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Title: The Renewal of Life; How and When to Tell the Story to the Young

Author: Margaret Warner Morley

Release date: August 12, 2008 [eBook #26280]
Most recently updated: January 3, 2021

Language: English

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OF LIFE; HOW AND WHEN TO TELL THE STORY TO THE YOUNG
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Transcriber's Note
Spelling, punctuation and inconsistencies in the original book
have been retained.

The Renewal of Life

BY MISS MORLEY
A Song of Life. 12mo $1.25
Life and Love. 12mo 1.25
The Bee People. 12mo 1.25
The Honey-Makers. 12mo 1.25
Little Mitchell. 12mo 1.25
The Renewal of Life. 12mo 1.25

Each fully illustrated

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

CHICAGO

The Renewal of Life

How and When to Tell the Story to the Young
By

Margaret Warner Morley
Author of "A Song of Life," "Life and Love," etc.

Illustrated

Chicago

A. C. McClurg & Co.

1906

Copyright by

A. C. McClurg & Co.

1906

Published September 15, 1906

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

Contents
I. The Renewal of Life 9
II. Who Is to Tell the Story, and When Is It to be Told? 17
III. How to Tell the Story 27
IV. Telling the Truth 36
V. On Nature Study 40
VI. The Development of the Seed 52
VII. The Fertilization of the Flower 87
VIII. What Can be Learned from the Life of the Fish 107
IX. Amphibious Life 127
X. The Bird 137
XI. The Mammal 154
XII. Vigilance 169
XIII. The Transformation 178
List of Books Helpful in Studying Plant and Animal Life 193

The Renewal of Life
How and When to Tell The Story to the Young

I
THE RENEWAL OF LIFE

Every human being must sooner or later know the facts concerning the
origin of his life on the earth. One of the most puzzling questions is how
and when such information should be given to the young.
There is nothing the parent more desires than that his child should have a
high ideal in regard to the sex-life and that he should live in accordance
with that ideal, yet nowhere is careful and systematic education so lacking
as here.
What parent would allow his child to go untaught in the particulars
concerning truth-telling, honesty, cleanliness, and behavior, trusting that in
some way the child would discover the facts necessary to the practice of
these virtues and live accordingly? And yet with apparent inconsistency one
of the prime virtues is neglected; one of the most vital needs of every
human being—the understanding of his sex-nature—is too often left
entirely to chance. Not only is the youth uninstructed, but no proper way of
learning the truth is within his reach. It is as though he were set blindfold in
the midst of dangerous pitfalls, with the admonition not to fall into any of
them. Those who ought to tell the facts will not, consequently the facts must
be gathered from chance sources which are too often bad, poisoning mind
and heart. Even the physiologies, with the exception of those large, and to
the average reader inaccessible, volumes used in medical schools, scarcely
ever touch upon the subject. Of course these larger books give only the
physiological facts couched in scientific terms. How and where, then, can
the youth learn what he needs to know?
It is true there is a noble effort being made for young men, and to a less
extent for young women, by certain organizations that exist for the help of
the young, to supply this curious defect in our educational system; but these
efforts reach but comparatively few members in a community, and come too
late in the life of the young to give them their first impressions on the

subject. Perhaps the most encouraging sign for the future is the interest that
thousands of mothers in all walks of life are to-day taking in the best
methods of training their children to a right understanding and noble
conception of sex-life. Innumerable mothers' clubs give the subject a place
in the curriculum of the club work, at stated times discussing, reading,
consulting all available authorities which may be of help. Some of these
mothers live in poor homes in neighborhoods where their children are
exposed to all sorts of evil communications and temptations. Others have
sheltered homes, from which the children go out among refined associates
from whom there may be little danger of learning that which is evil. Yet
others live in moderate circumstances, where the home influences may be
good, but where the children are liable to mingle with a heterogeneous
society in their school and perhaps in their social life.
Moreover, in all these homes there are children of different natures,—some
with temperaments which make it easy for them to imbibe harmful
information, while others as naturally resent such information.
Nor is the child of rich parents living in a costly home necessarily the child
least likely to make mistakes. The facts quickly refute any such idea. It is
the child most carefully trained at home, with the most inspiring counsel
and the wisest guidance in all directions, who has the best chance for
successful living, the child whose parents not only secure the best outside
assistance where such is necessary, but who themselves take a vital and
continuous interest in his education. Such parents, where the help of nurses
and teachers is necessary in the home, see to it that these helpers are
wholesome, high-minded companions for the growing minds put under
their charge.
The poorest child is the child of wealthy parents, who is turned over to
hirelings, chosen more for their accent of a foreign tongue than for their
knowledge of child life and of the laws which govern the growing mind and
body. Such children not infrequently become as depraved as the most
neglected and exposed child of the slums, later poisoning the minds or
shocking the sensibilities of children in the schools they attend.
One of the difficulties every mother has to encounter is the presence of
undesirable companions in the school. The argument that a child coming

from a sheltered home will not be influenced by such companions is only in
part true. He may not be influenced, or, again, he may. Among older
children, if the wrongdoer be dazzling in manner, looks, social position, or
even in power to lavish money, he will acquire a certain ascendency over
many of his companions, who, if not safeguarded against his allurements by
a clear knowledge of the facts of life, may fall into his snares.
How, then, can all these various situations be dealt with? How, how much,
when, and where shall the youth be safeguarded against influences,
misconceptions, and mistakes which may mar his whole after-life? These
are the questions which in part this book endeavors to answer.
The answers come from the writer's experience of many years' work with
mothers interested in this subject, especially from the testimony and the
questions of thousands of such mothers in all walks of life who possessed
children of all temperaments.
The book is not meant to be either exhaustive or arbitrary. It is written with
the single desire of helping the mother who may be groping her way in this
matter, its aim being twofold,—to indicate methods of procedure among
which the mother may find one adapted to her special needs and
circumstances, or at least from which she may get hints which she can
herself follow in her own way, and to indicate sources of information.
One trivial difficulty has presented itself in preparing the succeeding
chapters, and that is the lack in the English language of a pronoun including
both genders. The English impersonal pronoun, being masculine in form, is
liable to create the impression that "he" or "his" exclusive of "she" or "her"
is the subject of discourse. This is not so. Generally the masculine pronoun
is used impersonally in this discussion, and the discerning reader can easily
decide from the context where this is not the case.
As a help to the busy mother in selecting books for herself and her children,
a list is given at the end of the book. This list is by no means exhaustive.
There are many other and doubtless equally good books. The books given
are reliable, are prettily illustrated, are now in print, and are easily
obtainable at any book-store. If they are not in stock the book-seller will be
glad to send for them. Further, to aid in selecting and ordering, the retail
price is added. A small circulating library of well chosen books adds greatly

to the usefulness of a mother's club, and such a library can be collected at
small cost.
Where the club is composed of heterogeneous members it is advisable that
the president, or some member chosen for the purpose, should lead the
discussion, which should be on some one topic selected and made known
beforehand. This leader should not only guide the discussion, but be ready
to explain the books and make the subject clear to those tired and
overworked mothers who have had fewer educational advantages but who
are in need of such knowledge as will enable them to guide their children.
A mother unconnected with a club, and unable to afford all the books she
wants, can find many of those here recommended in the village or city
library; and where this is not the case the library is generally willing to
make such purchases as its patrons request.

