vaulted that they -will stay upright by themselves. Thus the air is allowed to circulate -and dry them rapidly. If we come back in a few days, after sun and air -have done their work and the drying process is complete, we shall find -our man there again at his work; and we shall see how he piles up the -turf with the earthy side upward and outward. In the middle of the pile -he leaves a cavity which he fills with brushwood and dry leaves. Then -he sets fire to the whole. A second pile is constructed in the same -manner and likewise set on fire. Soon the entire hillside is covered -with a great number of these small furnaces, burning slowly and sending -out long trails of smoke. In a few days, three or four at most, the -fires burn themselves out, and then, as soon as all the piles are cold, -the mixture of ashes and calcined earth is spread over the ground with -a shovel. This agricultural operation is known as paring and burning, -and is carried out for the purpose of rendering arable a tract of land -not yet under cultivation and still covered with wild vegetation. - -“The operation of paring and burning produces two effects, one with -reference to the clay in the soil, the other having to do with the -ashes left from the burning of the weeds. Clay, as you know, is a -tenacious, binding substance, impervious to both air and water. -Consequently a soil that is too clayey is unfavorable for vegetation, -furnishing the roots with insufficient air and moisture. Now, when clay -is heated to a high temperature, it acquires very different properties: -it no longer makes paste by the addition of water, but is porous, -permeable, and readily admits air and water. The paring-and-burning -process, therefore, improves an argillaceous soil by calcining the clay -and rendering it permeable. That is as much as to say that if paring -and burning are beneficial to heavy or clayey soils, they are, on the -other hand, harmful to those that are light or sandy. - -“Finally, the operation just described affects the soil through the -ashes of the burnt weeds. After the combustion of all vegetable matter -there remains an earthy powder or ash comprising the mineral substances -contained in that vegetable matter, substances unchanged by combustion -because of their great resistance to heat. The most important of these -is potash. All the ingredients that once belonged to the burnt plants -are evidently adapted to the formation of new plants. The ashes, then, -of the weeds consumed in the process of paring and burning will be very -useful to the plants about to be raised on the land that has been burnt -over. By the burning, however, it is impossible to turn to account all -that the weeds contained: what escapes in the form of smoke is so much -lost. Hence care should be taken not to carry combustion too far. In -this connection the calcined clay renders still another service. By -becoming porous through calcination its nature is altered so that it -can absorb and retain the gaseous products of combustion and thus save -just so much waste. But if a soil lacks clay, paring and burning are -harmful, and it is better simply to turn the weeds under, whereupon -they will be converted into mold instead of being dissipated in the -atmosphere as smoke. - -“Ashes other than those resulting from paring and burning are also used -as an agricultural fertilizer, though they are rarely put to this use -just as they are, because the contained potash, a highly valuable -substance, is first extracted by leaching. After this process the ashes -are called buck-ashes. They contain silica and also carbonate and -phosphate of lime, all in a condition most favorable for assimilation -by plants. Of less strength than ordinary ashes, leached ashes -nevertheless produce good results, especially on clayey soil. Coal -ashes, too, it should be added, serve to lighten a heavy soil since -they contain a large proportion of calcined clay. - -“The subject of ashes leads us naturally to that of soot, a substance -composed of vegetable matter incompletely decomposed by heat and -containing ammonia, which renders it highly efficacious as a -fertilizer. It is applied to young plants, giving them an increased -vigor of growth. By its acrid quality, moreover, it is excellent as a -protection against insects that attack vegetation.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV - -WINE-MAKING - - -“When wine is heated, there is first an escape of an inflammable vapor -that burns with a bluish flame. A person needs only to have seen once -this preparation of hot wine to recall that curious flame flickering -over the boiling liquid and darting up little blue tongues. Now, this -inflammable vapor comes from alcohol, a fluid substance that gives to -wine its peculiar properties and is hence sometimes called spirits of -wine. There are, then, in wine two distinct liquids, one easily -reducible to vapor and called alcohol, the other slower to vaporize and -recognizable as water. This does not mean that the wine has been -watered: the water in question is not there as the result of fraud; it -belongs naturally to the wine and comes from grapes just as alcohol -does. Wine is therefore a natural mixture of a small proportion of -alcohol with a great quantity of water. In our ordinary wines the -proportion of alcohol for each hundred quarts of liquid varies from -nine to fourteen quarts. - -“Wine is made from the juice of grapes. This juice, as it is pressed -out of the sweet grapes, has none of the taste or smell peculiar to -wine, for it does not yet contain any alcohol; but it does have an -agreeably sweet taste, the same taste that makes grapes so desirable a -fruit for the table. This pleasant flavor is due to a sort of sugar -present in the grapes. Examine carefully a handful of raisins such as -you buy at the grocer’s: you will detect on their surface, certain tiny -white grains that crunch under the teeth and have a sweet savor. Those -grains are little particles of sugar that have collected on the outside -of the grapes during the process of drying. Grapes, then, must contain -sugar. - -“Well now, this sugar is exactly what causes the formation of alcohol. -What is sugar in the fresh juice of grapes is alcohol in the same juice -after it has fermented and turned to wine. Let us consider briefly how -this change comes about. - -“The vintage is first of all subjected to a process of treading by men -who trample on the grapes in large vats, after which the resulting -mixture of juice and skins is left to ‘work,’ as we say. Before long -this liquid mush begins to heat of its own accord, and presently there -sets in a sort of boiling which liberates big bubbles of gas as if -there were a fire underneath. This working process is called -fermentation, and its seat is in the sugar of the grape-juice. Little -by little the sugar decomposes, splits apart as we might say, into two -substances very different from each other and also very different from -the sugar whence they came. Of these two substances one is alcohol; the -other is a gas already known to us—carbonic acid, the same gas that -plants feed on and that animals give forth in breathing; the same, -finally, as that produced by burning coal. The alcohol remains in the -liquid, which thus gradually loses its original sweet taste and -acquires instead a vinous flavor. The gas, on the contrary, works its -way to the surface, agitating the mass with a sort of tumultuous -movement like that of boiling water, and is dissipated in the -atmosphere. - -“Let us bear in mind that carbonic acid gas is as invisible as the air -itself, that it has no odor, no color, and finally that it kills -quickly if inhaled in any considerable quantity. That explains the -danger lurking in a wine-vat during fermentation, or even in a -wine-cellar that lacks sufficient ventilation to carry off the perilous -gas. No one should enter such places without holding before one a -lighted taper at the end of a long stick. While the taper continues to -burn in the usual manner, one can proceed without fear: there is no -carbonic acid gas present. But if the flame becomes dim, gets smaller -and smaller, and finally goes out altogether, one must beat a hasty -retreat, for the extinction of the taper is a sure sign of the presence -of carbonic acid gas, and further advance would mean exposing oneself -to imminent death. - -“But to return to the subject of wine-making, we were saying that the -sugar which imparts its sweet taste to the must (that is, the -unfermented grape-juice) changes its nature and divides into two parts: -alcohol, which remains in the liquid and turns it to wine, and carbonic -acid gas, which is dissipated in the atmosphere. When this process is -finished the wine is drawn off, leaving behind the residuum of skins -and pips. The final product is thus composed of a large quantity of -water from the grapes themselves, a small quantity of alcohol from the -sugar which has undergone the chemical change just described, and, -finally, a coloring substance furnished by the dark grape-skins. - -“White wine is made from white grapes, which have skins with no -coloring matter; but it can very well be made from dark grapes, colored -though they are. The secret consists simply in this: the crushed grapes -are pressed before fermentation begins. In this way the juice is -separated from the skins, and, these latter being removed, the wine -will be white even with dark grapes. In short, the coloring matter in -grapes which gives its hue to red wine is contained solely in the -skins; and furthermore it is insoluble in water, but easily soluble in -alcohol. Hence it is only after fermentation has made some progress -that the liquid becomes colored by the dissolving of the coloring -matter through the agency of the alcohol that has been generated. -Accordingly, if the skins are removed before the juice ferments and -generates alcohol, the wine remains white, since it no longer contains -any coloring matter to dissolve. - -“Some wines force out the corks from their bottles and are covered with -foam on being poured into glasses. These are foamy wines, and to -produce them the bottling must be done before fermentation is finished. -The carbonic acid gas then continues to form, but as it finds no way of -escape since the bottle is tightly corked, it dissolves in the liquid -and accumulates there, though all the while endeavoring to free itself; -and that is what makes the cork pop with a sharp report when the string -that holds it down is cut; that is what causes the wine to rush foaming -out of the bottle; and, finally, that is what gives the bead to a glass -of wine and makes a slight crackling sound as the bubbles burst on the -surface. - -“Foamy wine has a pungent but agreeable taste owing to the carbonic -acid it contains. We drink, dispersed through the liquid, the same gas -as would kill us if freely inhaled; but it has no terrors except when -thus inhaled. Mixed with our drinks, it imparts to them a slightly tart -flavor, harmless and even salubrious, since it aids digestion. There is -carbonic acid gas in nearly all water that we drink, and it is in fact -by reason of this gas that water is able to hold in solution the small -proportion of stony matter that contributes toward the formation of our -bones. It is to this gas, finally, that effervescent lemonade, cider, -beer, and Seltzer water owe their pungency and their foam.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLV - -THE STAG-BEETLE - - -“One of the joys of your time of life, I am sure,” resumed Uncle Paul, -as he and his hearers seated themselves in the shade of an old oak tree -amid the humming and whirring of insect life all about them, “is the -study of the little creatures of field and farm and forest, so -interesting in their mode of life, so varied in their forms and colors. -You chase the splendid butterfly from flower to flower, you take up the -cockchafer and put it on a bed of fresh leaves, with a straw you drive -the cricket from its hole. The insect that amuses you can also instruct -you. In our modest studies let us now have a little talk on this -subject. - -“What is this tiny creature with the stout coat-of-mail of chestnut -color? Its large head, showing parallel folds that might have been -carved by a sculptor’s hand, is armed with two branching nippers which -open like a pair of tongs and then close, mangling between their teeth -the finger they have seized. Woe to the giddy-pate that lets himself be -caught by them! The trap closes tighter and tighter and never lets go. - -“But, vigorous as are its mandibles, the insect is not one to be afraid -of, provided only you look out for those nippers. For all its -threatening aspect, it is at bottom a peaceful creature. Catch it by -one leg and it will fly round and round like the June-bug. It is called -the stag-beetle, a name that explains itself, for it has branching -mandibles resembling a stag’s horns, and it belongs to the family of -beetles. Put the two words together and you have ‘stag-beetle.’ - -“The singular creature has not always been as we see it to-day. In its -youth, not later than last year, it had neither its present mandibles -nor its six legs nor its chestnut-colored coat-of-mail. In fact, its -form had nothing in common with what we now behold. Then it was a big, -fat worm, with fine white skin, crawling on legs so small and feeble as -hardly to deserve mention. - -“The whole animal consisted of little more than a crawling stomach -unprovided with any protection. The head alone was fortified with a -substantial skull of horn, and it also bore, one on the right side of -the mouth, the other on the left, two short but strong teeth adapted to -cutting in pieces the wood of the oak, its sole nourishment. - -“Such a worm, entirely naked, evidently cannot live in the open air, -where the thousand little roughnesses of the ground would be -continually wounding its delicate skin. It must have a safe shelter -that it need not leave until it has become the well-armored insect we -now see. The grub of the stag-beetle does in fact live inside the oak, -which affords it at once food and lodging. There, in the depths of the -tree-trunk, is its inviolable retreat. - -“With its two teeth, as hard and sharp as a carpenter’s tool, it cuts -away, patiently, bit by bit, the fresh wood imbued with sap. Each -fragment thus detached is a mouthful for the worm’s nourishment; but as -it is by no means a rich diet there must be a good deal of it to -furnish enough nutriment. Therefore the gnawing goes on without -cessation, in all directions, with a corresponding enlargement of the -domicile, which soon becomes a labyrinth of galleries that go up and -down and cross one another, penetrate farther into the trunk or -approach the surface, at the pleasure of the occupant, whose choice is -determined by its taste for morsels lying in this or that direction. - -“For three or four years this is the worm’s mode of life. To make -itself big and fat is its sole business, and to this it devotes itself -with vigor. I leave you to imagine what must become of an oak tree -worked by a dozen of these gnawing creatures. Under the bark, which is -almost intact, the trunk is one vast wound, perforated with galleries -that are themselves littered with wormhole dust, and oozing with a -brown juice that smells like a tannery. Unless the forester applies a -remedy, and that speedily, the enormous oak will be ruined. Leaving -this care to his charge, let us go on with our story. - -“When it has become big enough and fat enough, after at least three -years of continual feasting, the worm prepares to change its form. Near -the surface, that its future exit may be the easier, the little -creature hollows out a sufficiently large oval chamber and lines it -with a sort of wadding made of the finest fibers of the wood. Thus the -tender flesh of the rejuvenated insect will be protected from all rude -outer contact. - -“These precautions taken, the worm undergoes its transfiguration: it -splits open all down the back, strips off its skin, throws it away like -a discarded garment, and is born a second time, as one might say, but -under a totally different form. It is no longer a worm—far from it—but -it is not yet a stag-beetle, although the outlines of the latter are -already discernible. - -“The creature is quite motionless, as if dead. The legs, neatly folded -over the stomach, are as transparent as crystals; the nippers are -pressed close to the breast; the wings, not yet expanded, have the -appearance of a short scarf encircling the flanks; and the whole is -swathed in swaddling-clothes finer in texture than an onion skin. The -entire organism is wrapped in a repose so profound that one might think -all life extinct. It is white or crystalline in appearance, and so -tender that a mere nothing will wound it. The coarse worm of the -beginning has been succeeded by this most delicate of creatures. - -“Out of the material amassed by the wood-gnawer’s voracious appetite -there is created an entirely new being. The flesh, at first nearly -fluid, slowly acquires consistency; the skin hardens, assumes a -chestnut hue, takes on the firmness of horn; in fact, when the warm -season returns again the insect wakes up from that deep sleep, not of -death, but nevertheless very much like it. The creature moves, tears -apart the swathing bands under which its rebirth has taken place, -strips off these wrappings, and here at last we have the insect in its -full perfection. Behold the stag-beetle! - -“It comes out from its native oak, spreads its wings in flight under -cover of the foliage, and settles down, now on this tree, now on that, -in the rays of the sun. The freedom of the open air and the enjoyment -of the light of day constitute its supreme felicity for which it has -been preparing during the three or four years of constant toil in the -dark galleries of an old oak. - -“Thenceforth it grows no larger. Just as it was on emerging from its -cell, so it will remain to the end, without the least increase either -in weight or in bulk. Thus it leads a very staid existence. In its grub -state the famished creature gnawed wood night and day; its life was a -perpetual digestion. Now, on the contrary, all that it needs in the way -of sustenance is an occasional sip of the sweetened sap oozing from the -bark of the tree. - -“But its days of idle delight are numbered; it has scarcely a couple of -months to spend joyously among the oak trees. Then it lays its eggs, -one by one, in the crevices of tree-trunks, to propagate its kind; and, -that done, it very soon dies. It has played its part. From those eggs -will come forth worms which will patiently work their way into the -wood, hollow out galleries there in their turn, and begin all over -again the very sort of existence led by their fore-fathers. - -“The greater number of insects have the same life-history as the -stag-beetle: they pass through different stages before taking on their -final form. All without exception, the smallest as well as the largest, -come from eggs deposited by the mother in chosen places where the -needed nourishment, so variable in different species, is easy to find. - -“From the egg emerges, not the finished insect with all its distinctive -traits, but a provisional creature bearing, very often, no resemblance -to the parent or to the matured offspring of that parent. This initial -form we called a worm in speaking of the stag-beetle, and the name is -in that instance appropriate; but in a multitude of cases it would be -incorrect, having no agreement with the creature’s appearance. We then -call it a larva. - -“The larva is therefore the insect under the form it presents on -emerging from the egg. Its continuance in this form is longer than in -that of the finally perfected creature. The larva of the stag-beetle -remains a larva for three or four years, whereas the beetle itself -lives but a couple of months. The sole occupation of this grub is -eating, continual eating, that it may grow fat and store up supplies -enough to carry it through its subsequent transformations. - -“Having attained sufficient size, the larva constructs a retreat for -itself, hollows out a little cell, and spins a cocoon where in perfect -quiet the delicate task of transformation will be undertaken. It strips -off its skin and becomes an inert, formative body known as a nymph. - -“Finally, the nymph, having arrived at the right degree of maturity, -casts off its wrappings and reveals itself as transformed into a -perfect insect. It lays its eggs, and the same succession of changes is -again repeated. The egg, the larva, the nymph, the perfect insect—there -you have the four stages of the insect’s life. These changes of form -are called metamorphoses.