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

Every thoughtful guardian of a child is sooner or later confronted with three
questions in connection with this subject,—
Who is to tell the story to the child?
When should it be told?
How should it be told?

Who shall tell the story?

The best teachers in this subject are undoubtedly the child's parents.
Since the mother generally spends more time with him and is more
accustomed to instruct him in manners and morals it naturally belongs to
her to give him his first instruction here, and it is an opportunity which no
mother understanding its value can afford to miss.
Nothing draws a child so close to his mother as the knowledge, rightly
conveyed, of how truly he is a part of her. Almost without exception the
young boy learning the truth from the lips of his mother has a new feeling
of reverence and love for her. Countless are the testimonies of mothers as to
the result of telling this fact. One illustration will answer as an example of
hundreds of similar ones. A certain little boy listened open-eyed to the
story; then, the blood mounting to his cheeks, he threw himself into his
mother's arms, exclaiming, "Oh, mamma, that is why I love you so!"
Moreover, if the right kind of confidence is established between mother and
child, the child will come to his mother with his questions and difficulties
instead of trying to satisfy his curiosity elsewhere.

The question is often asked, Will not close companionship and sympathy
between mother and child in a general way produce the same result, causing
the child to confide in the mother in case of needing information, without
any previous talks on the subject?
Of course the closer the relationship between the two the more easily will
the child confide everything; yet with very many children, if this one
subject is avoided (and particularly is this true as the child grows older), it
will not be introduced by the child, no matter how much he may desire the
knowledge, or how intimate in other ways may be his talks with his mother.
The judicious mother can get a hold upon her son through this subject that
nothing else gives; she can keep him closer to her, and oftentimes can guide
him safely over difficult places. What is true of the son is of course true of
the daughter. The little girl will respond as readily as her brother to
confidences of this kind, and will find them as helpful. She very often
escapes much that her brother in his freer life meets, yet undoubtedly in the
great majority of cases the instruction is as vitally necessary to her as to
him.
While the earliest teachings seem to fall most naturally to the mother, the
father should also share the responsibility and the privilege, talking with
frank confidence upon the subject whenever occasion offers.
The question is often asked, Is it not better for the father to talk to the boys,
the mother to the girls?
There no doubt are cases where this might be wise, but the mother,
understanding the close relationship between her son and herself that may
come through such talks,—a relationship continuing and increasing in value
as the years go on,—would feel that she could not afford to lose anything so
precious to both her boy and herself.
While the establishment of this relationship might be difficult or even
impossible later, it is easily begun in childhood and as easily continued.
Moreover, many boys are specially helped by talking with their mother.
They often feel in her a quicker sympathy and a more perfect understanding
of their needs; and as their instinctive desire is to understand life from her
point of view as well, they often feel something in her which is lacking in
the father. On the other hand, the boy who is talked to exclusively by the

mother, particularly when he begins to develop into manhood may say, or
think, "Oh, you cannot understand; you never were a man." The father's
voice here is needed, but if that is impossible there is abundant written
testimony and advice from well-known men to youth on this subject which
can be put into the boy's hands.
While the child's best teachers of these intimate truths are undoubtedly his
parents, it may happen for various reasons that this is impossible. The child
may have grown to an age where the timid parent, who has not hitherto
realized the necessity, cannot approach him. Or there may be other reasons.
In such cases the duty may devolve upon some one else capable of fulfilling
it. Such a one may be, should be, the minister. It ought to be a part of the
recognized duty of every minister of a congregation to see that such of his
young men as desire it are instructed in the facts necessary to their well-
being in this direction. It is not enough to tell them to live pure lives; they
must be helped to understand their own organizations and everything
pertaining to this side of life that they need or want to know. There should
be similar help obtainable by the young women of the congregation from
some competent woman approved by the minister. Purity is an integral part
of the religion of the new civilization, and purity and everything helping to
it should be as conscientiously and thoroughly taught in the churches as are
any other religious truths. In the church the young man, the young woman,
should be able to find corroboration of the sex-truths taught him by his
parents; and those young people not so fortunate as to receive instruction at
home should be able to drink from their religious teachers deep draughts
from this spring of salvation.
The family physician ought also to be a refuge of help for the young; and
here the woman doctor, that blessing of these later days, can do a work of
reformation and salvation. No one has more power to sow seeds of wisdom
in the homes of the people, helping the mother to understand and desire the
careful instruction of her children, and where the mother requests it, being
ready to give the needed help to the young people themselves.
Again, the teacher or some friend may be requested by the parent to come
to the help of the needy child. But whoever gives this information, it is
needless to say, should himself be pure in heart, of high moral principles,
with a firm belief in the value and possibility of purity, and with sufficient

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

When to tell the story.

It is an axiom of education that the foundations of knowledge should be laid
in childhood. From all time it has been observed that what is learned in the
earlier years remains most persistently through life. Hence we begin to
inculcate moral truths at an early age. Ideas of truthfulness and honesty, for
instance, are graven so deeply on the young mind that they can never
afterwards be erased. "Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined," said our
forefathers, and it is true. "First impressions are the most lasting," is another

true adage. This being so, we should see to it that the first impression the
child gets on the subject in question is the one we wish him to keep. Many a
life has been lamed and saddened because of the first terrible and
ineradicable impressions it received upon this all-important subject. Many a
high-minded man and woman have gone through life tormented by images
of the first unworthy thoughts. No matter how good the after-knowledge
may be, it is almost impossible to erase from the tablets of memory that old
first impression.
Of course it would be absurd to tell a young child most of the facts, just as
it would be absurd to try to teach him the whole arithmetic in one school
term. He could not understand, and, particularly in the case of the former
subject, he would be harmed instead of helped. Just how and when to
unfold the matter to his comprehension will be carefully considered as these
pages progress. Here let it suffice to say that with the young child we may
begin by building carefully block by block the foundation we want to use
later; with the older one we must needs work faster, seeking to anticipate or
counteract any unfortunate information from outside sources. Thus the age
of the child and his surroundings will to an extent determine the time or
times of telling the facts.