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI - -SHEATH-WINGED INSECTS - - -“I show you here the scarab, clothed all in black. Passionate lover of -the sun, it rarely strays beyond the regions bordering on the -Mediterranean. It belongs to the band of scavengers, a group of -handsome insects which, feeding on ordure, are charged with the -sanitation of the greensward defiled by grazing herds. - -“Its favorite dish is the dung of horses and mules. With the toothed -edges of its head it rummages in the dung; with its wide, serrate fore -legs it cuts up this material, kneads it, and molds it into a ball -about as large as an apricot. This done, the next thing is to seek out -some quiet retreat far from the hubbub of its fellows who have been -drawn to the spot for as much as a kilometer round about by the odor; -and of course the booty must be trundled away to this secure retreat, -there to be eaten at ease, without fear of predatory assaults from the -envious. - -“This task is performed in couples. One hooks on to the globule in -front and pulls with head up; the other pushes from behind with head -down. Heave ho! It starts, it rolls, under the combined efforts of the -two partners. On the down grade the load again and again runs away with -the team, which falls headlong, gets up again, and catches hold of the -cargo once more with an ardor that nothing can discourage. Under the -rays of a scorching sun this store of provision is thus dragged a long -distance over the sand, across the greensward, and over ruts. Perhaps -the scarabs find their bread at first not sufficiently compact, and -seek to give it consistency by rolling it on the ground. Every one -according to his fancy. - -“At last a favorable spot is selected in a sandy tract. One of the two -proprietors hollows out in all haste a dining-room, while the other -stands guard without over the globular treasure, ready to defend it -stoutly against any chance marauder. As soon as the dining-room is -ready the provisions are stored away there, after which the two -colleagues shut themselves up in their domicile, safe from unwelcome -visitors, closing their door with sand. So there they are at table, -with their heap of victuals in front of them; and now for a good feast! -When the board is bare again, the two banqueters leave their dugout to -gather together a new globule and resume their feasting. - -“The scarab is not found everywhere, the more’s the pity, for its -manner of life is very curious to watch. Wanting this manufacturer of -globules, we nevertheless do have everywhere other scavengers which -work in somewhat similar fashion. Out of ordure they put together -little balls of the size of a cherry, and sometimes they roll away -their plunder, as does the scarab, bury it in the ground, and there -regale themselves on it. Their trade of making these little balls or -pills has given them the expressive name of pill-mixers. - -“Let us pass on to other kinds. This one, for example, is called the -calosoma. By reason of the elegance of its form and the richness of its -coloring it is one of the most beautiful insects of our region. Its -back has the brilliance of a gem such as no jeweler ever possessed. One -would really take it to be made of gold, but gold of a peculiar sort -and much richer than ours, flashing as it does with red, green, and -purple glints. There is nothing to compare with this dazzling costume. -It should be added that if the insect is taken between the fingers it -emits, as a means of defense, a strong odor reminding one of a -chemist’s disagreeable drugs. - -“The calosoma does not share the scarab’s peaceful habits: it is an -ardent hunter and leads a life of carnage. Its prey is the caterpillar, -the bigger the better, whether smooth-skinned or hairy. If you happen -to find a calosoma, put it into a good-sized bottle and give it for -dinner a lusty young caterpillar as large as your finger. You will see -with what ferocious satisfaction this drinker of blood will disembowel -the poor worm, despite all its writhing and squirming, and will feast -on its green entrails. - -“The carabid, which is also a passionate lover of game, has the -calosoma’s activity and brilliance, but is of smaller size. Some are -bronze in color, others golden, still others of a copper tint, or black -edged with a superb violet. All explore with keen scrutiny the thick -tufts of grass, and give chase to small prey such as larvæ, -caterpillars, and worms. The most common example of this class wears a -golden green coat and is a frequenter of gardens, where it makes war on -all kinds of vermin. It is the little guardian of our beds of peas and -beans, and of our flower borders. In honor of its services to the -garden we call it the gardener. - -“The calosoma and the carabid do not fly; they are made for running, as -is evident from their long legs, their agile movements, and their lithe -form. They chase the game in hot pursuit, or else lie in wait for it -behind a leaf, but never pursue it on the wing. On the other hand, the -scarab, the common June-bug, and a host of other insects fly very -well.” - -“But why don’t they all fly?” asked Emile. - -“I will tell you,” replied his uncle. “Look carefully at the June-bug a -moment. It has two kinds of wings: on the outside two large and -substantial scales of horn, and beneath these two fine membranous -wings, expanded during flight, but carefully folded together and -concealed when not in use. The outside scales are called elytra, or -sheaths. They serve as a case for enclosing and protecting the delicate -membranous wings, which alone are fitted for flying. The carabid and -the calosoma have sheaths of splendid brilliance, it is true, but -beneath these sheaths there are no membranous wings to spread -themselves in flight and fold up again in repose. Hence these two -insects are unable to fly. - -“The dytiscus and the hydrophile, whose names signify ‘diver’ and -‘water-lover’ respectively, both frequent the waters of deep ponds, of -ditches, and of pools. With their legs flattened out like oars, their -very smooth bodies, arched above and keel-shaped below, they are -first-rate swimmers and divers. It is a feast for the eye to follow the -graceful agility of their oars when they row calmly on the surface or -plunge beneath it. - -“At the least alarm they dart quickly to the bed of the pond and take -refuge amid the water plants. On the instant of diving their belly is -seen to flash like a plate of polished silver. The reason of this -borrowed sheen is found in a thin layer of air that they carry with -them adherent to the belly. With this supply they will have air to -breathe until, all danger past, they ascend again to the surface. - -“In the matter of costume these two master-swimmers are of modest -appearance. Both are of a very somber olive green, but in addition the -dytiscus wears faded gold lace on its sheaths. If the pond dries up or -ceases to please them, they can quickly betake themselves to -another—not on foot, for their flattened legs, excellent as oars, are -worthless in walking, but by flight, with the help of their membranous -wings, ordinarily hidden under the sheaths, where the water cannot -reach them. - -“In old oak trees the larva of the capricorn-beetle, another ravager of -forests, leads much the same kind of life as does the grub of the -stag-beetle. Large in size, all black with gleams of chestnut, this -insect is remarkable for its jointed horns, which are longer than its -body. What can it do with these cumbersome ornaments? Does it wear them -on its forehead to intimidate the foe? I would not venture to dispute -the matter, but what I do know very well is that with its extravagantly -long horns it frightens the inexperienced young pupil so that he dares -not touch it, and he calls it the devil. All the same, the -capricorn-beetle does not deserve the evil reputation it has got from -the timid. It is perfectly harmless. - -“Insects’ horns are called antennæ. All have them, some longer and some -shorter, now of one shape, now of another. In some instances they are -flexible filaments, jointed chaplets; in others, short stems ending in -either a cluster of little buds or a bunch of leaves pressed one -against the other. See for example the burly and magnificent insect -that browses the foliage of our pine-trees on warm summer days. It is -called the pine-beetle. On a chestnut background it wears a sprinkling -of white spots. The antennæ carry at the end a set of little plates or -scales which open and shut like the leaves of a book. - -“It is in place here to mention the common June-bug, furnished like the -pine-beetle with antennæ bearing leaf-clusters at the end. I propose to -tell you its story in detail; for, if this little creature is the joy -of young people of your age, it is also the terror of the farmer. - -“But first one word more to conclude our short story of sheath-winged -insects. Their number is immense. Nearly all have membranous wings -under the protecting case formed by the sheaths; and these can fly. -Others, relatively few, are unprovided with membranous wings, and hence -are unfitted for flight. This entire group bears the general name of -coleoptera, meaning sheath-winged. A coleopter is any insect furnished -with sheaths, whether it flies or not.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII - -THE JUNE-BUG - - -“It is a discovery of no small importance in your eyes, my young -friends, when you find the first June-bug of the season on the young -foliage. In the evening you get together in a corner and talk about it, -you make plans for the morrow, and all your conversation is about the -June-bug that has just arrived. You arrange to get up early the next -day and shake the trees in order to bring down the sleeping insects; -you get ready a box, pierced with holes, to receive the captives, and -put in a handful of fresh leaves for them to feed on. - -“At the first streak of dawn you are up; you visit the willows, the -poplars, the hawthorn hedges wet with dew. It is a fruitful hunt: the -June-bugs, benumbed by the chill of night, fall like hail when you -shake the branches. Soon you have a half a score of them, then a dozen, -then twenty. It is enough. You go back to the house with your prisoners -fluttering and struggling in the foot of an old stocking, in your -handkerchief, or in your cap. You bring a supply of green leaves. - -“And now for your experiments! You tie a long string to the leg of one -of the beetles and put the insect in the sun. It inflates and deflates -its belly, raises its wing-sheaths, and expands its wings. There it -goes, into the air. Your experiment has succeeded. These delights of -the June-bug season, my children—enjoy them as long as you can. Other -pleasures pale beside them. In view of the amusement it affords you I -gladly welcome the June-bug. But turn now to a less pleasing aspect of -the matter. - -“Like every other insect, the June-bug is at first a grub. In that form -it lives three years in the ground, whereas in its final state, when it -is found on trees and bushes, it lives but two or three weeks. This -grub or larva is commonly called the white grub, also the fish-worm, -and sometimes the ground-hog. Look at it carefully for a moment and -tell me what you see.” - -“I see,” answered Louis, “a fat, big-bellied worm, slow in its -movements, and fond of lying curled up on its side. It is of a whitish -color with a yellowish head.” - -“Yes, and what else?” - -“It has six legs, not made for running on the surface of the ground, -but for crawling underneath; and it has strong jaws for biting the -roots of plants. Its head is capped with horn to help it in boring -through the soil.” - -“Very good,” was Uncle Paul’s approving comment; “and you see how the -stomach is distended with food, which shows in a darker tint through -the white skin of the paunch. So gorged is the worm, in fact, that it -cannot stand on its legs, but lies lazily on its side. - -“For three years this fat grub lives under ground, always under ground, -tunneling like a mole in all directions, and living on roots. Then it -makes for itself a little chamber out of earth, very smooth inside, and -shuts itself up there; after which it proceeds to transform itself into -a nymph, and then into a June-bug. Everything serves it for food: the -roots of grass and of trees, of cereals and of fodder, of vegetables -and of flowers. In winter it buries itself deep in the ground and -becomes torpid; at the approach of spring it returns to the upper -layers of the soil, installs itself among the roots, and goes from -plant to plant, leaving devastation in its path. You have, let us -suppose, a fine bed of lettuce in your garden. From no apparent cause, -some morning, you find it all withered. You pull up one of the plants, -and it proves to have no root; the white grub has cut it away. Or you -have a nursery of young fruit trees for your orchard. The terrible worm -passes that way, and your nursery is good for nothing but fire-wood. Or -you have sown several acres with wheat or rape, you have made a -considerable outlay for fertilizer and labor; but there is promise of a -handsome harvest with large profit to you. The larva of the June-bug -works its way up from the depths, and then good-bye to your harvest; -the stalks dry up as they stand, having no roots left to sustain them. -When this formidable worm invades a country, famine would surely follow -were it not that traffic facilities make possible the speedy -importation of provisions from other lands. We live in a progressive -age and, thanks to the means of transport and to the briskness of -trade, people do not die of hunger in a province whose fields have been -devastated by the white grub. They do not die of hunger, but what woe -follows in the wake of the devouring larva! Year in and year out, it -destroys millions of francs’ worth of crops in France alone. - -“The multitude of these little insects is truly terrifying. When they -invade a field, the earth, undermined in all directions, loses its -firmness and yields under the pressure of the foot. One year, in the -department of the Sarthe, the ravages became so serious that it was -necessary to undertake a systematic destruction of the pest. The -June-bug was hunted on a large scale, and sixty thousand decaliters -were gathered in, each decaliter containing about five thousand -insects. Thus the total number taken amounted to three hundred -millions. To give you some idea of the immensity of this number I will -add that if you should try to count those three hundred million -insects, one by one, it would take you more than twenty years, working -ten hours a day. - -“In the department of the Lower Seine there was at one time found to be -an average of twenty-three larvæ of the June-bug to the square meter, -or two hundred and thirty thousand devourers to each hectare. A hectare -will raise a crop of one hundred thousand beets. Thus each beet was -gnawed by at least two worms. Allowing eighty thousand rape-stalks to -the hectare, we find each stalk feeding three worms, or very nearly. It -is clear that under these desperate conditions no rape-seed oil or -beet-root sugar can be produced. Every plant perishes. In the single -year 1866 the Lower Seine lost from this cause about twenty-five -million francs. - -“In 1868, in different parts of France, notably in Normandy, the -multiplication of June-bugs was so great as to spread alarm throughout -the rural districts. Trees were completely stripped of their foliage, -and in the evening, when the insects fly abroad, such clouds of them -encumbered the atmosphere as to make it difficult to walk about. Almost -everywhere there were June-bug hunts organized, and those who gathered -the insects received from the public treasury from four to six francs -per hundred liters. In one place alone, Fontaine-Mallet, near Havre, -there were gathered four thousand and fifty-nine kilograms of the -insects in four days. The school-master sent his pupils out after -June-bugs, and four hundred and forty kilograms was the result of one -day’s collecting. All these insects were carted to Havre by the -wagon-load and drowned in the sea. In certain communes they were -brought to the town hall in such quantities that there was no way of -disposing of them. The air reeked with the stench they made. - -“It is said that in 1668 the June-bugs destroyed all the vegetation in -one county of Ireland, so that the country presented the dead -appearance of winter. The sound made by the insects’ mandibles in -browsing the foliage of the trees was like that of a carpenter’s saw, -and the hum of wings resembled the distant beating of drums. Enveloped -in clouds of insects and blinded by the living hail, the inhabitants -could hardly see to go about. The famine was horrible: the poor Irish -people were even obliged to eat the June-bugs to keep from starving.” - -“Oh, how awful that must have been!” exclaimed the group of listeners. - -“Yes, awful, indeed,” assented Uncle Paul, “and I have a few more -instances to relate, less lamentable than the Irish famine, it is true, -but still of a nature to show us how prodigious were the legions of -June-bugs in certain years. In 1832, in the neighborhood of Gisors, a -stage-coach became enveloped at nightfall in a cloud of these insects. -Blinded and terrified, the horses obstinately refused to go on. Finally -there was nothing to do but turn about and go back, so completely did -the humming swarm bar the way. Forty years ago the June-bugs descended -upon Mâcon after ravaging the vineyards in its vicinity. They were -scooped up in the streets by the shovelful, and to make one’s way -through the cloud of beetles one had to clear a passage by the -energetic brandishing of a stick. - -“Since the June-bug is so redoubtable a scourge to agriculture, since -it is a foe with which one must reckon most seriously, how, you will -ask, is it to be got rid of? There is one way, and only one: collecting -and destroying both grubs and beetles. We can count to a certain extent -on the help of moles, hedge-hogs, ravens, crows, and magpies, all of -which hunt the larvæ, especially in newly ploughed fields; and we can -also count on the aid of a host of birds such as shrikes, sparrows, and -others, which devour the beetles; but the number of the enemy is so -great that this destruction by natural means does not always suffice. -We must then lend an energetic hand ourselves. Which of the two is to -enjoy the fruits of the earth, man or June-bug? Man, if he will but -bestir himself and wage unceasing war on both the insect and its larva. - -“The white grub, as I told you, bores into the earth more or less -deeply according to the season. In winter it goes down half a meter, a -depth at which it is protected from the frost. Upon the return of -milder weather it comes up again, to be within reach of the roots; and -from the first of April it can be found by digging down twenty -centimeters. A favorable time, therefore, is chosen for turning up the -earth and bringing the larvæ to the surface, whereupon women and -children, following after the plough, gather up the white grubs in the -furrows. A single hectare has been known to yield in this way from two -hundred to three hundred kilograms of worms. The vermin are pressed -down into the earth with lime, the whole making an excellent manure, -and the enemy of harvests thus serves to accelerate their growth.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII - -CATERPILLARS AND BUTTERFLIES - - -“Of all insects butterflies are the most graceful, the most worthy of -childhood’s eager desire. Oh, how beautiful they are! Poised on a -flower, they seem to form a part of it and to animate it with the -gentle beating of their wings. You cautiously draw near, you crouch -down and make a quick clutch with the hand, but the beautiful creature -is no longer there. It is waiting for you on another flower, quite -unconcerned at your designs on its freedom. Let us leave it, then, to -flit from one cluster of lilacs to another, and occupy ourselves a -while with an account of its structure and habits. - -“All butterflies have four wings suitable for flying, two upper and -larger ones, and two lower ones half hidden under the others. Here we -find no horny sheaths such as are worn by the scarab and the June-bug, -no protecting case under which the membranous wings are folded to guard -against laceration. The scarab is a clod-hopper, well acquainted with -the harsh irregularities of the ground. He pursues his plodding course -on foot, and it is only rarely that he spreads his wings in flight. The -butterfly is a delicate creature of the air, very seldom using its legs -for walking, but finding them of service when it alights upon a flower. -It has, therefore, four broad wings, wide-spread and always ready for -flight. - -“And what wings! Words are lacking to describe them fitly. Some are -white as if coated with flour, others sky-blue, and still others -sulphur-yellow. Again you find them of a flame-like red or dark -crimson. Some have round spots like eyes, which look at you with their -large pupils encircled by azure, mother-of-pearl, or gold; and you will -see others speckled with black, adorned with silver lace, or fringed -with carmine. If you touch them they leave on your fingers a brilliant -powder beside which the filings of the precious metals would look dull. - -“This dust might be called the butterfly’s plumage. It consists of -scales of extreme delicacy, placed regularly side by side like the -tiles on a roof, and attached by one end to the membrane of the wing -just as a bird’s feathers have their quills implanted in its skin. -Grasped roughly between the fingers, the wing parts with its delicate -covering; it loses its ornamental scales and shows naked to the view. -It is then a fine, translucent membrane traversed by a network of tiny -ribs, or nervures, as they are called, which hold it expanded and give -it firmness. - -“At rest, butterflies do not all carry their wings in the same manner. -Those that fly by day and go from flower to flower in full sunlight, -hold their wings erect on the back and folded against each other. These -butterflies are also recognized by their brilliant coloring, their -lightness on the wing, their grace of form. Those, [6] on the other -hand, that fly either by night or at evening twilight bear their wings, -in repose, either outspread or else lightly folded in a sort of -roof-shape. They are of bulkier form and heavier than the -first-mentioned, and sombre hues predominate in their costume. - -“Whether friends of light or fond of darkness, whether courting the -sunshine or lovers of the night, butterflies are invariably very -abstemious, finding all the nourishment they require in the tiny drop -of honey exuding at the bottom of a flower. Many flowers have long and -narrow mouths; no insect muzzle is slender enough to reach into flasks -like these and lap up the syrup, and therefore butterflies must have a -special instrument adapted to the purpose. - -“This instrument is the proboscis, as fine as a hair and long enough to -reach to the exquisite drop, however deeply it may be hidden. When not -in use, this proboscis is kept tightly coiled at the entrance to the -insect’s mouth. When it finds a flower to its taste, it uncoils this -spiral and extends the proboscis in a long thread which plunges into -the narrow-necked bottle and proceeds to suck up the coveted drop. If -we wished to drink from a flask of similar shape, we should use a straw -or reed. Its proboscis is the butterfly’s straw with which it takes its -refreshment from the flowers. - -“As with other insects, the butterfly is at first a larva or worm, very -different, you understand, from what the creature will afterward -become. The larvæ of butterflies are nothing in the world but -caterpillars.” - -“Oh, how disgusting!” cried Emile, making a wry face. - -“But nevertheless so it is,” proceeded his uncle. “Caterpillars, -repugnant creatures to us, change into those magnificent butterflies -that we are never tired of admiring. What was ugly becomes beautiful, -what was frightful finds itself the proud possessor of grace and charm. - -“There are some caterpillars that have the skin quite naked and mottled -with various colors in a manner not unpleasing to the eye. To touch -these worms, even to handle them, inspires little or no fear, so -harmless do they look. But there are others, of a larger size, which -carry on the back, toward the rear, a menacing horn, a sort of hook, of -which it seems prudent to beware. This apprehension, however, is -groundless: the horn is inoffensive, being not a weapon but a mere -ornament. Caterpillars thus equipped become large butterflies flying in -the late evening twilight. - -“Still others have an even more repulsive look, bristling as they do -with clusters of prickles and with tufts of long hair. From these ugly -creatures, whose very touch would be so disagreeable to us and would -make us utter cries of fear, come some of the most beautiful -butterflies of our part of the world. Such is the caterpillar that -browses the leaves of the nettle and becomes the Vanessa Io or -peacock-butterfly. It is black with white spots, and wears a rough -armor of toothed prickles. The butterfly, the Vanessa, has wings of a -bright brick-red adorned with a large eye of mingled black, violet, and -blue. Who would ever imagine, unless he had seen the transformation or -heard about it, that so ravishing a creature has such an origin? - -“But for all their hairs and prickles caterpillars need cause us no -alarm. Nothing about them justifies the fear they too often inspire. No -caterpillar is poisonous, no caterpillar seriously injures the hands -that touch it. Yet it is well not to repose full confidence in hairy -caterpillars: sometimes the hairs become detached and cling to the -fingers, causing rather lively itching sensations. But a little -scratching ordinarily ends the trouble. Accordingly any one who should -hereafter be afraid of caterpillars would not deserve the privilege of -chasing butterflies. - -“Every larva is a gluttonous eater, because it must grow big and -accumulate the wherewithal for its subsequent changes of form. Nor are -caterpillars lacking in response to this serious duty. The future -butterfly’s welfare is at stake. Made solely for eating, the larvæ gnaw -and browse unceasingly. Each one has its own particular kind of -sustenance, its chosen plant, and nothing else meets the requirements. -The larva of the Vanessa selects the nettle and turns with aversion -from all substitutes; that of the Pieris, a white butterfly with black -spots, will have only the cabbage; that of the Machaon, a butterfly -with large wings that end in a sort of tail, feasts on fennel; and so -of others. - -“After attaining the full size assigned to them by nature, -caterpillars, like other larvæ, prepare for their transformation. Some -shut themselves up in a cocoon made from a silken thread that they spin -from their mouth, while others content themselves with binding -together, by means of the small supply of thread at their disposal, -particles of earth, bits of wood, and hairs plucked from their own -body. Thus is obtained, at small expense, a sufficiently substantial -temporary abode. Finally, still others, especially among the -butterflies that fly in the daytime, merely seek a retreat on the side -of some wall or against a tree-trunk, and there suspend themselves in a -girdle of silk. - -“These precautions taken, the caterpillar strips off its skin and -becomes a nymph, but very different from that which the stag-beetle -showed us. The coleopter, in its nymph stage, was already recognizable, -with its branching mandibles, its legs folded on its stomach, and its -wings enclosed in their sheaths. The butterfly, on the contrary, is not -at all discernible under the casing of the nymph. This nymph, with skin -as tough as parchment, is an object little indicative of its true -nature and much more suggestive of the kernel of some strange fruit -than of any animal form. Because of its shape, so different from that -shown to us by ordinary nymphs, it has received a special name, that of -chrysalis. - -“This word means golden sheath. Sometimes, notably in the case of the -Vanessa, the chrysalis is adorned with gilding; but in the great -majority of instances the suggestive name is not deserved, a uniform -chestnut hue, darker or lighter, being the usual color of the -chrysalis. Ripened by long repose, this species of animal shell splits -down the back and releases the perfect insect, complete in all its -attributes. The butterfly passes a few festive days amid the flowers, -and before dying lays eggs whence will spring caterpillars to continue -the race.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX - -ANTS - - -“Ants live in communities, each containing many members, in underground -abodes, where the young are reared. These communities are composed of -three kinds of insects: males and females, recognizable by their large -transparent wings, four to each ant; and the neuters, or workers, which -have no wings. These last, the workers, build the house, take care of -the community, rear the larvæ and bring them their food, distributing -it to each one. The others do not work. To add to the population by -furnishing an abundant supply of eggs is all that they are expected to -do. - -“As soon as the rays of the morning sun strike the ant-hill, the -workers standing watch at the entrance hasten within, nudge their -comrades with their antennæ to wake them up, run from one to another, -urge them on, hustle them into activity, and put all the subterranean -galleries into lively commotion. First of all, attention must be given -to the larvæ, feeble transparent worms, without feet and unable to feed -themselves and to grow unless they receive assiduous care from their -nurses. - -“Accordingly, aroused by the tumult caused by the workers rushing in -from outside, the ants proceed to busy themselves with the larvæ and -also with the nymphs, carrying them with all possible expedition into -the open air and placing them where they will best be exposed for some -time to the benign influence of the sun’s heat. After this sun-bath -they are returned to the darkness and stowed away in chambers expressly -prepared for them. And now is the time for feeding the nurslings. - -“Just as little birds receive the beakful of food, so do the larvæ take -their nourishment. When they are hungry they raise themselves a little -and seek the mouth of some one of the workers engaged in ministering to -them. The nursing ant opens its mandibles and lets a tiny drop of -sweetened liquid be taken from its mouth. Thus, one suck at a time, the -nutritive juice is distributed until the entire brood is fed. - -“But carrying the larvæ into the sun and feeding them will not suffice: -they must also be kept in a state of extreme cleanliness. The workers -bestow upon their charges the same tender care that the mother cat -exercises toward her kittens. Over and over again they lick the -nursling’s body to give it perfect whiteness, and they tug cautiously -at the wrinkled skin when the transformation draws near. - -“Before casting this skin the larva spins itself a cocoon of silk, -elongated and cylindrical in shape, pale yellow in color, very smooth, -and compact in texture. Under cover of this protecting sac, the worm -becomes a nymph. In this form the ant assumes its final shape, lacking -only strength and a little firmness. All its members are distinct, but -enveloped in a fine membrane which it must strip off to become a -perfect insect. - -“If you disturb an ant-hill you will see the workers hastening to carry -away and put in a safe place certain cylindrical bodies having somewhat -the appearance of grains of wheat and very inappropriately called -ant-eggs. They are not the eggs of the insect, which are in reality -much smaller; they are cocoons with their contents, larvæ at first, -nymphs later. - -“When the time comes for leaving its cocoon, the enclosed ant is unable -of itself to gain its freedom by piercing with its mandibles the silken -envelope; it possesses nothing resembling the solvent liquid which the -silk-worm holds in reserve in its stomach; nor has it at the forward -end of its prison-cell a door for exit analogous to the curious paling -provided for the great peacock-butterfly. It would perish in its silk -sack if the working ants did not bestir themselves for its deliverance. - -“Three or four of these mount the cocoon and strive to open it at the -end corresponding to the prisoner’s head. They begin by weakening the -texture of the sac by tearing away a few threads of silk at the point -where the opening is to be made; then, nipping and twisting the tissue -so difficult to break through, they at last succeed in puncturing it -with a number of holes near one another, whereupon the mandibles are -applied at one of these holes just as one would apply a pair of -scissors, and a narrow strip is cut away. At this hard labor the ants -work in relays, toiling and resting by turn. One holds the narrow strip -that has been cut, while a second enlarges the opening, and a third -gently extricates the young ant from its natal sac. - -“At last the insect comes forth, but unable to walk or even to stand on -its legs, for it is still enswathed in a final membrane which it cannot -strip off unaided. The workers do not forsake it in this new -predicament; they free it from the satin envelope enwrapping all its -members; with delicate care they extricate the antennæ from their -sheaths; they disengage the feet and set the body at liberty. Then the -young ant is in a condition to walk about and, above all, to take -nourishment, which it greatly needs after all this fatiguing exertion. -Its liberators vie with one another in offering the mouth and -disgorging a little sweetened liquid. For some days longer the workers -keep a watchful eye on their new companions and follow them about, -acquainting them with the labyrinthine passages of their abode. Thus -instructed, the young ants mingle with the others and share their -labors. - -“The nurses remaining at home to perform the household duties depend -for their rations on the workers that go out to collect supplies. These -latter bring them little insects, or pieces of those that they have -dismembered on the spot when the entire prey is too large for -conveyance. Whatever they may be, these provisions are passed around -and are speedily disposed of by the assembled company. If the working -ants chance to find ripe fruit or large pieces of game that cannot be -divided into small parts, they adopt another mode of procedure. Placed -in possession of so great riches, they content themselves with the -juice alone, of which they imbibe copiously, then return home with -stomachs full of liquid food which they disgorge, drop by drop, as fast -as their hungry comrades present themselves. - -“The ant in need of nourishment strikes rapidly with its antennæ those -of the ant expected to render the desired assistance. Presently they -are seen to approach each other with open mouths and tongues out in -readiness for the transfer of the nutritive liquor from one to the -other. During this operation the ant receiving the mouthful of -sustenance keeps up an uninterrupted caressing, with fore legs and -antennæ, of the ant ministering to its needs. - -“Who is not familiar with the lice that infest plants, assembled in -dense groups that contain each more members than one could easily -count? There are black lice on the beanstalks, green ones on the -rosebushes, their stomachs carrying, behind, two little tubes whence -oozes from time to time a tiny drop of liquid. This liquid is the ant’s -main dependence for food. Let us follow an ant on its rounds among the -plant-lice. - -“It goes hither and thither among the motionless herd, which is nowise -disturbed by its presence. Having found what it is after, the ant -stations itself close to one of the lice, which it proceeds to caress -with gentle taps of its antennæ on the little creature’s stomach, first -on one side, then on the other. The milch-louse allows itself to be -seduced by these friendly overtures, and a drop of liquid oozes out at -the end of the tubes, the ant sucking it up at once. A second louse is -visited, and it too is solicited in the same caressing fashion. It -yields its drop of liquid and lets itself be milked, after which the -ant passes without delay to a third louse, which it coaxes in like -manner. A fourth, probably already drained, withstands the wheedling, -whereupon the ant, perceiving that nothing is to be hoped for there, -proceeds to a fifth member of the herd and obtains what it desires. A -few of these mouthfuls are enough to satisfy an ant, and then it -returns to its home. - -“Certain ants are great stay-at-homes: for them it would be a painful -infliction to have to go out into the world. In order to spare -themselves this necessity they raise plant-lice and pasture them in -enclosures very near the ant-hill so that the milking may be done at -leisure. These herded plant-lice are their precious possession, and the -community is more or less rich as it owns more or less of this -property. It constitutes the ants’ flocks and herds, their cows and -goats. They build underground stables among the grass-roots, and there -keep the plant-lice which they obtain from a distance, just as we -gather our domestic animals under the roof of barn or fold. - -“Others display an even more curious ingenuity: they take possession of -the lice living on some branch or twig of a growing bush, and, -jealously watchful of their cattle, suffer no stranger to come and lay -claim to the food-supply they themselves are preparing to appropriate. -With their mandibles they drive off all intruders; they patrol the twig -in vigilant defense and stand careful guard over their herds. If the -danger becomes too menacing, they hasten to carry away their livestock -and pasture it elsewhere, in a safe place. - -“Or, as still another device, they take little pellets of earth and -build around the twig a sort of pavilion, a structure with a very -narrow opening, a sheep-fold, in a word, with a few leaves growing -inside it and furnishing sustenance to the enclosed flock. In this -quiet retreat the proprietors milk their ewes, safely sheltered from -rain and sun and, most important of all, from alien ants. - -“We have in this region a rather large reddish ant known as the red ant -or Amazon ant, which cannot without help build its house, raise its -larvæ, procure food, or even eat food; but with its hooked mandibles it -is admirably equipped for fighting and pillage. Slaves are the object -of its predatory raids, slaves to feed it, to go out after provisions, -to build the ant-hill, and to rear the young. A small black or drab ant -is the object of its slave-hunting excursions. - -“In battalions of some thousands each the reds go forth in quest of a -nest of drabs. They break into the ant-hill notwithstanding its -occupants’ resistance, and sack the underground city. Presently they -take their departure, each with his plunder between his mandibles. They -carry away, not the full-grown ants, since these could not be trained -to serve in the strange ant-hill and would speedily make their way back -to their former home, but the young ones, and the nymphs shut up in -their cocoons. - -“Hatched in the domicile of the reds, the ants issuing from the stolen -cocoons look upon the natal ant-hill as their own and there fulfill -their customary duties with diligence. They go out after provender, -undertake all building operations, care for the larvæ of the Amazon -ants, and feed their big and stupid conquerors who, once in possession -of enough slaves, never leave home again.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER L - -THE ANT-LION - - -“On the margin of ponds and streams we may see, flying from one bulrush -to another, certain insects with large transparent wings and abdomen -long and slender like a piece of string. Some are of a bronze green -color, others of a splendid indigo blue, while still others, somewhat -larger, are clothed in mingled black and yellow. They are called -libellulids or, more commonly, dragon-flies, and also devil’s -darning-needles. - -“Do you recognize the insect? Haven’t you ever run after it? Perched on -a reed that trembles in the current, it seems to be dozing and waiting -for you, its wings extended to the utmost. Your hand darts out to seize -it. Good-bye, darning-needle! It is ten paces away from you.” - -“Yes, indeed,” replied Louis, “every one has chased darning-needles, -but I never knew of any one’s catching them. And we don’t have to go so -far as the brook or the mill-pond to find them, either.” - -“No; not all of them are lovers of water. Some, in fact, avoid it and -prefer sandy places parched by the burning sun. A modest gray is their -uniform, but they make up for their lack of brilliancy by their curious -mode of life while they are still in the larva form. The picture that I -show you here illustrates what these gray dragon-flies look like at an -earlier stage. - -“A singular creature and not exactly ingratiating in appearance. It -would not be very pleasant to encounter one in a lonely nook in the -woods, little adapted though its size is for attacking us. Look at its -ferocious pointed nippers, opening and closing like a pair of tweezers. -Do they not betoken a thirst for blood? As a matter of fact, the little -creature lives by carnage exclusively; it is a hunter whose game is the -ant. Hence its name of ant-lion, or, as it might be put, the lion of -the ants. - -“Prey of that sort is incapable of serious resistance when once it has -been seized by those terrible hooks; but it must first be seized, and -there is the difficulty. The nimble ant scampers off at the first -approach of danger, and if it should chance to be hard pressed it has -only to run up a blade of grass and there be out of reach. The -ant-lion, on its part, heavy of paunch and short of leg, drags itself -along very awkwardly; and, moreover, if it ever undertakes to get over -the ground—a rare occurrence—it always moves backward, which is not -what might be called a speedy gait and does not adapt itself to keeping -the object of one’s pursuit always in sight. - -“The chase being thus rendered impracticable, there remain the snare -and the ambuscade. The creature must capture by cunning what its -sluggishness of movement makes it impossible to get possession of -otherwise. Let us see what form this cunning takes. - -“Hunt at the base of sun-exposed walls and rocks, and if you find there -some little nook with very fine and dry sandy soil, the ant-lion will -seldom fail to be there too. Its abode is easily recognized by the -regular funnel-shaped hollow scooped in the ground. The insect itself -is invisible, being hidden under the sand at the bottom of the -excavation. - -“With the blade of a knife thrust obliquely into the ground lift up the -bottom of the funnel, and you will have the little creature, rather -abashed at first by the sudden destruction of its retreat, but soon -recovered and striving to hide itself in the soil by a backward -movement. Make haste to take it and put it into a glass under a layer -of fine sand like that beneath which you found it. There at your -leisure you can watch it as it hollows out its funnel, a pitfall for -catching ants. You will see it put into practice the cunning wiles of -an ambushed hunter. - -“Let us for a moment stand as onlookers, mentally at least, while this -work goes forward. Placed on a bed of sand and restored from its former -dismay, the ant-lion proceeds to plunge its belly halfway into the -soil; then, with this substitute for a plowshare, and always moving -backward, it draws a circular furrow. Returning to its starting-point -it draws a second furrow close to the first, then a third next to the -second, and so on with a great many more, each one of smaller -circumference than the preceding, so that they all together form a -spiral which constantly approaches the center; and as this living plow -is driven deeper and deeper at each circuit, and throws outward the -soil that it turns up, the final result is a funnel of about two inches -in diameter and somewhat less in depth. There you have the ant-lion’s -trap, the treacherous pitfall in which the ants are caught. - -“Of course the huntsman employing such a device as this must himself -keep well out of sight. The ant-lion is too well versed in its art to -violate this elementary principle. It crouches down under the sand at -the lowest point of the upturned funnel, with only its nippers showing, -and these are pressed close to the ground, but wide open and ready to -seize any luckless ant that may chance to tumble down the incline. -Although the horrible pincers are exposed, they are not likely to -excite suspicion, being easily mistakable from the edge of the -excavation for some stray bits of dead leaves. - -“These preparations completed, the insect lies in wait, perfectly -motionless. Its patience and its hunger are subjected to prolonged -trial. Hours and even days pass with no sign of game. Alas, how -difficult it is in this world even for an ant-lion to win its mouthful -of bread! - -“But at last there comes an ant, on business bent that takes it into -these parts. Preoccupied with its own concerns, it takes no heed of the -pitfall. Hardly has it approached the edge of the chasm when the sand, -which is extremely unstable, gives way under the little creature’s -feet. There is a land-slide, and with it down tumbles the incautious -ant. In mid-course it succeeds by desperate efforts in arresting its -descent. It struggles to regain the upper level; its tiny claws, -trembling with fear, catch as best they may at the roughness of the -slope; but as soon as touched these supports yield, and the down-rush -begins anew with irresistible impetus. - -“One grain of sand, more firmly planted than the rest, offers some -resistance. Perhaps safety will be found in this point of support if it -continues to withstand the strain. It holds firm, surely enough. The -ant climbs up a little, heedful of its steps for fear of precipitating -another slide. It has almost gained the edge of the excavation and -seems about to find its feet once more on firm ground. Will it indeed -escape scot-free? - -“Oh, no. The hungry watcher at the bottom of the funnel will have -something to say on that subject. He intends to make a good dinner on -the ant. If things had followed their customary course and the -imprudent victim, caught in the trap, had continued to slide down until -within reach of the nippers, these would have seized their prey without -further formality; but since the game seems about to escape, it is the -huntsman’s part to employ the manœuvres reserved for difficult cases. - -“The ant-lion’s head is flat and somewhat shovel-shaped. The insect -plunges it into the sand and then, with a sudden movement of the neck, -throws the shovelful up into the air so that it will come down again on -the ant. Other shovelfuls follow in quick succession, better and better -directed, and fall back in a hail-storm on the now nearly exhausted -ant. - -“Against this shower of sand resistance is impossible when one stands -on a treacherous footing that gives way at each attempt to escape. The -poor victim is swept away and rolls to the bottom of the funnel. -Instantly the nippers seize their prey, and all is over. The huntsman -goes to his dinner, not gnawing the fruit of his patient skill, since -it is too tough for that, but sucking the juice like the refined -epicure he is. - -“When there is nothing left of the ant but a dry husk, the ant-lion -loads it on to his head and with an upward toss throws it out of the -funnel, in order not to defile his place of ambush with a useless -corpse which might arouse the distrust of passers-by. Then a little -careful mending restores the pitfall to its former mobility, and the -huntsman waits patiently for another ant to take a false step and slide -down into his lair.