III
HOW TO TELL THE STORY

This is the most difficult question to answer, and one that requires time.
Indeed, one might say it cannot be answered excepting in a general way,
and that any effort to tell the truth sacredly is better than not to tell it at all.
Where the children are still young the task is comparatively simple when
once begun. It develops naturally, with time for thought on the part of the
teller; and the steps are easy and convincing.
One of the questions most frequently asked is this: Does not talking about
these things fix the child's mind unduly upon them?
As a matter of experience it is just the other way. The child who has always
known the facts is not curious. Why should he be? There is nothing to be
curious about. It is all as much a matter of course to him as the rising of the
sun. And he is safeguarded against a certain pruriency that comes from
wrongly stimulated and vilely fed curiosity. Instead of causing the child to
think more about the subject, the tendency of good teaching is to prevent
his thinking of it.
Another question frequently asked is, Does not talking on this subject
arouse curiosity in children who otherwise would not be curious?
The answer is that it does not arouse harmful curiosity. The right kind of
curiosity on any subject is of course good. Indeed without the desire to
question and investigate everything about him man would be yet a savage
living in a hole in the ground, and the starting-point of all the child's after-
knowledge is curiosity. There are two kinds of curiosity, a good kind and a
bad kind. The good kind is interested in finding out things for the sake of
understanding them; the bad kind serves a bad end,—in connection with
this subject it leads to investigations which produce wrong thoughts and
feelings, and is gratified for the sake of producing those thoughts and
feelings. The same subject may give rise to either kind of curiosity,
according as it is presented.

To-day we take every pains to stimulate the curiosity of our children. We
teach them to observe carefully the flowers, the insects, the animals,—
everything about them. We cannot expect them to exercise their stimulated
minds on all other subjects and turn blind eyes upon this one which is
obviously so important and so interesting. No, the more they learn to look
and ask about other things the more they will look and wish to ask about
this.
That children differ in curiosity is very true. Some children seem to have
very little curiosity about anything. Yet such children are sent to school with
as much care as are the children eager to know. A child might show no
interest in books, might find the reading lesson irksome; but the mother
would know he was learning to read for the use that reading would be to
him later, not for the sake of the things in the reading-book. It is the same
here, the child learns the facts for the sake of his future. There are good
reasons which will appear later why every child should have the right
information on this subject whether he seeks it or not. If he is indifferent,
one can be sure the proper kind of information will not hurt him; if he is
eager, one can be sure he ought to be carefully and thoroughly instructed.
As a rule the most active and eager children and those with the quickest
minds are the ones most curious to understand the origin of life, though
there are exceptions. It is not legitimately gratified curiosity that harms, but
suppressed curiosity, which in this subject is almost sure to result in the
acquisition of wrong and often of perverting information. The surest way to
arouse curiosity is to try to conceal something. The only thing, then, is to be
ready to gratify honest curiosity by helpful information.
Nor is it safe to defer too long. What the mother wants her child to know in
a certain way she should tell him herself, before he has a chance to hear it
elsewhere. The moment he leaves her presence, the moment he starts alone
to school, he may receive information which she would give the world to
prevent his receiving. Not that her telling will necessarily keep him from
hearing what others say, but to have his mind preoccupied will tend to
prevent the wrong ideas from taking firm root.

Another question very often asked is, Will teaching this subject not
encourage children to talk about it with other children?
On the contrary, the tendency is to prevent talk. The children of a family
equally instructed will not find it worth talking about. They know what they
want to know, and understand that the only person who can really tell them
anything more is their mother, or whoever takes her place in this. If they do
talk of it in the spirit in which they have been taught, such talk can do no
harm, excepting in the presence of children not equally well instructed.
To meet this danger the mother can take certain precautions. Having won
the confidence of her child, she can generally trust him to keep these
matters confidential with her. She can explain that children do not always
know the truth about these things, and sometimes do not know about them
at all. That some mothers do not tell their children, but that she wants her
child to understand everything just as it is, and to feel that she can trust him
not to talk on these matters excepting when alone with her.
Of course there will be instances where this does not succeed, and the
children eager and pure will speak in the presence of the neighbors' children
and make trouble. Then the question is, Which is better, to run that risk and
take the consequences, or to run the risk of allowing the child to remain
ignorant? If the child could really remain ignorant, there might be room for
argument against enlightening him, but there is great danger that he will be
enlightened in a very unenlightened manner, and possibly by those same
neighbors' children who are truly ignorant, though they may not be ignorant
in just the way their fond parents believe them to be.
Many people still confound ignorance with innocence, though these are by
no means related. The most ignorant person in the world might be the least
innocent, and the most innocent might very well be the most enlightened. It
not infrequently happens that the very children whose mothers are most
opposed to enlightenment on this subject are dangerous companions for
good children.
To guard against unprofitable or otherwise harmful teaching, the mother
should instruct the child not to listen to talk on this subject and not to join in
it, and at the same time tell him that in case he does hear anything that
troubles him he should come to her and she will talk it over and explain, so

that he may know what is right and what wrong. She should promise to tell
him the truth about whatever he may want to know.
Having made this promise she must keep it. There is nothing more
dangerous than to put a child off with evasive answers. He immediately
jumps to the conclusion that there is some reason why his mother is afraid
or ashamed to explain things to him, and if he has heard evil rumors it is
quite natural for him to suspect that what he has heard is the truth and the
whole truth, else why should his mother not help him? He soon feels
ashamed to ask her questions which she refuses to answer, and he ceases to
confide in her. There is nothing easier than to win and keep the confidence
of a child, and often there is nothing more difficult than to regain it when
once it is lost, particularly in this direction. It is a loss the mother can by no
means afford to sustain.
Mothers sometimes object that their young sons bring them the most
shocking or absurd stories which they have heard in school or elsewhere.
The mother who gives one moment's serious thought to such a situation will
be forced to the conclusion that for her to hear such tales is nothing
compared to the child's hearing them, and that his coming to his mother is
proof of his own innocence. It is surely her first duty, no matter how
difficult or unsavory the task, to sift out the wrong from the right, to show
the child wherein the story is absurd, wicked, and harmful. At such a crisis
the mother should be very careful not to show any offence because the child
has brought her the story. She may condemn the story as severely as she
likes, but she must be careful that the child does not feel himself included in
the condemnation. She must also be careful in denying the story not to deny
the germ of truth which it will contain, or the child may conclude that she is
talking against the facts, and is either ignorant or trying to conceal the truth.
Many a mother has said in despair, "My boy of nine knows more about
these things than I know myself."
It would be a great mistake to let the boy hear such a confession, as his very
best safeguard is his confidence in the knowledge of his mother, or whoever
assumes the duty of instructing him in these matters.

IV
TELLING THE TRUTH

Should the mother tell pleasant but totally false stories as to the origin of
the child,—or should she tell the truth?
It is generally safer to tell the truth. Excepting with very young children the
fiction is not long believed, and a course of deception, having been entered
upon, oftentimes proves a stumbling block in the way of later veracity. It is
so much easier to go on telling fairy-tales. Moreover, the truth, properly
conveyed, is far more beautiful than any fairy-tale.
The parent must not forget that the child's mind is a blank page upon which
any picture may be drawn, and that the child sees only what is presented to
him. The thousand problems, the thousand troubles and fears, and all the
knowledge of evil that burden the mind of the adult are entirely absent from
that of the child. He sees only the one shining fact, that he was once a part
of his dear mother, nourished and protected by her until he was ready to
open his eyes on the big world. The child has very little interest in details as
a rule; and how to meet the demand for them, should it arise, will be
considered later.
If the mother tells the story of the stork bringing the newcomer to the home,
or of the doctor carrying him in his pocket, or the apothecary selling him
over the counter, the child very soon learns that this is not true. He gets an
inkling of the truth, understands that he has been deceived, and according to
his age, his nature, and what he has heard, he will draw his conclusions as
to why his mother did not tell him the truth.
Mothers often ask whether there is any more reason for refraining from the
stork fiction than from the Santa Claus one. When Santa Claus is found out,
the whole thing is generally understood as a joke, a pleasant sort of fairy
tale. There was nothing hidden behind the fiction. In the other case, if the
child chances somewhere to hear the facts stated in a coarse manner, he will
be likely to feel instinctively that the new tale is the true one, and will

naturally conclude that the pretty fable was told to conceal a most unsavory
truth. His first impression of the real facts will in such a case be ugly and—
in a deep sense—false. It will hurt his sensibilities, or arouse his lower
nature, according to his temperament.
The mother can guide herself by a rule which has exceptions but which in
the main holds good: The child able to ask a question is able to understand
the answer.
This is by no means saying that all the facts should be stated at once. That
would be absurd. The question asked should be answered as simply as
possible, the parent remembering that children's questions are usually more
profound to the hearer than to the asker. It is difficult for the adult not to
read into the child's chance question all the profundity of his own years of
experience, and the mother who approaches this subject with dread is
almost invariably astonished and relieved to find how easily the child is
satisfied.
Where the child asks by chance or design (and it is a wise parent who can
always decide which it is) a question beyond his comprehension, or one that
the parent is not ready to answer, he can be put off temporarily with the
promise to explain another time. The child may forget all about it. If not,
then the promise must be kept; and the very fact that the child remembers
shows that he is thinking, and therefore ought to be helped. If the child asks
questions which the mother feels sure he is not ready to have answered, she
can promise to tell him when he gets older, explaining that he could not
understand now. In such cases, however, the mother should always manifest
a willingness to tell him something; she should talk with him enough to
make him feel sure she will keep her promise. He should never be allowed
to forget that he can go to his mother as frankly as to his own heart, with the
certainty of finding sympathy and aid. And she should not let him forget
that he is not to seek information from outside sources, such information
being unreliable.

V
ON NATURE STUDY

Since the most beautiful and ideal way of presenting the facts of the
renewal of life is through nature-study, a few words as to the handling of
this interesting topic may be helpful to some mothers.
In all nature-work with the child, the subjects treated should be made
interesting and beautiful. This cannot be too strongly insisted upon. The
child has a right to the pleasure, the elevation of sentiment, the play of
imagination which the contemplation of nature is able to give in such a
peculiar degree. He has a right to the romance of the flower, cloud, bird,
fish, animal life, plant life, in all their ramifications. It is a part of his soul-
development. Consequently, whatever is done for him should be done in
such a way as not to hurt his sensibilities. His pleasure in nature should be
increased, not lessened, as a result of his study.
As his knowledge expands his interest should deepen. This will almost
never be the case where the first instruction is purely technical. Nothing, for
instance, has deadened the interest of children in plant life so much as the
study of botany. This is because the school methods have been wrong, the
work being almost always approached from the wrong end. It is because the
learner's mind is dammed up by difficult and to him empty technical terms.
As a consequence, the course of its flow in this direction is stopped, and
instead of a clear stream leaping joyfully through the woods and meadows
finally to reach the great goal of the boundless ocean, it resembles rather a
motionless pond, the surface of which is covered with lifeless and unlovely
debris. Naturally the child seeks to escape from this uninteresting and dead
pool by turning his mental energies in other directions, and too often he
loses interest forever, and with it the pleasure and the vast profit that might
have come to him from a different conception of the subject.
Facts about the life of the plant should be abundantly presented, and the
facts as collected and told to-day are well-nigh inexhaustible as well as

fascinating. True stories of plant life can be, and should be, as interesting as
any other stories. Technical terms should be used at first with great restraint,
and, as a rule, only where they are obviously convenient or of such
universal application that they are a distinct help in developing a sense of
the continuity of living things. Those that are used should be so skilfully
introduced, and their meaning so thoroughly digested, that they do not seem
like technical terms.
Perhaps an illustration will make this point clearer. A child who loves
flowers goes to school; he is given one of his favorites and told to pull it to
pieces, look at its different parts, and label them with such words as petals,
sepals, pistil, stamens; to these are presently added calyx, corolla,
monopetalous, polypetalous, innate, adnate, indehiscent, etc., until the
child's mind resembles a lumber room of senseless rubbish, in which the
flower is buried and lost. To a sensitive child this process is exceedingly
painful. He often feels as though he were murdering some helpless thing he
had loved, and conceals his tears and his heartache for fear of being laughed
at. Less sensitive children are soon wearied and disgusted, and the love for
nature which might have been aroused in them, to the sweetening and
steadying of their whole after-life, receives a fatal check.
While the child's love for flowers, and his sentiment concerning them,
should not be harmed by his plant work, on the other hand a certain
tendency to weak sentimentality wherever encountered should be
restrained. He should not be a mere receptacle for dry ashes nor yet a mush
of sentimentality. The wise leader will discover the broad middle course
where love of the flower shall be deepened, and, as it were, broadened, by
knowledge of its wonderful structure and functions. These can be well
understood without so much as one technical term, though the skilful
introduction of a few helpful words will not detract at all from the pleasure
of the study, and will be most convenient.
Even the botanical names of the flowers themselves are of questionable
value. The main thing is to recognize the flower as we recognize any other
friend, and of course some name is necessary, but that this name be
technical is, in most cases, not even desirable. "Wind-flower" is quite as
good as "anemone," better, indeed, as it expresses a certain feeling about the
flower that "anemone" does not convey. So, too, "mayflower" is more