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LI - -VENOMOUS ANIMALS - - -“Among venomous animals there are some whose poisoned weapon has no -other purpose than to serve as a means of defense. Such is the bee, the -worker in honey of our hives; such also is the burly, hairy bumblebee, -which also gathers a store of honey, but keeps it underground in rude -little pots of wax. Let us not molest them at their task, either -intentionally or otherwise, and they will not molest us. If we irritate -them, they straightway draw on the aggressor and stab him with their -venomous dagger. This weapon they carry for defense, not for attack. - -“But there are other and more redoubtable creatures that use their -venom for killing quickly, and without any dangerous struggle on the -victim’s part, the prey on which they feed. Of course the offensive -weapon is capable of becoming also a defensive one in moments of peril: -that which serves to kill the prey serves likewise to repel the enemy. -Among animals making this double use of their venomous weapon, first -for attack and then for defense, let us note the scorpion and the -viper. - -“The scorpion is a hideous creature and of interest to us solely on -account of its sting. It has a flattened stomach, dragging on the -ground, and no distinct head. In reality it has a head, but so little -differentiated from the rest of its body as to give a truncated -appearance to the whole. On each side are four feeble legs, and in -front a big pair of nippers like those of the crab. Behind is a sort of -jointed tail, the terminal joint of which, more swollen than the -others, serves as reservoir for the venom. It ends in a hook, very -sharp and with a microscopic perforation at the point, from which the -venomous fluid escapes at the instant of attack. - -“In this jointed tail with its terminal sting you behold the scorpion’s -implement of the chase, a terrible weapon which kills immediately, at -one stroke, any small game the animal may have seized. It is carried -bent over on the back, ready to inflict its deadly wound in front or -behind with the suddenness of a released spring. The two-jawed nippers, -of which only one jaw moves, are harmless despite their menacing -appearance. They are a sort of tongs used by the animal to hold within -reach and prevent from escaping the prey it is about to sting. - -“The scorpion is carnivorous, feeding on all game adapted to its size, -such as wood-lice, insects, spiders. Endowed with but little agility, -it leaves its lair by night and under cover of the darkness hunts its -sleeping prey. Let us suppose it to chance upon a big spider. That is -indeed a succulent morsel, but its capture involves danger, for the -spider on its side is armed with two venomous fangs in its mouth. Being -both thus equipped with deadly weapons, which of the two will succumb? -It will be the spider. - -“The scorpion seizes it with its two nippers and holds the victim far -enough away to avoid the risk of a bite. Then the coiled tail quickly -straightens out over the scorpion and proceeds to inflict a sting on -the helpless captive. It is all over. The stricken prey gives a -momentary shudder in its death agony and then collapses, lifeless. The -huntsman can now feast on his victim at leisure and in perfect -security. - -“We have in France, in the southern departments, two species of -scorpions, of which the smaller and more common is of a greenish black. -Its customary haunt is under the stones at the base of old walls, the -favorite lurking-place of the wood-louse and the spider; but it also -very often finds its way into human habitations, where it hides in dark -corners. In rainy weather it snuggles under the linen laid away in -cupboards, and even creeps under the bedclothes. Not a pleasant -experience is it to find this baneful intruder, some fine morning, in -the foot of one’s stocking. One shakes out the frightful creature and -treads it under foot. If it has stung you, the pain is no joke, though -not seriously dangerous. - -“The other species, much larger and far more to be dreaded, is found -almost exclusively in Languedoc and Provence. It is straw-color in hue -and inhabits sandy hillocks where the sun beats down with the fiercest -heat. There, under some large stone, it digs itself a den, a spacious -retreat, whence it issues only by night in quest of something to eat. -It is never known to intrude into houses, nor does it ever leave the -warmth of its desert solitudes. Unless you disturb it by lifting up the -flat stone that roofs its abode, you run no risk of encountering the -sting; but woe to the reckless one who should rashly venture to rummage -in that retreat. The creature’s sting is sometimes deadly, they say. - -“The viper makes its home, by preference, on some warm and stony -hillside, where it lurks under the stones and in the tangled -underbrush. Its color is brown or reddish, with a darker zigzag stripe -on the back and a row of spots on each side. Its belly is of a gray -slate-color, and its head, larger than the neck, is blunted as if cut -off in front. - -“It is an extremely timid creature and never attacks man except in -self-defense. Its movements are brusque, irregular, and heavy. Like all -serpents it feeds on live prey, especially insects and small -field-rats. To capture these quickly and to deprive them of the power -to defend themselves, the viper first inflicts a venomous wound, as -does the scorpion. - -“All serpents dart out and in between their lips, with extreme -velocity, a black, thread-like member, forked at the end and of great -flexibility. Many persons take this to be the reptile’s sting, though -in reality it is nothing but its tongue, a tongue void of offense and -used by its possessor to snap up insects and also to express, in the -snake’s peculiar manner, by quickly passing out and in between the -lips, the passions that agitate the creature. All serpents have this -sort of tongue, but in these regions it is only the viper that -possesses the terrible weapon for inflicting venomous wounds. - -“This consists, first, of two fangs, or long, sharp teeth, situated in -the upper jaw. These curved teeth are movable, starting up for attack, -at the reptile’s will, or lying down in a groove of the gum and -remaining there as inoffensive as a stiletto in its sheath. Thus the -risk of a self-inflicted wound is avoided. These fangs are each pierced -from end to end with a narrow channel having at the tooth’s point a -minute opening through which the venom is discharged into the wound. -Finally, at the base of each fang is a tiny sac filled with venomous -liquid. As with the bee and the scorpion, this liquid is harmless in -appearance, free from odor, and without taste—little else than water, -one would say. When the viper attacks with its fangs, the venom-sac -presses a drop of its contents into the dental canal and the terrible -liquid passes into the wound. In short, the whole operation exactly -corresponds to the similar procedure I have described in speaking of -the bee’s sting. - -“Let us suppose you are so imprudent as to disturb the reptile as it -lies asleep in the sun. Immediately the creature uncoils itself and, -with jaws wide open, smites your hand. It is all over in a twinkling. -Then, with the same rapidity, the viper recoils itself and settles back -again, continuing to threaten you, with its head once more the center -of the spiral coil. - -“You do not wait for a second attack; you beat a hasty retreat; but, -alas, the harm is done. On your wounded hand you discover two tiny red -spots, apparently of little more significance than the sting of a bee. -No cause for alarm, you say to yourself if you are unacquainted with -the effects of such a wound. But it is a false reassurance. - -“Presently the red spots are encircled with a zone of livid hue. With a -dull sensation of pain the hand becomes swollen, and gradually the -swelling extends to the entire arm. Before long there follow cold -sweats and a feeling of nausea, breathing is rendered difficult, vision -is clouded, the intellect is torpid, and unless timely aid is rendered -death may be the sequel. - -“What is to be done in the face of such danger? One must press tightly -or even bind fast the finger, the hand, the arm, above the wound, in -order to prevent the passage of the venom into the blood. The wound -must be made to bleed by the exercise of pressure all around it; it -must be energetically sucked to draw out the venomous liquid. I have -explained to you in speaking of the bee, and I now repeat it, that -venom is not a poison. It will not act, however powerful it be, unless -it mixes with the blood. Sucking it, therefore, is without danger if -the lining of the mouth is intact. - -“It is plain that if, by energetic suction and by pressing until the -blood flows, we succeed in extracting all the venom from the wound, the -latter will henceforth be of no serious importance. For greater -security, as soon as possible the wound should be cauterized with a -corrosive fluid, such as ammonia or nitric acid, or even with a red-hot -iron. Cauterization acts in such a manner as to destroy the venomous -matter. It is painful, I admit, but one must submit to that in order to -escape something worse. - -“Cauterization falls within the physician’s province; but the -preliminary precautions—ligature to stop the spread of the venom, -pressure to make the envenomed blood flow, and suction to extract the -venomous liquid—are matters for our personal attention; and all this -should be taken in hand immediately, since the longer the delay the -more serious the case becomes. When these precautions are taken it is -very seldom that the viper’s bite has fatal consequences.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LII - -THE PHYLLOXERA - - -“In our talks on ants a few words were said concerning their -milch-cows, plant-lice. You haven’t forgotten those curious herds with -udders in the form of two little tubes that emit, from time to time, a -sweetened liquid. The ant comes and milks these cows, caressing them as -it does so with its two antennæ. It fills itself with their milk, -making its stomach serve the purpose of a milk-pail, and then runs -back, all bursting with the delicious fluid, to disgorge it into the -nurslings’ mouths. - -“These ant-cows are watched over with jealous vigilance; in case of -need they are pastured within enclosures, for fear of marauders. So far -all is for the best: the ants’ cattle afford us some passing amusement, -and apparently they are open to no serious reproach. But if we pursue -our inquiries further the plant-lice will reveal themselves to us under -a far more serious aspect. - -“Let us speak first of rosebush lice. You wish to pluck a rose. Its -perfume fills the air, its form and color rejoice the eye. But just as -you are about to break the stem what do you find under your fingers? At -the base of the flower and all over the branch that bears it, the -superb plant is contaminated with a legion of green lice; a host of -odious vermin has taken possession of it; the magnificent has -associated with it the disgusting. The eye is offended; the fingers -recoil before this species of animated bark which the slightest -pressure turns into a sticky mush. Let us pluck the rose nevertheless, -and before shaking the lice from it let us examine them a moment. - -“They are light green in color, big-bellied, and wingless. With a -little attention we distinguish the two minute posterior horns whence -oozes the liquid on which the ants regale themselves. They have, -underneath, a sucker, straight and very slender, a sort of bore which -they push into the tender bark to extract from it the juices on which -they live. The sucker once implanted at any convenient point, the -animalcule seldom stirs from that spot. If it does decide to move a -little, it is because its well has run dry and it must bore another -close beside it. A promenade of merely the length of the branch is a -liberty that only the most adventurous dare allow themselves. As a -rule, the plant-louse sticks to the spot where it was born, to the very -end.” - -“But how can the stem of a rose get so completely covered with those -little green lice?” asked Emile. - -“That is easily explained,” answered his uncle. “Plant-lice multiply -very rapidly, since each one, without exception, from the first to the -last, whatever their number, becomes capable in a few days of -procreating a family. The newly born settle down beside their mothers, -and are themselves soon surrounded by their own progeny. These in turn, -in a little while, have offspring of their own; and so on, -indefinitely, as long as the season lasts. Thus the stem, the branch, -the entire plant, become covered with lice so closely packed one -against another that in places the real bark is hidden by this bark of -vermin. - -“Have you ever seen a garden-patch of broad beans overrun by black -lice? There, better than anywhere else, may be seen the rapidity of -propagation. On that green expanse appears at first a small black -stain, announcing the beginning of the invasion. It is a family of lice -installed at the top of a beanstalk, the tenderest part of the plant, -where the insects’ suckers can work to best advantage. The gardener, as -soon as he is aware of what is going on, hastens to cut off this part -of the stalk and crush it under his heel. He hopes to exorcise the evil -by destroying this nest of vermin. - -“His hope is short-lived. A few days later, instead of one plant -invaded there are dozens. He lops off again; he turns up the remaining -leaves and examines them one by one; he crushes what vermin he finds, -taking all pains to make the extermination complete. Will he make an -end of it this time? Not at all: the black hordes reappear in greater -numbers than ever; the invaded stalks can no longer be counted. A few -lice that escaped the slaughter were enough to infest the whole patch -of beans. The foliage hangs down, foul and withered; the young pods, -riddled with punctures and corrugated with scars, shrivel up and can -grow no larger. For this ill there is no remedy; the harvest is ruined. - -“The gardener pulls it all up and throws it on the dung-hill. His care -and vigilance have been unable to arrest the invasion. In vain he -crushed legions at a time under his angry heel: in a few days the -half-dozen survivors had propagated a larger colony than ever. Man is -hardly in a position to contend successfully against this lowly vermin -which braves extinction by virtue of its countless numbers. - -“As I told you, the plant-louse does not like to change its place. It -plants its sucker on the very spot where it has just been born, and -thenceforth sticks to that spot, filling its stomach with sap and -surrounding itself with a family. This love of repose explains to us -very well how the twig of a rosebush or the top of a beanstalk -undergoes a progressive colonization; but it does not account for the -distant propagation of the species. - -“With its home-keeping habits the insect ought to be confined within -narrow limits, on a single leaf and not on all leaves, on one rosebush -and not on the neighboring rosebushes. But as a matter of fact it is -disseminated everywhere. When one patch of beans becomes infested, -those in the neighborhood are equally unfortunate; when one rosebush -shows a colony of plant-lice, all those around it are similarly -visited. No vegetable growth can defend itself from the pest. How, -then, is it that this obese animalcule, which totters with fatigue -after one step forward, succeeds in passing from rosebush to rosebush, -from garden to garden? By what means is it able to spread in all -directions without limit? - -“Let us examine a number of rosebushes, and we shall have a prompt -answer to our question. In addition to the wingless plant-lice, big of -belly and all grouped on the tender twigs, we shall see others, green -like the first ones, but more elegant in form, of greater freedom of -movement, and provided with four wings, very beautiful wings too, -diaphanous and gleaming with rainbow tints. These creatures are no lazy -sap-bibbers forever squatting over the well their sucker has bored. -They are seen to come and go, circulating briskly among the stationary -herd, inspecting the foliage, passing from branch to branch, and even -taking flight for some distant goal. They are the travelers of the -family. Their function is to propagate the race in the surrounding -district, with the aid of their wings, and even at considerable -distances when a puff of wind carries them thus far. - -“Two classes, then, dissimilar though related, are to be noted among -the green lice of the rosebush and the black ones of the beanstalk, as -also among countless others. The members of one class have no wings; -they pass their lives where they were born, and multiply in serried -legions. Those of the other class, which is relatively small, are -equipped with wings. Confined to no one spot, they fare forth as some -passing breeze or their own strength of wing may determine, and deposit -in favorable localities the germs that are to serve each as the -beginning of a community of wingless plant-lice. The first kind -procreate on the spot with a fecundity almost beyond belief; the second -take leave of the stationary family and go out to start new centers of -population in various quarters. The first propagate without limit; the -second colonize. - -“To soil the stem of a rose with a coating of lice is not exactly a -capital offense; but to lay waste a field of beans, the hope of the -farmer, is a far more serious matter. Yet even that is as nothing when -compared with other depredations committed by plant-lice. There is a -species of these insects that lives underground, subsisting on the -roots of the grape-vine. Oh, the hateful creature! Never has -agriculture known anything to equal the ravages it commits; no floods -or droughts or inclement seasons have ever wrought such woes. Its -terrible sucker has, up to the present time, caused us losses estimated -at the fabulous sum of ten milliard francs. What a mouthful for a -miserable little louse hardly visible to the naked eye! And to think -that the combined efforts of nations cannot succeed in exterminating -this pest! Alas, how feeble is mere force when confronted with the -exceedingly minute infinitely multiplied! - -“This destroyer of the vine is known as the phylloxera, a name strange -to our tongue, but losing nothing of its impressiveness in translation. -‘Phylloxera’ means ‘witherer of leaves.’ The plant-louse thus -denominated does indeed cause the foliage of the vine to wither up—not -acting on the leaves directly, it is true, but attacking the roots. -These, done to death by the insect’s sucker, cease to draw from the -soil the nourishment needed by the vine. The vine-stock wastes away, -and with it the leaves, which become yellow and withered. - -“It is not merely the foliage, then, that the phylloxera dries up; it -withers and kills the whole vine. Moreover, the name it bears was not -invented expressly for it, but was borne by another before the ravager -of vineyards became known. The louse that was first called phylloxera -lived at the expense of the oak-tree and took up its station on the -leaves, sucking the sap from them. There you have the true witherer of -leaves. The vineyard louse has therefore inherited an old appellation -which fails to indicate fully the seriousness of the creature’s -depredations. - -“This last-named insect is a tiny yellowish louse, plump of body, but -hardly discernible to untrained eyes, its length being barely three -quarters of a millimeter. It lives in clusters on the minute -ramifications of the roots wherever the bark is tender enough to enable -it to push in its sucker. Its ranks are so dense that the infested -rootlets wear a continuous coating of vermin which stains the fingers -with yellow. It lays its eggs in little heaps in the interstices that -occur in the swarming colony; and these eggs are oval in shape and -sulphur-yellow at first, but turn brownish as the moment for hatching -approaches. - -“From these eggs there come, in a few days, new layers of eggs, which -settle down beside the earlier comers and add their own progeny to the -already overgrown family. Thus, as long as the season continues -favorable, these myriad numbers of successive generations are added to -the existing myriads, until the thread-like rootlets become completely -hidden by the accumulated layers of eggs and the eggs themselves. - -“Riddled with punctures, the rootlets swell up at intervals and present -the appearance of a string of elongated seeds. Thus deformed, fatally -injured in their delicate suckers, the roots cease to imbibe the -nutritive juices of the soil, the famished vine languishes for a time, -putting forth only feeble shoots that are incapable of bearing fruit, -and at last the whole plant dries up and dies. To secure its own -prosperity the louse has killed its nurse.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LIII - -THE PHYLLOXERA - -(Continued) - - -“The yellow plant-louse found on the roots of the grape-vine,” resumed -Uncle Paul, “has no bent for traveling: wingless, sluggish, and -big-bellied, it is ill adapted to locomotion. Where once its sucker has -implanted itself, there the creature is glad to abide as long as the -place is tenable. But when the rootlet dies and begins to decay, then a -new refectory must be sought out, with a better-furnished table. -Accordingly the louse has to move. A persistent explorer, it knows how, -with patience and in course of time, to make its way through cracks in -the soil from one root to another, and dares even to climb to the -surface, where, proceeding in the open air, it emigrates from the -exhausted vine-stock to the neighboring one rich in sap; and there it -pushes down to the roots through some fissure in the ground. - -“To this slow-goer a single one of our steps would be a journey of -excessive length. Therefore, to propagate its kind far and wide, it -must have other and quicker means than the extremely deliberate method -of locomotion just described. This other method for planting colonies -at a considerable distance has already been illustrated for us by the -green louse of the rosebush. Like that species, the phylloxera has a -special division of winged travelers, and it is these that propagate -the race throughout the grape-growing district. - -“At the time of the greatest midsummer heat there make their -appearance, amid the throng of yellow lice covering the roots, certain -individuals with longer bodies, which soon change their skin and then -bear on their sides two pairs of black stumps, the sheaths of four -future wings. These are the nymphs destined for emigration. These -nymphs leave their subterranean abode and climb up to the foot of the -vine-stock, or sometimes even out upon the surface of the ground. There -another change of skin takes place, whereupon we behold the winged -insect, superior in form to its underground relatives. - -“It measures a little more than a millimeter in length, not including -the wings. These latter, transparent and iridescent, extend far beyond -the length of the body, and the upper ones are wide, rounded, and -slightly smoke-colored at the end, the lower ones narrow and shorter. -They are supported by strong sinews that denote great power of flight. -With its large, diaphanous wings, its broad head and big eyes, its -belly ending in a blunt point, and its yellowish color, the traveling -insect bears some resemblance to a very small cicada. Such, in brief, -is the phylloxera commissioned to propagate the race at a distance. - -“We have here no longer to do with the sluggish pot-bellied creature -that needs all its strength to move from one root to the next -adjoining; we behold an agile denizen of the air, capable of covering -with the swiftness of an arrow a distance of several leagues, -especially when aided by a favorable wind. During the warm season of -July and August these winged insects take flight and settle in swarms -on the vineyards not yet ravaged. They alight on the leaves, where -their suckers perform their function in sober moderation. - -“To stuff themselves like gluttons, after the manner of their kindred -that live on the roots, is not their way. Hence their own depredations -are of no importance. Unfortunately, however, it is their mission to do -us a most disastrous disservice by infesting, one after another, the -adjacent vineyards, peopling the still unaffected districts with -underground ravagers. All take part in this; all, without exception, -set to work laying eggs. - -“These eggs are few in number, it is true, each insect laying at most -but half a score amid the cotton-like down of the buds and young -leaves. But the aggregate is none the less enormous, since in this -strange family we have thus far encountered none but mothers. We have -just seen that all the wingless phylloxeras on the roots lay eggs, and -now we find that all their winged kindred on the leaves do likewise. - -“This excessive fecundity would in the end exhaust the insect and -result in its extinction if there were no seasons of quietude for -renewing the vitality of the race. Yellowish in color like the eggs of -the underground phylloxera, those of the winged insect are of two -kinds: one of a larger size, the other only about half as large. The -first produce females, the second males. Here, at last, we have the two -sexes, whose coöperation will assure indefinite prosperity to the race. -That is the normal order governing all animal life. - -“But what queer little creatures! Yellow, wingless, stubby, they look -like the lice on the roots, but even smaller. These phylloxeras of the -third kind are dwarfs in a family of dwarfs. They have no stomachs for -digesting, no suckers for puncturing the leaves and extracting their -sap. Self-nourishment, however slight, is not at all their affair. The -laying of eggs that shall renew the vigor of the race, the placing of -them where they will be safe, and then a speedy death—that is the sole -purpose of their brief span of life. - -“For some days these dwarfs, male and female, wander over the vines and -mate, one with another; then, in the fissures of the wrinkled bark, the -mothers lay each an egg, a single egg, of enormous size in comparison -with the smallness of the layer, greenish in color and sprinkled with -fine black spots. This egg takes the name of ‘winter egg,’ being -destined to pass the cold season fastened by a little hook to the -vine’s bark. After this the layer of the egg shrivels up into a reddish -point and dies.” - -“But how do these eggs manage to get through the winter without -freezing?” asked Louis. “Hens’ eggs or birds’ eggs would be good for -nothing after being left out-doors from autumn till spring.” - -“That is true,” assented Uncle Paul; “nevertheless these minute germs -of future insect life seldom fail to hatch when warm weather returns. -From them come plant-lice like those on the roots of the vine. Each -new-born louse crawls down the natal vine, hunts around on the ground -until it finds a crack in the soil, and then makes its way through this -fissure to settle at last on a rootlet, into which it plunges its -sucker. At ease thenceforth beneath the surface of the ground and in -the bosom of abundance, it does not long remain alone. Close to its -fixed position it deposits its little heap of yellow eggs, whence there -quickly issues a new generation. In like manner each member of the -family surrounds itself with a family of its own; and so on by several -successive repetitions of the process until, from having but a single -occupant at first, a root speedily becomes covered with a legion of -destroyers. To this population of recent origin we must not forget to -add the older inhabitants that have passed the winter under ground and -have only waited for the return of the warm season to resume their own -laying of eggs on the roots of the vine. - -“Let us recapitulate these singular ways of the phylloxera. The species -comprises three forms of insects, each having its own peculiar -structure, its manner of life, its separate function. The customary -animal unity is here a trinity: three different insects are grouped in -a single species. - -“The sedentary members are wingless and live on the roots. All lay eggs -and are followed by several generations likewise capable of laying -eggs. Under the pricking of their collective suckers, numberless in the -aggregate, vineyards are ruined. There we have the formidable foe, the -ravager whose sucker, hardly visible to the naked eye, has already cost -us more than ten milliard francs. - -“The migrating members are furnished with large wings. They live on the -leaves and lay each a small number of eggs in the down of the buds. -Like their sedentary kinsfolk, they all lay eggs. Their peculiar office -is to disseminate the race from one vineyard to another. - -“The members endowed with sex come under the operation of the general -law: they are divided into male and female. Unprovided with wings, -sucker, or stomach, they wander over the vine without taking any -nourishment. Each mother lays a single egg, the winter egg, whence -issues in the spring a sedentary phylloxera, which makes its way down -to the roots, establishes itself there, and becomes the head and center -of a new colony. - -“How contend against this foe which, by reason of its numbers and its -underground abode, defies our attempts to exterminate it? Three -principal methods are employed. In the lowlands the vineyards are -flooded and kept under a good depth of water throughout the winter. -This submersion causes the death of the phylloxera at the roots of the -plant. As a second method, through holes bored to the roots the soil is -injected with an asphyxiating fluid called sulphur of carbon, the fumes -of which instantly kill all insects that they reach. The difficulty is -to do a thorough job and leave no survivors. A third device is employed -by those who import from America certain wild vines much hardier than -our cultivated ones, but producing inferior fruit. These American -plants resist the attacks of the phylloxera, and continue to flourish -where our vines would succumb. On these wild stocks, as soon as they -are well rooted, are grafted our native vines, and thus is obtained a -grape-vine of two-fold quality, resisting by the hardy nature of its -root the phylloxera’s assaults, and bearing, on its engrafted shoots, -the incomparable fruit of our old vineyards.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LIV - -NOCTURNAL BIRDS OF PREY - - -“The brown owl, the horned owl, the barn-owl and other species of this -family, are known under the name of nocturnal birds of prey. They are -called birds of prey because they live on the small animals that they -catch, such as rats and mice, both those that infest our houses and -those that live in the fields. Owls are, among birds, what cats are -among quadrupeds,—the inveterate foes of all those small rodents of -which the mouse is our most familiar example. - -“The French language has recognized this analogy in its term chat-huant -[7] (hooting cat) applied to a certain kind of owl. This bird is, in -some sort, a cat in its manner of living, a cat that flies and that -utters a long-drawn cry like a plaintive howl. It is nocturnal; in -other words, it keeps itself hidden by day in some obscure retreat, -whence it comes forth only at nightfall, to hunt in the twilight and -under the rays of the moon. - -“Owls have eyes of remarkable size, round, and both in a frontal -position instead of being placed one on each side of the head. A broad -rim of fine feathers encircles each eye. The reason for their great -size is found in the bird’s nocturnal habits. Having to seek its food -by a very feeble light, it must, in order to see with any distinctness, -have eyes that admit as much light as possible; that is, eyes that open -very wide. - -“But this wide-openness of the eyes, so advantageous by night, is a -serious inconvenience to the owl in the bright light of day. Dazzled, -blinded, by the sun’s rays, the bird of darkness keeps itself in hiding -and dares not venture forth; but if forced to do so, it observes the -utmost circumspection, flying with cautious hesitation and by short -stages. The other birds, those accustomed to broad daylight, come and -insult it at will. Robin redbreast and the tomtit are the first to pay -their compliments in this manner, and are followed by the chaffinch, -the jay, and many others.” - -“And doesn’t the owl do anything to get even with them?” asked Jules. - -“Very little,” replied his uncle. “Perched on a branch of some tree, -the night bird answers its aggressors by a grotesque balancing of its -body, turning its large head this way and that in a ridiculous fashion, -and rolling its eyes in bewildered alarm. Its menaces are vain: the -smallest and weakest birds are its boldest tormentors, pecking it and -pulling its feathers without its daring to defend itself. - -“Because of its wide-open eyes the nocturnal bird of prey needs a -subdued light like that of early dawn and of evening dusk. It is, -therefore, at nightfall and at the first signs of daybreak that these -birds leave their retreats and seek their prey. At these hours their -hunt is a fruitful one, for they find the rats and mice, whether those -that lurk about our houses and barns or those that live in the field, -either fast asleep or on the point of going to sleep. Moonlight nights -are the most favorable for the nocturnal bird’s purposes. Such nights -are nights of plenty, affording opportunity for protracted hunting and -many captures. - -“Let us follow the owl on its nocturnal expedition. The moment is -propitious, the air is calm, the moon shines. The bird leaves its -sylvan retreat; it skims over the open field, the meadow, the prairie; -it inspects the furrows where the field-mouse lurks, the long grass -where it burrows, the ruins of deserted buildings where both rats and -mice scamper about. - -“Its flight is noiseless, its silent wing cleaving the air without the -faintest sound. It is careful not to give the alarm to its destined -victims. This noiseless flight it owes to the structure of its -feathers, which are silky and finely divided. Nothing betrays its -sudden coming, and the prey is seized without even suspecting the -enemy’s presence. An extraordinarily keen sense of hearing, on the -other hand, advises the bird of all that is going on in the -neighborhood. Its ears, large and deep, perceive the mere rustle of a -field-mouse in the grass. - -“The prey is seized with two strong claws warmly clothed in feathers -clear down to the very nails. Each foot has four toes, of which three -ordinarily point forward, and one backward; but, by a privilege common -to nocturnal birds of prey, one of the anterior toes is movable and can -point backward, so that the claw becomes divided into two pairs of -equally powerful grippers when the bird wishes to seize, as in a vise, -the branch whereon it perches or the victim struggling to escape. - -“A blow of the beak breaks the head of the captured rat. This beak is -short and hooked, and the two mandibles have great mobility, which -enables them, in striking against each other, to make a rapid clacking, -a demonstration by which the bird expresses anger or alarm. - -“The mandibles open wide in the act of swallowing, revealing a mouth of -ample proportions and a throat of excessive width. The prey, which has -first been well kneaded by the claws, disappears down this throat, -bones and all. Nothing is left of the rat or the mouse, not even the -fur. - -“Digestion completed, there remains in the stomach a confused mass of -skins turned inside out and still wearing their fur, and bones stripped -as clean as if they had been scraped with a knife. The bird then -proceeds to rid itself of this encumbrance of innutritious matter. -Grotesque retchings indicate the labor of this deliverance. Something -makes its way upward through the extended throat, the beak opens, and -the act is accomplished. A rounded mass falls to the ground, composed -of skins, bones, hair, scales—in fact, everything that has defied -digestion. All nocturnal birds of prey have this ignoble manner of -freeing the stomach: they vomit in globular form the residue of their -prey after the latter has been swallowed whole.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LV - -THE SMALLER BIRDS - - -“Almost all the smaller birds are helpful to us in protecting the -fruits of the earth from the ravages of insects. Their services deserve -to be recorded in a long and detailed history, but time for that is -lacking and we must confine ourselves to brief mention of a few of -these valiant caterpillar-destroyers. - -“The titmouse, or tomtit, is a small bird full of life and showing a -petulant humor. Always in action, it flits from tree to tree, examines -the branches with minute particularity, perches on the swaying end of -the frailest twig, where it clings persistently even though hanging -head downward, accommodating itself to the oscillations of its flexible -support without once relaxing its clutch or ceasing its scrutiny of the -worm-infested buds, which it tears open in order to get at the enclosed -vermin and insect-eggs. - -“It is calculated that a tomtit rids us of three hundred thousand of -these eggs every year. It has to supply the needs of a family seldom -equalled in size; but the support of twenty young ones, or even more, -is not too heavy a burden for this active bird to bear. With this -infant brood on its hands, it must give constant and careful inspection -to buds and to fissures in the bark, in order to catch larvæ, spiders, -caterpillars, little worms of all kinds, and thus find food for twenty -beaks incessantly agape with hunger at the bottom of the nest. - -“Let us suppose the mother bird to arrive with a caterpillar. The nest -is immediately all in a tumult: twenty beaks are stretched wide open, -but only a single one receives the morsel, while nineteen are kept -waiting. The indefatigable mother flies off again, and when the -twentieth beak has at last been fed, the first has long since begun -again its importunate demands. What a multitude of worms such a brood -must consume! - -“Whole families of birds devote themselves, as does the titmouse, to -this patient quest for insect eggs in the crevices of tree-trunks or -concealed in rolled-up leaves, for larvæ between the scales of buds and -in worm-holes in wood, and for insects hidden in cracks and crannies. -In this kind of hunt the bird does not have to chase its game and catch -it by superior swiftness of flight; it must simply know how to find it -in its lair. To this end it needs a keen eye and a slender beak; wings -play but a secondary part. - -“But other species spend their energies in the free open-air chase: -they pursue their game on the wing, hunting for gnats, moths, -mosquitoes, and flying beetles. They must have a short beak, but one -that opens wide and snaps up unerringly insects on the wing, despite -the uncertainties of aërial flight; a beak in which the victim is -caught and held without any retardation of the bird’s swift course; in -short, a beak with a sticky lining which a tiny butterfly cannot so -much as graze with its wing and not become entangled. Above all, an -untiring and swift wing is necessary, one that does not flag in the -pursuit of game desperately putting forth its utmost efforts to escape, -and one that is not baffled by the tortuous course of a moth driven to -bay. A beak inordinately cleft and wings of extraordinary power—such, -in a word, should be the equipment of the bird whose hunting ground is -the vast expanse of the open air. - -“These conditions are fulfilled in the highest degree in the swallow -and the martin, both of which hunt flying insects, pursuing them this -way and that, back and forth, ceaselessly and with a thousand subtle -tricks. They catch them in their wide-open and viscous gullet, and -continue their course without a moment’s pause. - -“The bird that lives on grain and seeds, the granivorous bird, as it is -called, has a beak that is very wide at the base and adapted by its -strength to the opening of the hardest seeds. In this class are the -chaffinch, the greenfinch, the linnet, the goldfinch, and the swallow. -The bird that lives on insects, or the insectivorous bird, has a beak -that is fine and slender, in delicacy proportioned to the softness of -its prey. To this number belong the nightingale, the warbler, the -fallow-finch, and the wagtail. Agriculture has no better defenders -against the ravages of worms than these little birds with slender -beaks, voracious devourers as they are of larvæ and insects. - -“But the granivorous birds have certain grave faults: some of them are -addicted to pilfering in the grain-fields and know how to get the wheat -out of the ear, and some even come boldly to the poultry-yard to share -with its inmates the oats thrown to them by the farmer’s wife. Others -prefer the juicy flesh of fruit, and know sooner than we when the -cherries are ripe and the pears mellow. Such failings, however, are -amply atoned for by services rendered. The granivores pick up in the -fields an infinite number of seeds of all sorts which, if left to -germinate, would infest our crops with weeds. - -“To this rôle of weeder they add a second not less meritorious. Grain -and seeds are, it is true, their regular diet; but insects are to few -of them so despicable as to be refused when sufficiently plentiful and -easy to catch. Indeed, we can go still further in our commendation of -these birds: in their early days when, feeble and featherless, they -receive their nourishment by the beakful from their parents, many of -them are fed on insects. - -“Let us take for example the house-sparrow. Here we have, it must be -admitted, an inveterate devourer of grain. He robs our dove-cotes and -poultry-yards, steals their food from the pigeons and the hens, and -anticipates the farmer in reaping the grain-crops near his house. Many -other misdeeds are to be reckoned against him. He plunders the -cherry-trees, commits petty larceny in the garden, plucks up sprouting -seeds, and regales himself on young lettuce and the first leaves of -green peas. But as soon as the season of insect-eggs opens, this -shameless pilferer becomes one of our most valuable helpers. Twenty -times an hour, at least, the mother and the father take turns in -bringing the beakful of food to their little ones; and each time the -bill of fare consists of a caterpillar, or an insect large enough to be -divided into quarters, or perhaps a fat larva, or it may be a -grasshopper, or some other kind of small game. - -“In one week the young brood consumes about three thousand insects, -larvæ, caterpillars and worms of all species. There have been counted -in the immediate vicinity of a single nest of sparrows the remains of -seven hundred June-bugs, besides those of innumerable smaller insects. -That is the supply of food required for rearing only one brood. Let us -then, my children, wish well to all the little birds that deliver us -from that formidable ravager, the insect.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LVI - -BIRDS’ NESTS - - -“It is in the building of nests destined for the rearing of a family of -young ones that the bird shows in a remarkable way that wonderful -faculty which enables the little creature to accomplish, without -previous training, results that would seem to require the intervention -of reasoned experience. - -“These adepts in bird-nest architecture have talents of the most varied -sort. There are diggers, who scoop out a hollow in the sand; miners, -who excavate a little cell to which a long and narrow passage gives -access; carpenters, who bore into the trunk of a worm-eaten tree; -masons, who work with mortar made of earth tempered with saliva; -basket-makers, who weave together small twigs and fine roots; tailors, -who with a filament of bark for thread and the beak for needle sew a -few leaves together into a cornet for holding the mattress on which the -young brood will rest; workers in felt, who make a fabric of down, -hair, or cotton, that rivals our own similar products; and builders of -fortresses, who protect their nest with an impenetrable thicket as a -rampart. - -“The goldfinch, that pretty little red-headed bird which feeds on the -seeds of thistles, builds a wonderfully wrought nest in the fork of -some flexible branch. The outside is made of moss and the silky down of -thistle-seeds and dandelions, while the inside, artistically rounded, -is lined with a thick cushion of horse-hair, wool, and feathers. - -“The chaffinch builds its nest in nearly the same way, but, more -mistrustful than the goldfinch, it covers the outside of its abode with -a layer of gray lichen which, merging with the lichen growing naturally -on the branch, serves to baffle the scrutiny of the bird-nest hunter. - -“The window-swallow makes its nest in the corners of windows, under the -eaves of roofs, and in the shelter of cornices. Its building material -is fine earth, chiefly that left in little piles after its digestion by -earth-worms in fields and gardens. The swallow fetches it, a beakful at -a time, moistens it with a little viscous saliva to make it stick -together, and deposits it in courses, shaping the structure into a sort -of hemispherical bowl fastened to the wall and having a narrow mouth at -the top to allow the bird to squeeze through. Bits of straw embedded in -this masonry of earth serve to give it greater solidity. Finally, the -inside is upholstered with a quantity of fine feathers. - -“The chimney-swallow chooses a similar situation for its nest and uses -the same building-materials, but the nest itself takes a different -form. Instead of a hemispherical structure entered by a very small -opening, it builds a cup-shaped nest, of no great depth and wide-open -at the top. - -“Swallows like to live together in large numbers, so that their nests -are sometimes found touching one another in colonies of several -hundreds under the same cornice. Each pair recognizes unerringly its -own belongings and respects scrupulously the property of others, in -return for like respect paid to its own. There is among them a deep -sense of solidarity, and they render mutual aid with no less -intelligence than zeal. - -“Sometimes it chances that a nest has hardly been finished when it -crumbles to pieces, the mortar used having been of poor quality, or -else the masons, with injudicious haste, having had too little patience -to let one course dry before laying another on top of it. At the news -of this mishap neighbors of both sexes hasten up to console the -unfortunates and to lend their aid in rebuilding. All apply themselves -to the task, fetching mortar of the first quality, and straws and -feathers, with such ardor and enthusiasm that in two days the nest is -completely rebuilt. Left to their own unaided efforts, the afflicted -pair would have needed a fortnight to repair the disaster. - -“The golden oriole is one of the most beautiful birds of our clime. -About as large as the blackbird, it has plumage of a superb yellow, -except the wings, which are black. In building its nest it selects, in -some tall tree, a long and flexible bough with a fork at the end. -Between the two branches of this fork a hammock is woven for receiving -the nest. Strands of fine bark that has become shredded by long -exposure to wind and weather are used for this work of art. These -strands or cords pass from one side of the fork to the other, enlacing -them, crossing and recrossing, and thus forming a sort of pocket, -firmly fixed and securely hung. - -“Broad blades of grass consolidate the structure. Then in this hammock -a mattress of the finest straw and having the form of an oval cup is -put together. The completed work bears some resemblance to those -elegant little wool-lined wicker baskets that are used as nests for -caged canaries. - -“The long-tailed titmouse, remarkable for its excessive caudal -development, which constitutes more than half the total length of its -body, lives in the woods during the summer season, and comes into our -gardens and orchards only in winter. It is a small bird with a reddish -back and white breast. The stomach is tinged with red; the neck and -cheeks are white. - -“Its nest is built sometimes in the fork of a high branch in a clump of -bushes, and sometimes in the dense underwood of a thicket, a few feet -from the ground; but it is most often attached to the trunk of a willow -or a poplar tree. Its shape is that of a very large cocoon, and its -entrance is at one side, about an inch from the top. On the outside it -is made of lichens like those that cover the tree, in order to blend -with the bark and deceive the eye of the passer-by. Fibers of wool -serve to hold all the parts securely together. To make the dome of the -nest rain-proof, it is formed of a sort of thick felt composed of bits -of moss and cobwebs. The inside resembles an oven with cup-shaped -bottom and very high top, and is furnished with a remarkably thick bed -of downy feathers, whereon repose from sixteen to twenty little birds, -arranged with careful order in the restricted space no larger, at the -most, than the hollow of one’s hand. By what miracle of parsimonious -economy do these twenty little ones with their mother manage to find -room for themselves in this tiny abode? And how in the world can tails -ever grow to such length there? - -“The nest of the swinging titmouse is still more remarkable. In our -country this bird is hardly ever found except on the banks of the lower -Rhone. It hangs its nest very high, on the tip-end of some swaying -branch of a tree at the water-side, so that its brood is gently rocked -by the breeze sweeping over the river.” - -“Why, I should think,” put in Emile, “there would be danger of the -young birds’ spilling out of such a swinging nest.” - -“Not at all,” replied his uncle. “The shape of the nest provides -against that. It is a sort of oval purse about as large as a -wine-bottle, with a small opening at one side, near the top. This -opening is prolonged like the neck of a bottle and will at the utmost -admit one’s finger. To pass through so narrow an entrance, the -titmouse, small as it is, must stretch the elastic wall, which yields a -little and then contracts again. This purse, as I have called it, is -made of the cotton-like flock that comes from the ripening seeds of -poplars and willows in May. The titmouse gathers these bits of down and -weaves them together with a woof of wool and hemp. The fabric thus -obtained is not unlike the felt of a cheap hat. - -“It would be useless to seek an explanation of the bird’s astonishing -success in manufacturing, with no implements but beak and claws, a -textile that man’s skilful hand, left to its own resources, would be -unable to produce; and this success the bird achieves with no previous -apprenticeship, without hesitation and without ever having seen the -thing done by others. At the very first trial the titmouse surpasses in -its art our weavers and fullers. - -“The top of the nest includes in its thickness the end of the branch -from which it hangs, with the terminal twigs of that branch, which -serve as framework for the nest’s vaulted roof, while the foliage -projecting through the sides of the nest protects it with its shade. -Finally, to secure greater firmness of support, a cordage of wool and -hemp is passed around the branch and interlaced with the felt of the -nest. The inside of this hanging habitation is lined with down of the -finest quality from the poplar tree. - -“Are you acquainted with the troglodyte or, as it is more commonly -called, the wren? It is the smallest of our birds, and it too is a -master in the art of nest-building. Clothed in reddish brown, with -drooping wing and upturned beak and tail, it is always frisking, -hopping, and twittering,—teederee, teeree, teeree. Every winter it -comes flying about our houses, frequenting the wood-pile, inspecting -holes in the wall, and prying into the densest thickets. At a distance -it might be mistaken for a small rat. - -“In summer it lives in the pathless woods. There, under the shelter of -some big root that lies close to the ground and is covered with a thick -fleece of moss, it builds a nest patterned after that of the swinging -titmouse. Its materials are bits of moss, selected for the purpose of -making the nest undistinguishable in appearance from that to which it -is attached. The bird gathers these materials and works them into the -shape of a large, hollow ball with a very small opening on one side. -The interior is upholstered with feathers. - -“The magpie fixes its dwelling in the top of some lofty tree whence, as -from an observatory, it can spy from afar the approaching enemy. At the -juncture of a number of branching twigs that offer adequate support it -plants its nest, constructed of interlacing flexible sticks with a -floor of tempered earth. Fine rootlets, blades of grass, and a few -tufts of down form the bedding for the prospective brood. - -“So far there is nothing to differentiate the structure from ordinary -nests; but now we behold the exhibition of a special talent on the -magpie’s part. The entire nest, and more particularly its upper part, -is surrounded by a thick rampart, a sort of fortified enclosure -composed of thorny twigs securely intertwined. One would take the whole -thing for a shapeless mass of brushwood. Through this rampart, on the -side that is most strongly defended, an opening is left of just -sufficient size to admit of the mother’s entrance and exit. It is the -only door to the aërial fortress. - -“Let us turn now to a bird that builds upon piling. It is a warbler of -large size, called the great sedge-warbler or river-thrush. It selects -a cluster of four or five reeds that project above the surface of a -pond, with their stalks rooted in the mud under the water and growing -near together. These slender piles, the tops of which the bird brings -into such proximity as may be desired and fastens with connecting -strands, are made to bear an interlacing of flexible materials, such as -rushes, bark-fibers, and long blades of grass. It is a basket-weaver’s -job, with a framework of reeds as a basis for the structure. Finally, -in this basket, which is made much longer than wide, is placed the nest -proper, a warm little bed of cotton-like down, spiders’ webs, and wool. - -“But this abode resting on piles above the water is exposed to two -dangers,—the swaying of the reeds which, bent over by the wind, might -incline the nest so that it would spill its contents either of eggs or -of young birds; and secondly, the spring freshets, which might rise so -high as to submerge the nest. These dangers, however, have been -foreseen by the bird. The nest is very deep, and furthermore the edges -of the opening bend inward and form a parapet. In this way is avoided -the risk of a fall when the reeds that bear the nest are swayed by the -wind. Finally, since the sedge-warbler is at liberty to build her nest -at any desired height above the surface of the pond, she places it -always high enough to be beyond the reach of the rising water, even in -great floods. One suspects the bird of being able to foresee, months in -advance, the coming inundation; for she builds her nest at a greater or -less elevation according to the high-water mark destined later to be -reached by the surface of the pond. - -“The cisticola is a small warbler very common in the marshes of -Camargue, at the mouth of the Rhone. Its nest is placed in the middle -of a cluster of grass and rushes, and takes the form of a purse with a -small round opening. Fine dry leaves form the bed on which the eggs -rest, while other and larger leaves are fixed all around it to form an -enclosure. - -“For this work the bird turns tailor, cutting the leaves and lapping -them over one another. Along the border of each leaf it punches holes -with the point of its beak and through these holes it passes one or -more threads made of cobwebs and the down from certain plants. Its -distaff for holding the thread—namely, the beak—does not admit of using -very long strands; hence the needleful, so to speak, goes only twice -or, at most, three times from one leaf to the next one. But no matter; -the sewing is strong enough to fasten the whole into a sort of purse -which keeps out the rain. - -“The orthotomus, or grass-warbler, a small bird of India, is an even -more skilful tailor, and in fact is commonly known as the tailor-bird. -It selects two large leaves, still living and attached to the branch on -which they grew. These are brought together, with their longer edges -touching, and are sewed border to border with strong cotton thread made -by the bird’s beak. The seams run only half the length of the leaves, -in such a manner that the two together, hanging down as they do, form a -conical sac with its mouth upward. In this sac the nest is placed, -hidden by its protecting envelope, which so blends with the rest of the -foliage that even after a person has once found the nest he can with -difficulty find it again. - -“In South Africa there is a bird scarcely larger than our swallow and -known as the social republican from its living in large societies with -one nest in common. This nest, a sort of bird village, is shaped like -an enormous mushroom, spreading out all around the trunk of a tree, -which serves as its stalk, while the lower branches also furnish their -support. This colossal edifice is of such bulk and weight as to make a -wagon-load, and if one wishes to see the interior structure it must be -chopped to pieces with an axe. It is formed wholly of dry grass -arranged much like the thatch on our rustic roofs. - -“Indeed, this structure, built at public expense by all the associated -birds, is nothing but a roof, a dome, destined to shelter the real -nests, which are attached to the inside of the thatched covering. Here -are to be found a multitude of round holes presenting all together -somewhat the appearance of a honeycomb. Each hole gives access to a -small cell, a veritable nest and the separate work of a single pair. -The grass roof, then, is built in common by the whole society, after -which each family provides for its exclusive use a little apartment -attached to the lower side of the roof. The number of inhabitants may -reach as high as a thousand.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LVII - -MIGRATION OF BIRDS - - -“At the approach of the cold season,” Uncle Paul resumed, in his -account of bird habits and bird peculiarities, “before winter clears -the fields of insects, covers the ponds with a coating of ice, and -whitens the landscape with snow, thus cutting off the food-supply -hitherto obtainable from the earth, many birds, especially those that -live on insects or frequent bodies of water and marshy meadows, take -leave of their native land and direct their course southward, where -they will find a warmer sun and a more assured supply of food. - -“They take their departure, some in large flocks, others in small -groups, or even each one separately. With no guide other than an -irresistible impulse too mysterious for us to explain, they traverse by -successive stages immense tracts of land, cross seas, and bend their -course toward the countries of the south. Africa is the rendezvous of -our birds and of European birds in general. - -“After the cold season has passed, with the first fine days of spring -the same birds return to the regions where they were born, making the -journey this time in the opposite direction, from south to north. They -take possession once more of their groves and forests, their rocks and -prairies, which they know how to find with an inconceivable accuracy. -There they build their nests, rear their young, and gain strength for -the coming journey; and upon the return of cold weather they go back -again to the lands of sunshine. - -“These periodical journeys are called migrations, of which there are -two each year,—that of autumn, when the birds leave us and go -southward, and that of spring, when they fly northward and come back to -us. These semi-annual flittings take place all over the earth. - -“The various species do not all fix upon the same time for their -migration, but each has its own calendar, from which it departs only -very slightly. Some start well in advance of the increasing chill and -the lessening abundance of food, while others do not leave their native -land until driven by actual necessity, when the cold has become severe. -Thus our martin flies away for Africa as early as the month of August, -whereas the chimney-swallow lingers until October or even November. - -“The martins forsake our turrets and old walls, our steeples and -belfries, while the summer heat is still intense and the small flies on -which they feed are still abundant. It is not, then, any lowering of -temperature that drives them away, nor is it any lack of food that -hastens their departure; but they have a secret presentiment of the -change of season that is coming in a few weeks; a deep-seated unrest, -which they cannot overcome, warns them that the hour for their -departure is drawing near. - -“If one desires to witness this anxiety that torments the bird when the -time for migrating arrives, he may do so by rearing in captivity a -migratory bird caught very young. The captive, though never having -lived with its kind or had any knowledge of their migratory habits, and -furthermore having been kept in a cage with no experience of cold or -hunger, nevertheless, when the season for flitting arrives, shows -agitation and mental distress, and tries to escape from its -prison—after remaining so quiet and contented up to that time. Some -inner voice—instinct we call it—says it is time to go, and the captive -is eager to be off. If the desire is thwarted, death follows. - -“To tear oneself from beloved haunts to incur the fatigues and perils -of a long journey is undoubtedly a painful decision; yet the bird -courageously submits to the inevitable, but in the hope of coming back -again some day. The strong reassuring the weak, the older ones guiding -the young, the departing flock forms itself into a caravan and takes -wing for the