suggestive than "trailing arbutus," and that
than Epigæa repens. Thus at first let the
children learn only the common names of the
flowers, at the same time that they discover
all that is interesting about them. Later, when
their interest is sure, the pretty name
"anemone" will give an added charm. They
can be told that it comes from the Greek
word anemos, meaning wind, and that
anemones grow in Greece, and all that part of
the world, and are gathered by the little
children there. If the children are of an age to
be studying or reading the tales of
mythology, or the fascinating beginnings of
Greek and Roman history, they will be
delighted to think that anemones were no
doubt gathered by Ulysses and Hector and
the other Trojan heroes when they were
children in that far-away land, and that the
The Anemone or Wind-
grandson of Æneas saw them in the
Flower
Campagna near the Rome he founded, as the
Italian children see them to-day. Thus
through his botany the child can get a more vivid sense of the life of the
past, can have a link forged in that invaluable mental chain which links him,
mind, body, and soul, to everything else in the universe, and the
consciousness of which is one of our most precious and helpful
endowments in this life.
The universality of life and mind and soul, the universality of the methods
of their manifestations even, the unity of life,—nothing by itself, everything
going out into and permeating everything else,—this great truth, which
ought to burst upon the young mind with controlling force at a critical
period later, should have its way prepared in childhood.
So far as technical terms are concerned, the child will gladly take them—in
small doses—when he understands the things they represent,—that is, when
the knowledge comes before the label; and when he recognizes their
convenience in grouping the different varieties and species so that their

relations to themselves and to other plants can be kept in the mind with a
minimum of exertion.
The time comes when the analysis of the flower
can be as interesting as any part of the work, if
it has been preceded by other information and
if it is pursued intelligently and delightfully. To
illustrate again. The wild rose looked at simply
as a thing of beauty and perfume becomes yet
more interesting to the child who watches the
bee gather its golden pollen and its luscious
nectar. There is a bond of union now between
the fragile flower and its winged guest that
begets an altruism which later becomes
normally the corner-stone of character. When
the graceful tribute of the bee to the flower is
presently understood, and the child learns that
the seeds of the flower have to thank the bee
for their life, the mind expands yet more, and
glows at the thought of this relationship in
which each of these charming creatures
practically preserves the life of the other.
Wild Rose with Bees
Now, too, the thought that the seed, the child of Gathering Honey
the plant, is at the heart of every flower, that it
is for this nascent life, this new venture into the great world, that the
blossom unfolds in beauty and sheds its perfume on the summer air, yet
more expands the joyous interest taken in the blossom. The mind, through a
knowledge of these facts, can leap out into wider spaces of feeling and
imagination. Thus every truth the child learns about the rose in those first
tender years ought to add to his poetic conception of it. Thus he should
learn his rose until the time comes when its relation to certain other plants
will be full of meaning and full of interest. Perhaps the child has studied the
apple blossom, the strawberry flower, the peach blossom in this same
delightful way. With a very little help he will recognize the similarity of all
three to the rose. He will be delighted to know that these are as truly related
as they seem to be, that they are indeed cousins in one charming family.
How they came to be so different will be a natural question, the answer to

which will involve the latest and most
valuable scientific discoveries. Indeed,
in studying nature we should begin
with the latest discoveries of science,
which are biological and vital, and end
with man's earlier efforts toward
knowledge,—that is, with
classification and nomenclature. When
the child knows his plants he may be
interested in their relationships and
willing to do the necessary drudgery
toward establishing them. If not, it
doesn't matter, he has the really vital
part of the subject, the part that will
best help him toward understanding all
life, his own included.
The Seed, the Child of the Plant, It is to foster a high sentiment toward
is at the Heart of Every Flower the life of the plant that the numerous
so-called unscientific botanies which
crowd the book-stores to-day are so valuable, and the numbers that are sold
testify to the interest this side of the subject awakens. What technical
botany has anything like the sale of these less technical books? So far as the
real development of the world at large is concerned they are of inestimably
more use than the technical works, though of course those were the stern
Puritan parents who have given rise to this flock of lovely non-puritanical
children, and without which they of course could not have existed.
The technical botanies indeed have their use to-day, and it can be
confidently expected that they will be more used than ever before, because
of the large numbers who have had their interest quickened and a desire to
know more awakened. Those who would have found botany interesting in
spite of the old methods will pursue it yet more eagerly under the new.
Many who would have turned away from it entirely will continue their
study into the technical works, while great numbers who have no leaning
toward technical study and would have had nothing to do with botany under
the old methods, under the new will assimilate the best truths the study of
this subject is able to give, and so far from finding a wild rose less fragrant

or less beautiful because of their close scrutiny of it, they will find it
infinitely more so,—infinitely more rich in affording poetical thoughts,
comparisons, and images.
What is true of plant life is equally true of animal life. The first attention
should be directed toward the animal itself, its life and habits, technical
information coming afterwards.

VI
THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE SEED

In dealing with the special subject of this book too much stress cannot be
laid upon the value of associating the phenomena of the renewal of life with
all other vital phenomena, instead of divorcing it from them.
Two reasons why the subject of reproduction has such undue prominence in
the minds of many people are, first, the manner in which it has been made
conspicuous through concealment; and second, the fact that when spoken of
at all, it has been treated as a unique phenomenon unrelated to anything
else. These are not the only reasons, but they are strong ones, and their
existence is quite unnecessary.
Education, therefore, should remove both of these stumbling-blocks. The
first one is easily removed, though the value of its removal depends entirely
upon the manner in which that removal is accomplished. The second is also
easily removed, the only difficulty being how to do it in the most helpful
manner. The problem, then, for the instructor to solve is, how fully to
acquaint the child with the phenomena of the reproductive life without
making the subject unduly prominent.
This can well be done by interesting him in all the phenomena of living
things, and allowing the reproductive function to take its place, not as
something alone and different from everything else, but as one in a series of
vital phenomena, all equally important and all interesting; not as something
peculiar to human life or to the higher animals, but belonging equally to
every living thing, whether animal or plant, and manifesting itself in the
same way everywhere. Nor is this as difficult as at first glance it may seem.
Indeed it is not difficult at all if one can begin with the young child,
building little by little the foundation upon which later to erect a noble
superstructure.
It is a beautiful fact that the plant world offers illustrations of all the
underlying phenomena of the reproductive life, and that through the flowers

the little one can get his first introduction to the great subject. Not that he
will at first understand the connection between the flower life and the
human life, but the facts in the flower having been clearly perceived, there
is nothing easier or more beautiful than to expand the idea when the time
comes, until it embraces all life.
But what about those children who are no longer in their infancy? How are
they to be taught?
In practically the same way, with some modification of method.
Since the aim here is to present the subject from the beginning, the first
succeeding chapters will deal with it as applied to the young child.
Following this, methods for use with older children will be discussed.

Objects to be accomplished with the younger children in the study of the
plant.
(1) To make them feel that the plants are living things with activities like
other living things.
(2) To convey a clear idea of the true relation of seed to plant. This can be
amplified later to cover the reproductive phenomena of human life.
(3) To give them a foundation for understanding the relation of father to
child, when the time comes to explain that.