south. The sea is crossed, the treacherous sea from which, -at long intervals, rises an island as halting-place. Many perish in the -crossing, many reach the goal worn with hunger and spent with fatigue. - -“The day for starting on this momentous journey is decided upon in a -great assembly, toward the end of August for the window-swallow, and -considerably later, even as late as November, for the chimney-swallow. -When once the date has been fixed, the window-swallows gather together -daily for several days on the roofs of tall buildings. Every few -minutes small parties detach themselves from the general conclave and -circle about in the air with anxious cries, taking a parting look at -their native haunts, and paying them a last farewell. Then they return -to their places among their companions and join in noisy chatter on the -subject of their hopes and fears, all the while preparing themselves -for the distant expedition by a careful inspection of their plumage and -a final touch to one lustrous feather after another. - -“After several repetitions of these farewells a plaintive twittering -announces the fateful hour. The moment has come, it is time to start. -The flock rises, the emigrants are off for the south. If one of them -has been marked with a red string around the claw in order to be -recognized, you may be sure you will see it come back the next spring -and take possession of its nest again with little cries of joy at -finding it intact and ready for occupancy after a few repairs. - -“With their vigorous wings the duck and goose, in their wild state, are -ardent travelers. On a gray day in November, when there are signs of -snow, it is not unusual to see passing from north to south, at a great -height, birds arranged in single file, or in a double file meeting in a -point, like the two branches of the letter V. These birds are a flock -of either ducks or geese in the act of migrating. - -“If the flock is of no great size, the birds composing it arrange -themselves in one continuous file, the beak of each following bird -touching the tail of the preceding, in order that the passage opened -through the air may not have time to close again. But if the flock is a -large one, two files of equal length are formed, which meet at an acute -angle, the front of the moving mass. - -“This angular arrangement, of which we find examples in the ship’s -prow, the plowshare, the thin edge of a wedge, and a multitude of -utensils designed for cleavage, is the most favorable for pushing -through the mass of the air with the least fatigue. If in marshaling -their flying battalions the goose and the duck had taken counsel of the -engineer’s science, they could not have managed better. But they have -no need of others’ advice: instructed by their own instinct, they -utilized long before we did the principle of the wedge. - -“Moreover, to divide among all the members of the flock the excess of -fatigue incurred by the file-leader in opening a passage through the -air by strength of wing, each in turn takes the post of honor, the -forward end of the single file or the point of the angle formed by the -double file. Its term of service ended, the bird at the head retires to -the rear to recuperate, and another leader takes its place. By this -equitable division of labor the fatigue does not prove excessive for -any one bird, and the flock leaves no stragglers behind.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LVIII - -CARRIER-PIGEONS - - -Resuming the subject of bird instinct as illustrated by the migratory -flock’s unerring precision in finding its way over thousands of miles -to a desired nesting-place, Uncle Paul continued as follows: - -“How is it that so many thousands, even millions, of migrating birds -can direct their course through trackless space each to the particular -rock or tree or nest left behind six months before, when the yearly -removal was decided upon to some southern region a thousand miles or -more distant? How, for example, does the frail swallow manage to find -again, at the return of spring, its tiny abode in the north when it -retraces the long journey of the previous autumn? In order that we may -be sure it is the same swallow returned to the same nest we tie a -colored string, as I have said, around the bird’s claw; and, lo and -behold, when April comes, with it comes our swallow to its dwelling -under the eaves. It is indeed our identical bird and no other; it is -the very one that fashioned the nest of clay, cherished bit of private -property now so eagerly taken possession of once more. The owner’s -demonstrations of satisfaction and delight are convincing proof, even -were the bit of red thread not there to dispel all doubt. - -“If the swallow is able to find its nest again upon returning in the -spring from the land of the negroes, still more will it be able to find -it after being removed merely from its native canton to the neighboring -one. - -“A mother sitting on her eggs or feeding her young is taken, let us -suppose, put into a basket, and carried quickly to a spot twenty or -thirty leagues distant, where she is set free again. The surrounding -country is unfamiliar to her: she has never been there before. Of the -road over which she has just come she has not the slightest knowledge, -having traveled it in the darkness of a closed basket. No matter. With -only a moment’s hesitation she gets her bearings amid these strange -scenes and takes flight toward her nest as unerringly as if it were -possible to see the very roof under which repose her little ones. In a -few hours we shall find her back again on her nest. - -“A like behavior under similar conditions might be witnessed in the -case of divers other birds noted for strength of wing and power of -sustained flight. They would return to their domicile in spite of the -distance to be traversed and the unfamiliarity of the intervening -country. Maternal love can accomplish wonders. In order to save her -eggs from a chill or her little ones from starving in her absence, the -mother-bird exercises a geographical skill as marvelous as that -displayed at the period of migration.” - -“I have heard it said,” remarked Louis, “that the pigeon is very clever -at finding its way over long distances, and that it is used for -carrying letters from one place to another.” - -“Yes,” replied Uncle Paul, “this aptitude for retracing the homeward -way over vast distances is shown to an extraordinary degree by some of -our domestic pigeons. Economizing all their strength for purposes of -sustained flight, they have retained the wild pigeon’s pointed wings, -sleek plumage, and symmetrical form. We call these birds -carrier-pigeons, a name well earned, as you will see from what I have -now to tell you. - -“A pigeon having a brood of young is taken from the pigeon-house, put -into a closed basket, and transported a distance of a hundred, two -hundred leagues, or even further if you choose—from one end of France -to the other. There it is set free. It rises in the air, circles about -a few times as if to assure itself of the direction to be followed, and -then starts off in impetuous flight toward the quarter where -pigeon-house and young await its coming. - -“Does the bird catch sight of the pigeon-house as it circles about in -the upper air? By no means; the distance is too great. Even should it -rise to the height of the clouds, or to still greater altitudes, where -moreover its wings could not sustain it, it would be unable to see its -home. On the journey to the point where it was released it has had no -passing glimpse of any object, shut up as it has been in the dark -basket. The region it now traverses it sees for the first time. Nothing -in the surrounding landscape is familiar, and yet its flight evinces -the assurance that comes from having a definite goal in view. With a -speed of about twenty leagues an hour it wings its way straight to the -journey’s end. If the distance is too great to be covered without -pause, halts are made here and there for food and rest; then the -journey is resumed, swift as an arrow’s flight. Finally, at the end of -some hours or days, according to the distance and the duration of the -halts, the bird reënters the pigeon-house with its beakful of food for -the waiting little ones. - -“In serious situations the carrier-pigeon is a valuable messenger. -During the winter of that terrible year, 1870–71, when the German -hordes besieged Paris, no communication was possible by ordinary means -between the invested city and the rest of France, in arms to repel the -odious invader. With Paris rendered mute by its isolation, one might -have said that the heart of the country had ceased to beat. For -communication between those within and friends without, recourse was -had to balloons and pigeons. - -“Certain persons of dauntless courage left Paris by balloon, choosing -especially the night-time for their departure in order to avoid -encounter by day. They carried with them despatches from Paris and a -number of carrier-pigeons. Over the enemy camps they went, to alight -somewhere, far or near, at the pleasure of the winds. Thus the -provinces received despatches, newspapers, and private letters from -Paris. The car of the balloon was loaded with all these. - -“But how carry back to Paris despatches from the provinces? To leave a -city by balloon in any chance direction is not so very difficult; but -to return by balloon to the same city is practically impossible. The -balloon goes as the wind wills, not as its passengers would like to -have it go. To seek to return by the means employed in departing would -be to compromise everything by incurring the risk of landing in the -midst of the Prussian lines. - -“The only remaining expedient was to use those incomparable aids, the -pigeons, which the aëronaut had taken with him on his departure. -Released, one at a time, with despatches enclosed in a quill and -fastened to the bird’s tail, they flew back over the German army to the -pigeon-house; they reëntered Paris and brought news of what was going -on in the provinces. - -“Do not imagine that the winged messenger was able to transmit only a -few words or at most a few lines. It was not with a pen or on ordinary -paper that the despatches entrusted to the pigeons were written. By -ingenious methods and with unheard-of delicacy it was found possible to -obtain characters so fine and sheets of paper so thin that a roll of -these sheets weighing scarcely a gram and enclosed in a quill contained -as much reading matter as ten printed volumes. What a marvelous piece -of work, that package of letters fastened to the pigeon’s tail, that -quill transformed into a library in which thousands of persons—friends, -kinsfolk, statesmen—communicated their projects, their fears, their -hopes! In this manner the mail service was maintained during those -woeful times.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LIX - -SOME PREHISTORIC ANIMALS - - -“Fossil remains of all sorts of animals, from the largest to the -smallest, are found embedded in stone. There are lizards which, if -alive, would hardly find room enough to turn around in many of our -public squares, so monstrous is their size; tortoises with shell as -large as a small boat; fishes of strange formation; birds of a singular -character such as we no longer behold; and enormous quadrupeds that -would dwarf to insignificance our sturdy ox. All flying creatures of -the air, all walking and creeping animals of the earth, every form of -life swimming in the water, are represented in these fossil remains -found in the heart of our rocks, but of a shape and often of a size -very different from those of our living animals. - -“These ancient creatures have never been seen alive by man, so far back -in the past is their period. After inhabiting the earth for a very long -time, they disappeared forever, to give place to other species. What -remains of them consists chiefly of bones, which from their hardness -and their mineral character offer the most resistance to the various -destructive agencies. With the sole aid of these bones science succeeds -in reconstructing the exact form of the animal. It also tells us what -the animal fed on and what were its habits. By a miracle of sagacity it -resuscitates, so to speak, the ancient, dislocated carcass, and makes -it live again to the mind’s eye. - -“Fossil bones are commonly found embedded in stone quarried at -considerable depths; it needs the work of pick and chisel and hammer to -free them from the rock. How did they come to be there? In the same way -as shells. If the creature lived in the waters of a lake or of the sea, -the mud at the bottom covered the body after death. If it lived on -land, the floods swept away its carcass and bore it to the river, which -in turn carried it to lake or ocean. Later the lake dried up or the -ocean receded, and the hardened clay left behind became the stone -whence to-day are obtained the relics of prehistoric forms of animal -life. - -“What, then, were these prehistoric forms of animal life that preceded -man? Regarding ourselves as related to the animals provided with bones, -a sort of inner framework sustaining the corporeal edifice, we may say -in a general way that there has been a gradual succession from lower to -higher in structure. First appeared the fishes, then came the reptiles, -next the birds, after them the quadrupeds, suckling their young, and -last of all man, placed above all the rest by his incomparable -endowments. - -“Let us glance rapidly at some examples of the ancient denizens of land -and sea. Look at this picture. The back of the creature here -represented resembles a little, in its form and in its regular rows of -scales, the tail of a fish; but the front—to what can that be likened? -What is the meaning of those large bony plaques arranged side by side -like the squares in a tessellated pavement? The animal is armed with -coat of mail, perhaps to protect itself from the bite of an enemy. - -“What is the purpose of those wing-like appendages that strike the -flanks? Of what use are those two short horns at the base of the -forehead? What sort of a creature can it be that thus singularly -combines in its structure the tail of a fish, the shell of a tortoise, -the featherless wings of a bird, and the nascent horns of a ram? You -will never guess the answer, so different is the creature from any that -are known to you. It is a fish, but such a fish as no frying-pan of -ours has ever had acquaintance with, nor does the ocean now hold any -more like it. - -“It goes back to the earliest ages of the world, and is called the -pterichthys. Do not exclaim at this name, as strange to our ears as the -creature itself to our eyes. Translated into our tongue, it means a -winged fish. But did this fish of former ages really fly? Assuredly -not. It was too heavy, too massive, to admit of that. Its wings were -simply admirable fins for swimming. - -“In the seas of our day there live certain fishes fitted for flying. -Their lateral fins, which are very long, open like large fans and -enable them to sustain themselves for some time in the air. Pressed too -hard by a pursuing foe, they escape by leaping out of the water and -flying over the waves, clearing a certain distance before plunging -again into the water, as they must when their fins begin to get dry and -to lose their suppleness. They are called flying fishes. Compare these -two pictures and you will see how greatly the present flying fish -differs from the ancient winged fish. - -“And this other creature—what wild dream could have conceived such a -monstrosity? It has the head and neck of a plucked bird; and it also -has a bird’s beak, but an enormous one armed with pointed teeth in each -mandible. Its wings are those of a bat, one talon of each claw being -disproportionately elongated and serving as support to a wide membrane, -much as an umbrella-rib holds the stretched fabric of the cover. Its -other talons are free and are furnished with hooked nails. - -“The hind legs and feet are those of the lizard. The body is covered -with fine scales, is marbled with touches of a darker color, and ends -in an abbreviated tail. Take away from this strange animal its bat’s -wings, its long neck and its bird’s head, and you will have something -closely resembling the lizard, the creature that basks in the sun on -old walls, or that other one, larger and all green, which gives us a -start when it scuttles away among the dead leaves or in the dense -growth of the hedge.” - -“And was it a lizard, then, or a bird?” asked Emile. - -“It was a reptile, certainly,” was the reply, “and it might be called a -sort of lizard. There were several species, varying from the size of a -lark to that of a crow. Like the bat, the animal left its retreat in -the hollow of rocks and came out at night to flutter awkwardly about in -the air by the aid of its wings of stretched skin. With its toothed -beak it snapped up in their flight immense dragon-flies, the chief -insects of that time. Its hunger appeased, it took its repose on the -ground, wings folded against its sides, body supported by the hind -legs; or else it hung down from the rocks, suspended by its claws. Its -name is pterodactyl, which means wing-fingered. - -“Let us consider another of these prehistoric creatures. This time it -is a bird, and what a marvelous bird, too, my friends! Its beak, no -less monstrous than that of the pterodactyl, had likewise the two -mandibles armed with a ferocious-looking set of teeth. Pointed teeth in -the jaws of a reptile, such as a lizard, crocodile, or serpent, are -nothing extraordinary; but in a bird’s mouth, that is unheard-of. -To-day one would search in vain all over the earth for anything like -it. There are beaks of all shapes and sizes, there are short ones and -long ones, straight ones and crooked ones, strong ones and weak ones; -but all are toothless, as are the hen’s and the sparrow’s. What a -singular custom in the primitive bird, to adopt for beak the toothed -jaws of the reptile! - -“And that is not all. This bird adopted also the reptile’s tail, but -covered it with feathers. Birds of the present day have a short, wide -rump, from which grow a dozen coarse feathers. The first bird in the -order of time had its tail composed of a long succession of little -bones, each supporting two feathers. Here is a picture of that tail -just as it was found in the rock where the strange creature left its -remains. The bird to which the tail belonged is called by the learned -an archæopteryx, or ancient winged animal. - -“One more of these monsters, and that will suffice. The animal that you -see here is the mammoth, a sort of enormous shaggy elephant, so tall -that its back would have touched the ceiling in most of our great -halls. Its height was as much as six meters. By its side the ordinary -elephant, the largest of extant terrestrial animals, would look no -larger than a sheep beside an ox. - -“Its tusks, which had a pronounced backward curve, measured four meters -in length and weighed as much as four hundred and eighty pounds each. -What must have been the strength of a colossus carrying between its -lips a weight of nine hundred pounds as easily as a cat carries the -hairs of its mustaches! - -“Man was already in existence at the time of the mammoth. Armed with -sharp flint-stones and bone-pointed arrows, he made bold to attack the -enormous animal whose weight made the earth tremble. He hunted it in -the chase and feasted on its flesh. What a piece of game when the giant -fell into the deep ditch masked by a light covering of boughs and -foliage! The victim was then overwhelmed with masses of rock, after -which there was an interminable banquet for the whole tribe. - -“Let us go no further, but merely say in conclusion that the animals of -to-day are not the same as those of former ages. Long before the -present species on land and in the sea, there gradually made their -appearance other very different forms of animal life, which have now -become extinct. Nowhere on the earth are there now living any creatures -like those that have left their fossil remains for our inspection.