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

An easy and effective way to begin the study of the plant is to watch it as it
sprouts from the seed. Since a large seed, easy to see and simple in
structure, is best, an ordinary bean answers the purpose admirably,
particularly as the bean has the convenient habit of rising up above the
ground when it sprouts, the development of the embryo proceeding in full
view. Any of the common varieties will answer the purpose, though of
course the larger the bean the more easily it can be observed.
A child of three or four will be interested in watching a seed grow. The first
season he may get only one idea, the seed grows into a plant. The next
season the experiment may be repeated with as much of the story of the
plant added as the little one can understand. Thus Spring after Spring the
child plants his seeds and watches them grow, constantly adding to his store
of knowledge about them, until the story of the plant and its seed is as
familiar to him as any fairy-tale, and has gone into his consciousness to stay
there forever. Let us examine the bean, then, and see what can be learned
from it, the information thus obtained to be shared with the child as fast as
his age and his power of understanding permit.
First let us examine the dry bean. It is hard,
so hard that we can scarcely bite it. Put it to
soak in tepid water, leaving it over night.
Next day look at the changes that have
taken place in it. The first thing we notice is
that it has swollen until it is twice as large
as it was, being now soaked full of water. It
is also softer than it was. Its outer skin
during the process of soaking has loosened,
being no longer firmly attached to the body
of the bean. This skin, being unable to
The Bean, Sprouting, To stretch, soon splits open by the swelling of
Show the Two Seed-leaves the bean inside. We can easily slip it
And The Embryo entirely off.
Having done this let us take a good look at
the bean that is now out of its skin. We see that it is composed of two thick
parts which are joined together at only one end. These two thick parts which
make the bulk of the bean are called seed-leaves (cotyledons).

Just at the point where they seem to be
joined together there is a tiny flat
white object. Looking closely at this
we discover it to be a plant consisting
of two minute leaves and a little blunt
tip. As a matter of fact, the two seed-
leaves are not attached directly to each
other, but each is attached to this tiny
plant, or embryo, as it is called. The
word "embryo" is a valuable one to use
later, and its precise meaning can
easily be fixed by always calling the
young plant tucked away in the seed
the embryo. The difficulty of learning
new words does not lie in their length,
but in not knowing what they mean. A
child who has been to the circus has no The Bean—Embryo-Leaves,
trouble in remembering the word Seed-Leaves, and Root
"elephant," and the child who
frequently hears the word "embryo" spoken in connection with the plant
concealed between the cotyledons quickly and unconsciously learns it.
Place some of the soaked beans on damp cotton, and plant others in a pot of
earth, or, if it is Summer, in the garden. Those sprouted in the house in the
Winter must be kept warm. In a short time the little white embryo tucked
away in the bean begins to grow. We say the bean sprouts. As the embryo
develops, its little blunt tip grows down into the ground and gives off roots.
At the same time its two tiny white leaves grow large and green, coming out
from the seed-leaves (cotyledons) into the air and sunshine. As the stem
lengthens the seed-leaves are lifted up above the ground along with the
embryo. The bean thus seems to come out of the ground, and children are
very apt to want to cover it up. But it has not really unplanted itself. The
lower part of the stem and the roots hold it firmly in the earth.
The bean on the damp cotton grows as well at first as that planted in the
earth, but it cannot get food enough to continue growth unless it can thrust
its roots into the earth. What enables it to grow at all on the cotton, since
that does not supply food, but only holds the moisture, without which the

bean could not sprout? There must be food somewhere, and it is found
packed away in the thick seed-leaves, which contain a great deal of starch
and a little of some other things.
The young plant, under the influence
of warmth and moisture, is able to
draw out the nourishment from the
seed-leaves. If we examine the seed-
leaves after the seed has sprouted we
shall find them less hard and firm;
they have given part of their substance
to the embryo. They have also turned
greenish in color, while, as we know,
the leaves of the embryo, which at
first were so white and tiny, have also
turned green and grown larger.
Between the two embryo-leaves there
is a little growing tip.
The young plant now no longer
depends upon the seed-leaves for its
food. Down in the earth the roots are
The Bean—Embryo-Leaves,
taking in nourishment, and up in the
Compound Leaves, and
air the little green leaves are also busy
Beginning of Stem
supplying food to the growing plant.
The little growing tip lengthens into a
stem from which a leaf is seen unfolding. This new leaf is not shaped like
the embryo-leaves nor like the seed-leaves. It has three leaflets. The stem
continues to lengthen, and soon another compound leaf appears. Thus the
stem lengthens and leaves keep coming, the little growing tip at the end of
the stem always pushing upward.
Very soon the stem becomes too long and slender to stand upright. Then it
does a strange thing. It circles about as though in search of something. It
moves very slowly, but if you notice which way it is pointing in the
morning, and again at noon, and again at night, you will see that it has
changed its position. Why does it do this? It wishes to twine about a
support, and will continue circling about until it finds one. If there is none,

the slender stem, unable to stand upright as it lengthens, will in time bend to
one side or even lie on the ground; but the end still continues to circle
about, and when at last it touches a stick or the stem of another plant or
anything else about which it can twine, it continues its circling motion
about the new support, and the vine as it lengthens finally becomes twined
about it.
How does the food which the plant takes from the earth and the air find its
way to the different parts of the plant to nourish them?
The plant food is in a liquid form called sap, which runs through channels
in the roots and stems and leaves, and is thus carried to all parts of the plant.
To a certain extent it is like the blood of animals, which finds its way all
through the body and supplies food to the tissues.
The plant is alive; it eats, it breathes; sometimes it even moves. It breathes
the same air that we do, only it takes it in through tiny pores in the leaves.
Eating and breathing, the plant continues to grow, leaf after leaf unfolding.
At last, in the axil of one of the leaves there comes a little bud that does not
unfold into a leaf but into a flower.
The appearance of this first blossom on the plant the child has himself
raised from the seed will be watched with eagerness, and its advent can be
made a subject of general pleasure and notice in the home. The child's
pleasure in his flower will be greatly increased if he finds that others are
also watching and enjoying it.
Here, too, is a chance to develop a certain respect or reverence for the
beautiful and fragile flower. It is not to be picked. We are to leave this
flower and see what becomes of it. If we pick it, it will soon wither and die.
If we leave it where it is, it will continue to grow, and something very
interesting will happen. After a few days the pretty white or red flower-
leaves or petals will fall off; but any disappointment which the child may
feel at the falling of the petals can be quickly changed into interest about
what remains, for not all the flower fell. The centre of it is still there. It is a
little green pod. It is so delicate that by holding it against the light one can
easily see the little seedlets, or ovules, inside. "Ovule" is a good word to
learn, and the easiest way is to use it at once, always referring to this little

seedlet in the young flower-pod as the ovule. The word "ovule" means little
egg; later, a word almost identical will be used for the eggs of animals.
Thus by a use of carefully chosen, well-
understood terms the child has from the
very beginning a dawning sense of the
oneness of all life. He can be told that
"ovule" means little egg, and that the
seed of the plant is the egg of the plant,
which hatches—sprouts—into the plant
we see.
It is better not to break the tender little
pod to show the ovules, even if there
are plenty of flowers. Look at the pod
against the light and see the ovules
dimly outlined. Each ovule is attached
to the pod by a little stem which can
also be seen with the light shining
The Bean—the Seedlets, or through the pod. The stem the child can
Ovules, in the Young Pods look for when the peas are being shelled
for dinner, or when lima beans are
being shelled. If the pea or bean pod is opened carefully, the whole row of
seeds will be seen attached to the pod, each by its exceedingly short stem.
The ovary is a part of the plant in which grow the ovules. The perfect and
clear understanding of just what the ovary is will be very helpful later, and
the word "ovary" will be found extremely useful.
The interest should not be concentrated on the ovary to the exclusion of
other flower parts. The bright petals should have their share of attention.
They form a nest, or home, or covering, to enfold or wrap about the delicate
seed-pod. The thought that they are fragrant and beautiful because of the
young life they cherish, and that they never appear excepting where there
are young seeds to be cared for, and that every flower has the little pod or
seed-cradle at its centre, can be made to cast a lovely glow over this side of
the flower-life, which will later reflect more or less strongly upon all life.

When the child discovers that the ovules are attached to the ovary by little
stems, this very important question can be answered,—How are the ovules
nourished? They must have food, or they cannot develop into seeds.
The sap, which is the food of the plant, runs through the little stems that
hold the ovules to the ovary, and thus, entering the ovules, nourishes them.
The ovule has no embryo. It is a very simple little seedlet indeed. But after
a while its little embryo begins to form and its seed-leaves to develop.
When the ovule has developed in this way we call it a seed. It remains
attached to the ovary, receiving nourishment from the sap until it is quite
ripe. As the seed forms in its little pod, its thick sturdy seed-leaves become
larger and fuller. The sap constantly stores up in them plenty of good food.
Thus the parent plant provides for the seed, so that when it goes out into the
world alone it may not perish until it has learned to care for itself. The food
in the seed-leaves is the bank account which starts the young plant in life.
When the seed is fully formed, its seed-leaves full of food, its embryo
perfect, then we say it is ripe. It no longer needs to draw nourishment from
the sap of the parent-plant. It is able to start in the world on its own account.
When the seed ripens, its little stem withers away, so that the seed lies loose
in the pod. In the case of the bean-pod, when the seed becomes free the pod
opens, and the seed or bean, as we call it, falls out.
If we look at a ripe bean or pea or any seed we shall find upon one edge of
it the scar where the little stem was attached. The scar is the umbilicus or
"navel" of the seed. The seed does not become free from its attachment to
the pod until it is able to live alone. As long as it continues to grow it
remains attached and receives the sap. As soon as it has its growth and no
longer needs the sap it separates from the pod. This separation is easy and
natural. There is no tearing apart, no mutilation. It is exactly like the falling
of the leaves in the Autumn. It is, in short, the birth of the seed or infant
plant.
Some mothers talk of the mother-plant and the seed-babies from the
beginning. They show how the little seeds are fed and protected, how they
are literally a part of the mother-plant. Other mothers prefer to tell only the
botanical story, leaving all application to animal life for later consideration.
In either case the essential points are a clear understanding of the growth of

the ovule in the ovary, the manner in which it is nourished and protected,
and its final separation from the ovary to enter into the outer world as an
individual provided with everything necessary to its needs.
Some mothers use the words "sprout" and "hatch" interchangeably,
speaking sometimes of the hatching of the seeds, in order to make more
vivid the realization of the similarity of processes in the plant and the bird.
They also speak of the birth of the seed. Clearly to understand the relation
of the seed to the mother-plant is to understand accurately and scientifically
the relation of every living creature to its mother.
The child who enjoys planting the bean one season will want to plant it the
next, for there is nothing children more delight in than planting things and
watching them grow. This interest can be encouraged in any home, for
where there is no available yard a few flower-pots of earth, or a box of it,
will afford opportunity for a good deal of pleasure and instruction. The
child can be encouraged to collect seeds that are formed like the bean, and
plant them too. He will quickly discover that a peanut is made essentially
like a bean, and he will be interested to plant some raw peanuts. The pea,
too, he will soon add to his list. As the season advances he will discover the
cucumber, melon, and squash seeds, and, with a little help, the apple, pear,
and quince seeds, as well as those of the cherry, plum, and peach. The latter
have very hard outer coats, but are formed in all essentials like the bean.
Indeed he can have a very long list by the end of Summer. But he cannot
make these green seeds grow. That is, many of them will not sprout until
they have lain a certain length of time. So even where they are ripe and fall
from their pods, he had better keep them until toward Spring before
planting, even in the house.
If he takes pleasure in examining his seeds, he will find in each one the tiny
embryo tucked in between the seed-leaves; in the apple seed the young
apple-tree, in the pumpkin seed the young pumpkin vine. Even the
vegetables being prepared for his dinner can be interesting to him. As the
peas are shelled he can see the pretty green seeds attached to the side of the
pod. He can find the embryo even in the unripe seed, but he knows there
would be no use in planting these green peas, for they are not yet fit to live
apart from the mother-plant. If they were torn away and planted in the
ground they would perish.

Not all seeds have the food for the embryo
stored up in the seed-leaves. If a morning-glory
seed be soaked, it will swell up and soften, and
the hard outer skin will burst. Inside will be
found a tiny embryo with two thin, papery
seed-leaves that contain no nourishment to
speak of. But packed about the embryo is a rich
food-substance which, though hard in the dry
seed, becomes soft and gelatinous upon
soaking, looking indeed not unlike the white of
the egg, and having the same use; for it forms
Morning-Glory Seed,
the first food of the embryo, which absorbs it.
Showing Seed-Leaves The embryo thus begins its growth, which
and Embryo
continues until the roots and first leaves are
sufficiently developed to supply nourishment.
After the child has studied his beans, let him
then study the morning-glory and four-o'clock
seeds, which store the food separately from the
embryo instead of in its seed-leaves. In every
seed there is food enough stored up to give the
embryo its first start in life.
During the Summer the child can be helped to
pass many pleasant hours looking at seed-pods
and finding as many kinds as possible. He can
discover how the ovaries are placed in the
Four O'clock Seed,
flower and wrapped about by the bright petals,
Showing Seed-Leaves
being covered while yet in the bud by the green
and Embryo
calyx. He can look at the different forms of
ovaries and discover how some, like the bean,
have only one compartment or cell, while others, like the apple-core, have
five, and yet others, like the poppy pod, have many. If he is interested, he
can quickly and unconsciously learn many of the more common botanical
terms used in describing plants, so that when he comes to study technical
botany he will find it shorn of most of its terrors.