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LX - -THE ORIGIN OF COAL - - -“Coal is a fuel of inestimable value. By the heat which it develops in -burning it gives movement to divers machines. It makes the locomotive -move over the iron rails and the steamship traverse the ocean. With its -aid metals are worked, fabrics woven, pottery is baked, glassware -manufactured, newspapers and books are printed, tools are shaped, and -all sorts of instruments necessary to our daily activities are -produced. The arts and crafts have no more powerful auxiliary. If we -had to substitute the heat of wood for that of coal, our forests would -prove insufficient. - -“What, then, is the origin of this combustible, which feeds an immense -industry and is the source of incalculable riches? Ordinarily a piece -of coal has no great interest for the eye. It is black, lustrous, -formless, friable, without any definite character to afford us -instruction. One can learn more from the fragments of refuse rejected -by the miner as too poor in carbon, fragments in which the -predominating element is a kind of dark stone that splits in sheets. In -these a surprise is lurking that will tell us the secret of coal. - -“These laminate blocks, stone rather than coal, show us, on the slabs -that have just been separated by the blow of the hammer, various -wonderful designs in which we recognize without hesitation the imprint -or mold of some form of vegetation. There is no mistake about it; a -plant has left its remains there; we behold in very truth the leaf with -its subdivisions and its veins. It is all there, even to the minutest -detail. It is really the leaf minus the green color, for which is -substituted the black of the coal. We should not obtain a more exact -representation if we ourselves took the imprint of some sufficiently -firm leaf on a soft plaque of clay. - -“Pending the time when some lucky chance shall bring you into the -neighborhood of a coal mine where you can obtain a laminate block that -you can split into sheets and thus discover for yourselves the -vegetable imprints there concealed, here is a picture that will show -you what these curious markings look like. - -“What do you think of it? Have we not here what seems to be actual -leaves, and very elegant ones too? They are spread out with a care that -would appear to indicate the work of a painstaking human hand. Yes, -these are real leaves, but turned to carbon and firmly incrusted in -their bed of black rock. - -“Similar imprints are found in great abundance in all coal mines. -Certain coal-deposits, several meters thick, are composed entirely of -them, the smallest chip that one splits off bearing on each face the -markings of foliage. The whole is nothing but an accumulation of leaves -and broken tree-trunks. An entire forest, heaped up in one pile, would -not present an equal mass. Thus it is demonstrated that in coal are -preserved the remains of ancient vegetation. - -“During great floods the rivers of former ages swept away in enormous -masses the trees they had uprooted along the banks, together with the -foliage washed into the current by the heavy rains; then all this -refuse was deposited in the mud at the river’s mouth, or in some lake -or bay. Thus were amassed here and there, under the water, during a -long series of centuries, the remains of primitive forests. - -“Fine clay became packed about these masses, molding itself with -delicate accuracy around even the smallest leaf; the weight of the -superimposed mud crushed the softened tree-trunks; a gradual decay -converted the whole into charcoal; and finally the ligneous mass became -a layer of coal. Later the waters changed their bed, driven elsewhere -by upheavals in the surface of the earth, and the previously inundated -bottom-lands became solid ground in which to-day we find coal under -massive strata of rock. - -“Is it possible to distinguish the forms of plant-life whence has come -our coal? Yes, it is possible, so well preserved are the details of -that life in the products of our mines. Now an examination of the -imprints left to us in the laminæ or leaves of our stone book shows us -that the plant-life of those remote ages in which the coal was -accumulated bore not the least resemblance to that of our present -forests. And this difference was to be expected. The animal life has -changed; why, then, should the plant-life have remained unaltered?” - -“Didn’t they have trees then like ours?” asked Jules. - -“No,” replied his uncle; “we do not find in our coal mines any signs of -the existence of trees resembling those of our day. Nowhere in the -world, in fact, are there now to be seen any such forms of plant-life -as flourished so abundantly in those remote ages; or if any still exist -that are at all analogous, they must be sought in the islands of the -tropical seas. No vegetable growth of that coal epoch, whether tree or -bush or simple cluster of leaves, bore flowers. The splendors of the -corolla were not to appear until a later period. - -“For the most part there were only tall stems or stalks, without -branches, of equal size from top to bottom, and furrowed with channels -or dotted with large points arranged in spiral lines. At the top a tuft -of enormous leaves balanced itself, the under surface of each leaf -bearing elongated or rounded swellings containing a fine brown dust, -each grain of which was a seed for the propagation of the plant. - -“Plants that thus bear their seeds, or spores, in powdery masses on the -under side of the leaves are called ferns. A number of species flourish -in our part of the world. They are unpretentious plants, fond of shade -and coolness. Old damp walls, rocks that drip water drop by drop, the -darkest corners of our woods—these are the customary haunts of the -fern. - -“A short underground stock and a sparse cluster of leaves, very -elegantly shaped, it is true, constitute our native ferns. Those of the -coal epoch were of a different pattern. Some of them displayed at the -top of a stem as tall as our poplars a cluster of leaves five or six -meters in length. They are called tree-ferns, and they contributed the -greater part of the coal-forming material. - -“The accompanying illustration will give you an idea of what the -vegetation of that period must have looked like. What strange trees! -How different from our oaks and maples and hemlocks! The soil is a -liquid mud in which lie and rot the tree-trunks prostrated by the -weight of years; the air is sultry, moist, heavy, strongly impregnated -with a moldy smell; and the density of the foliage barely admits a few -sunbeams to flicker over the surface of the stagnant pools. - -“Everywhere profound silence. No song of bird bursts forth from the -foliage of those tall fern-trees, for the bird is not yet in existence. -No foot of quadruped treads the ground, for the quadruped with its coat -of fur will not come until much later. Some lizards lurking in the -rock-fissures, some large dragon-flies at the water’s edge, some odious -scorpions under the heaps of dead leaves—that is all the animal-life to -be found in the forests that gave us our coal.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXI - -THE FARMER’S HELPERS - - -“By ‘helpers’ I here mean those animals and birds that come to our aid, -though not subject to our care and protection, and make war on the -insects and divers other devourers that would soon get complete control -of our crops if we were left to our own resources for preventing their -excessive multiplication. What could man do against those voracious -hordes that annually propagate their kind at a rate defying -calculation? Would he have the patience, the skill, the keenness of -eyesight necessary for effective warfare upon the smallest of these -marauders when the June-bug, despite its size, mocks at our utmost -efforts to exterminate it? Would he undertake to examine all his -fields, a clod at a time, to inspect his grain, ear by ear, to -scrutinize his fruit trees, one leaf after another? For so prodigious a -task the combined efforts of the whole human race would not suffice. -The devouring hosts would eat us up, my friends, if we had no helpers -to come to our rescue, helpers endowed with a patience that nothing can -weary, an adroitness that baffles all wiles, a vigilance from which -there is no escape. To lie in wait for the enemy, to seek him in his -remotest retreats, to pursue him without pause or rest, and finally to -exterminate him, that is their sole concern, their incessant -preoccupation. They are implacable, pitiless; hunger urges them on, -both for their own sake and in behalf of their families. They live at -the expense of those that live at our expense; they are the enemies of -our enemies. - -“As participants in this great work must be named the bat and the -hedge-hog, the owl, the martin, the swallow, and all the smaller birds, -the lizard, the adder, the frog, and the toad. Praise be to God who has -given us as protectors from that glutton, the insect, such birds as the -swallow and the warbler, the robin and the nightingale, the martin and -the starling. And yet these invaluable creatures, guardians of earth’s -bounty, a delight to the eye, a solace to the ear, have their homes -pillaged by the barbarous and stupid robber of birds’ nests. Praise be -to God who for the protection of our daily bread has given us the owl -and the toad, the hedge-hog and the bat, the adder, the lizard and the -mole. Nevertheless these useful creatures that come so valiantly to our -aid are cursed and calumniated, and we stupidly vent upon them our -loathing and hate. - -“By what perversity are we, in general, impelled to destroy animals -whose coöperation is so much to our advantage? Nearly all our helpers -are persecuted. Their good will must be indomitable to make them bear -our ill treatment and not forsake our dwellings and fields, never to -return. The bat rids us of a host of enemies, and is nevertheless under -the ban; the mole clears the soil of vermin, and is likewise -proscribed; the hedge-hog wages war on vipers and cut-worms, and it too -is an outlaw; the owl and various other night birds are accomplished -rat-hunters, and they also are in disfavor; the adder, toad, and lizard -feed on the ravagers of our crops, and all the while we hold them in -abhorrence. They are ugly, we say, and without further reason we kill -them. But, blind slayers, the day will come when you will perceive that -you have been sacrificing your own defenders to an irrational -repugnance. You complain of rats, but you nail the owl to your door and -let its body dry in the sun as a hideous trophy; you cry out against -cut-worms, but you crush the mole every time your spade turns one up; -you disembowel the hedge-hog and set your dogs on him just for fun; you -bewail the ravages of moth and worm in your granaries, but if the bat -falls into your clutches it is seldom that you show him any mercy. Your -complaints go up to heaven, but all these willing helpers of yours you -treat as creatures accursed. Blind fools that you are, filled with an -insane desire to kill! - -“Insect-eating birds are of immense importance to agriculture. They -divide among themselves the work to be done in field and hedge, meadow -and garden, forest and orchard, and wage unceasing warfare on every -species of vermin, a terrible tribe that would destroy our crops were -not more vigilant guardians than we continually on the watch—guardians -of far greater adroitness, of sharper eyesight, of more lasting -patience in their endless quest, and having nothing else to do. I am -not exaggerating, my little friends; without insect-eating birds famine -would decimate us. Who then, unless he be an idiot with a mania for -destruction, would dare touch the nests of birds that enliven the -country with their plumage and deliver us from the devouring scourge of -insects? But there are, nevertheless, bloodthirsty gamins who, if they -can manage to elude the school-master and play truant, find it a joyous -pastime to climb trees and explore hedges in order to rob birds’ nests -and slaughter the young. These good-for-nothings are under the -surveillance of the rural guard and liable to the utmost rigors of the -law, to the end that our crops may still be protected by the birds and -that our fields and orchards may continue to yield sheaves of grain and -baskets of fruit. - -“Let us add a few words on the mode of life of these indispensable -collaborators. The bat feeds exclusively on insects, anything in that -class serving its purpose,—beetles with hard wing-sheaths, -spindle-shanked mosquitoes, graceful butterflies, plump-bellied moths -of all kinds, such as make havoc of our cereals, vineyards, fruit trees -and woolen stuffs, and those that come in the evening, attracted by the -lamplight, and singe their wings over the flame. Who shall say how many -insects are snapped up by the bats in their nightly tour of our -premises? The game is so small, the hunter’s appetite so insatiable! - -“Note what takes place on a calm summer evening. Lured abroad by the -mild temperature of the twilight hours, a swarm of insects leave their -retreats and come out to play in the open air, to hunt for food, and to -mate, one with another. It is then that great night-moths fly abruptly -from flower to flower and plunge their long proboscis to the bottom of -the corolla, where they suck up the honey; it is then that the -mosquito, eager for human blood, sings its war-song in our ears and -chooses our tenderest spot for the insertion of its envenomed lancet; -and it is then that the June-bug quits the sheltering leaf, spreads its -resounding wings, and goes booming through the air in quest of its kin. -The gnats dance in joyous swarms which the least puff of wind disperses -like a column of smoke; the moths, their wings powdered with silver -dust and their antennæ displayed plume-fashion, indulge in frolicsome -gambols or go in search of favorable places for laying their eggs; the -little wood-gnawing beetles explore the wrinkled bark of old -tree-trunks; the wheat-moths rise in clouds from the ravaged grain and -take flight for fresh fields; and other night-flying insects flutter -about, alighting on grape-vines and fruit-trees, all busily searching -for food and shelter for their calamitous offspring. - -“But suddenly this scene of jollity is intruded upon by a most -unwelcome kill-joy. The bat, with zig-zag course, flits hither and -thither, up and down, back and forth, untiring of wing, appearing and -disappearing, darting its head out this way and that, and each time -catching an insect in flight, which it immediately crushes and gobbles -up, sending it to its doom down a throat that opens wide from ear to -ear. It is famous hunting: gnats, beetles, moths, all are there in -plenty, and every once in a while a little cry of joy announces the -capture of an especially plump victim. As long as the fading twilight -admits of it, the ardent hunter continues in this way his work of -extermination. Stuffed to repletion at last, the bat regains its dark -and quiet retreat; but on the morrow, and every day thereafter -throughout the summer, the hunt will be resumed, always with the same -ardor, always at the cost of insects only. My children, respect the -bat, our helper in destroying the ravagers of our fields.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXII - -THE FARMER’S HELPERS - -(Continued) - - -“The hedge-hog’s diet consists especially of insects. The lowest order -of vermin is disdained by him as too small, but a June-bug larva or a -fat-bellied cricket is a capital prize, and when these are not too -deeply buried he burrows with claws and snout to unearth them. All -night long he goes prowling around, routing out and crunching a goodly -number of our enemies, without doing any appreciable harm himself. - -“Listen now to what I am going to relate to you from the book of a -learned observer. ‘I had in a box,’ he says, ‘a female hedge-hog with -her sucklings; and I added to the occupants of the box a vigorous -viper, which coiled itself up in one corner. The hedge-hog slowly -approached and smelt of the reptile, whereupon the latter raised its -head and put itself on guard, showing the while its venomous fangs. For -a moment the aggressor recoiled, but only to resume the offensive -immediately after and with no sign of fear. The viper then bit the -animal on the end of its snout. The hedge-hog licked its bleeding -wound, and in doing so received a second bite on the tongue without -suffering itself to be at all intimidated. Finally it seized the -serpent by the middle of its body, and the two adversaries rolled -together on the floor in a furious struggle, the quadruped grunting and -snorting, the reptile hissing and making repeated use of its fangs. -Suddenly the hedge-hog seized its antagonist’s head and crunched it -between its teeth, after which, without the least sign of perturbation, -it proceeded to devour the forward half of the body. That done, it -returned to the opposite corner of the box and, lying on its side, -calmly began to suckle its young. On the morrow it ate the rest of the -viper. The same experiment was several times repeated, with an interval -of some days between each repetition and the next, but the issue was -always the same: in spite of wounds that set its snout to bleeding, the -hedge-hog invariably finished by devouring the reptile, and neither the -mother nor her young showed any ill effects from the experience.’ - -“It is to be assumed that the hedge-hog has not received the gift of -withstanding the venom of reptiles only to leave that gift unemployed. -The animal is evidently intended to find its chief pleasure in haunting -the places frequented by the viper; in its nightly rounds among the -underbrush it must often catch the lurking serpent and make short work -of the venomous creature. What valuable service it must render in -regions infested by this dangerous reptile! And yet man is the -hedge-hog’s inveterate foe, showering it with maledictions and treating -it as an unclean beast good for nothing except perhaps to arouse the -fury of dogs, which have to beware of its bristling back. Do not, my -children, imitate this evil example, but respect the hedge-hog for -ridding you of the cut-worm and the viper. - -“Now as to the mole, what does it eat? The best way to decide the -question of an animal’s diet is to examine the contents of its stomach. -Let us, then, open the mole’s stomach and see for ourselves. Sometimes -it is found to contain red fragments of the common earth-worm; -sometimes a hash of beetles, recognizable from the tough remains that -have resisted digestion, such as bits of claws and wing-sheaths; -sometimes, again, and oftener than not, a marmalade of larvæ, -especially those of the June-bug, with their distinctive signs like the -mandibles and the hard casing of the head. One finds, in short, a -little of every sort of game haunting the soil,—polypods and millepeds, -insects and caterpillars, moths in the chrysalis, underground worms and -nymphs, and so on; but the minutest scrutiny fails to discover a single -particle of vegetable matter. - -“The mole, then, is exclusively carnivorous, and furthermore it has a -monstrous appetite, a perfectly insatiable stomach that in twelve hours -demands a quantity of food equal to the animal’s weight. The mole’s -existence is one gluttonous frenzy, ever renewing itself, never -appeased; a few hours’ abstinence suffices to kill the creature. To -still the anguish of that stomach, which is no sooner stuffed with food -than it is emptied again, what can the animal count upon? On the grubs -living in the ground, and especially on those of the June-bug, tender -and fat. It is a small creature for supplying the wants of such an -appetite, but its numbers make up for its littleness. What a massacre -of worms, then, must not the mole be credited with in the season when -worms abound! Scarcely is one meal finished before another begins, and -at each repast the worms must be gobbled up by the dozen. To clear a -field of these formidable ravagers the farmer has no helper equal to -the mole. The only regret is that to reach the vermin on which the -animal lives, it has to burrow among the roots where they have their -haunts. Many roots that lie in the way are necessarily ruptured in this -work; plants are broken off and destroyed; and, finally, the little -piles of earth, or mole-hills, heaped up by the animal in the course of -its excavations, impede the reaper when harvest-time comes around. -Never mind: the worms would have caused much more serious damage, and -to get rid of them there is nothing like this ravenous insect-hunter. -Therefore, children, never molest the mole, the protector of our crops. - -“The toad is harmless, but that is not enough to commend the creature -to our attention. It too is a helper of great worth, a greedy devourer -of slugs, beetles, larvæ, and every sort of vermin. Discreetly -withdrawn by day under the cool cover of a stone in some obscure hole, -it leaves its retreat at nightfall to make its regular rounds, -propelling itself, hoppity-hop, on its ample stomach. Here is a slug on -its way to the lettuce-plants; yonder is a cricket chirping at the -entrance to its hole; and over there a June-bug is laying its eggs in -the ground. Master toad comes along in circumspect fashion, opens his -cavernous mouth, and in three gulps swallows them all with a gurgle of -satisfaction. Oh, but that was good! Now for some more of the same -sort. - -“He continues on his rounds, and when dawn begins to glimmer in the -east what kind of a hodge-podge of variegated vermin must there not be -in the glutton’s capacious maw? Yet they kill this useful -creature—stone it to death because, forsooth, it is not so handsome as -it might be. My children, may you never be guilty of such cruelty, such -foolish and mischievous cruelty! Never stone the toad, for in doing so -you would be robbing the fields of a vigilant guardian. Let the poor -creature perform in peace its appointed task as destroyer of worms and -insects. - -“Finally, and not least of all, must be mentioned the various birds, -chiefly the little birds of our fields and farm-yards, that help the -farmer by devouring harmful insects and the seeds of wild grasses and -intrusive weeds. These indefatigable assistants, however, we have -already discussed, and we have gratefully acknowledged our indebtedness -to them. No more, then, need be said about them at present, except in -the way of renewed admonition never to molest them, never to rob their -nests; for they are our friends and benefactors.” - - - FINIS - - - - - - - - -NOTES - - -[1] Laundry starch is now obtained chiefly from rice and from -pulse.—Translator. - -[2] The author is not quite accurate here. Franklin was, as he tells -us, “the youngest son, and the youngest child but two.”—Translator. - -[3] The old fashioned loaf-sugar is here meant.—Translator. - -[4] This is inconsistent with what Uncle Paul stated two paragraphs -above. He should have said here that the lily has but one floral -envelope.—Translator. - -[5] In English this transfer of a bud is commonly called -“budding.”—Translator. - -[6] The author does not, either here or later, distinguish by name, as -might have been done, between butterflies and moths. The latter fly -mostly in the evening or at night.—Translator. - -[7] The corresponding English term is “screech-owl.”—Translator. - - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIELD, FOREST AND FARM *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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