Different Kinds of Ovaries—Bean, Apple-Core, Poppy
Pod
Certain botanical terms are valuable both now and later; used simply, just as
we talk of table, chair, bed-post, garden-walk, etc., they are, as has been
said, learned unconsciously.

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

In many flowers, outside the petals is a circle of green sepals, which in
some plants fall off or turn down when the bud opens.

THE FLOWER

Sepals—usually green and
affording protection to the bud.

Petals—usually large and bright.

Stamens—{ filament (stem of
anther)
{ anther (containing
pollen)

{ ovary (seed-pod)
Pistil—{ style (stem of stigma not
always present)
{ stigma (knob at top of
style or ovary)
The care of the mother for her offspring, that impulse of nature found
everywhere in nature's children, is beautifully illustrated in the flowers.
When first the petals fall, leaving the tiny green pod, it stands up on its
stalk, but in a few days it will be found hanging down. Why should this be?
For one thing, as the pod turns down it gets out of the way of the other buds
that one by one are preparing to blossom, for beans generally grow in
clusters, one blossoming after another. Thus all the flowers have plenty of
room and air and sunshine, and a lesson in unselfishness and thoughtfulness
for others may be learned. Moreover, the hanging pod is better protected
against accidents than the upright one. It is less noticeable and less likely to
be knocked or broken off. The mother-plant takes every precaution possible
for the welfare of the seed-children, even sending them far from home for
their benefit.
Every one has noticed how the sweet-pea pods are curled up when the seeds
are shed. This curling takes place just at the moment when the pod opens to
allow the seeds to escape. This sudden twisting of the pod flings the seeds

someti
mes
long
distanc
es. If
the
seed
were to
fall
close
to the
mother
-plant
it
The Shedding of Young would
Sweet-peas from the Pod find
the soil
The Development of the
impoverished in certain ways, the
Young Bean-Pod from the
mother-plant having absorbed the food
Flower
materials from it. If the seed can be
hurled out of reach of the absorbing
roots of the mother-plant, it may have a better chance; even if it should fall
where other things are growing, it may find the peculiar food it wants
sufficiently abundant, for not all plants absorb just the same things from the
soil.

The Shedding of Various Kinds of Seeds
Looking at the dried bean and pea-pods in the fall of the year, we shall find
nearly all of them twisted. And looking over the other plants of the fields
and hedges, we see how much trouble has been taken to enable the seeds to
go out in the world and find new growing-places. Some seeds are snapped
out, as the touch-me-nots and witch-hazels; some are supplied with flat
wing-like surfaces to be borne by the wind, as the maple-keys and elm
seeds; some have bristles or down upon which to float in the air, as the
lilies, dandelions, and lettuces; some have hooks by which to attach
themselves to the coats of passing animals; and others have yet other
devices for getting to pastures new. The whole subject of how seeds travel
about the world is very interesting, and collecting these wanderers and
watching their habits will afford a rich summer's entertainment.
Thus the child learns a thousand interesting things about the plant life,—
among them, but not in any way prominent, the phenomena which are
connected with the reproduction of the plant. This work can all be done
before the child is eight years old, and in many cases it can be done much
earlier, at least so far as inculcating the most essential truths is concerned.
Many details will slip away in time, but if the work is thoroughly done the
great primal truths of living things will stay, and as the child's life unfolds,
they will illuminate it in certain directions.
According to the age and opportunities of the child his information about
the plant can be enlarged. The plant's method of breathing can be explained

to one who knows something about the composition of the air, and of the
use which the human body makes of the oxygen. The child who can
understand it will be greatly interested to know that the plant uses the
oxygen of the air, and returns carbon dioxide to it as a waste, essentially as
his own body does. He should also know that the plant breathes very little
in comparison to the animal, consequently it does not greatly affect the air,
taking out but little oxygen and returning to it but little carbon dioxide.
The plant's method of taking nourishment from air and soil is also very
interesting. It is only the green parts of the plant that can take food from the
air. The plant can become and remain green only under the influence of
sunlight. So finally the plant owes its life to the power of the sun, just as in
one way or another we all do. Plants in a dark place soon lose their green
color, grow pale and sickly, and finally die. All green leaves and the young
green twigs are able to take food from the air. The food they thus take is
carbon dioxide, the very thing both plants and animals breathe out as a
waste, and whose presence in large quantities makes air unfit to breathe.
But the plant must have the carbon dioxide and can get it only from the air,
so it is constantly withdrawing this harmful substance from the air and
converting it into plant tissue. It consumes only part of the carbon dioxide,
however, for the oxygen that is tied up in the carbon dioxide is set free and
given back to the air, only the carbon being retained. So the plant is
continually taking in the destructive carbon dioxide and giving out the
wholesome oxygen, thus keeping the air pure and fit for us to breathe. In
short, the plant eats with its roots and with its leaves. With its roots it eats
certain things it finds in the earth, and with its leaves and other green parts
it eats the suffocating gas we breathe into the air.
This important function of the plant, in supplying the oxygen we need and
in destroying the harmful carbon dioxide, can be illustrated in many graphic
ways. We depend upon the plants for our very existence in this respect: they
stand between us and destruction from excessive accumulations of carbon
dioxide. On the other hand, the carbon dioxide is so important to the plant
that it could not exist without it. All the carbon it gets is obtained from this
source. Wood is largely carbon; a charred stick which retains its full size
and shape is almost pure carbon. Thus the breath of our bodies is converted
by the plant into the wood from which we construct our houses, furniture,
etc. In a certain sense the chair we sit upon is made of the breath of our

bodies. Besides these debts to the plant, we finally owe to it the food we
consume, which comes from the plant, even meat being but vegetable
matter one step removed. The plant changes the chemicals which the animal
cannot use in their crude form, into plant substances which animals can use.
Thus the vegetable and animal kingdoms are mutually dependent upon each
other. Neither could exist, at least in its present condition, without the other.
Not only will such facts as these be interesting to most children, they will
deepen the dawning consciousness of the fundamental unity of all forms of
life, which it should be the province of nature-study to develop.
It may not be out of place here to say a few words about the picking of
flowers. Children instinctively want to pick them. They wish to possess,
touch, caress these lovely objects. If left unguided, this tendency shortly
degenerates in many children into a desire to pick every flower in sight. A
walk taken by such children through the fields can be traced by the wild
flowers that strew the way. Great handfuls are gathered, and then, becoming
burdensome, are thrown down. The child who lovingly watches his flowers
grow and blossom will be less likely to destroy in this wanton manner.
Here, too, is a good opportunity to teach him to be thoughtful and generous
to others. If he carelessly tears up and throws away the flowers, those who
come after him will not have them to enjoy; it is far better to look at the
flowers and admire them in their own homes and leave them there. A little
crowd of hepaticas at the root of a tree in the woods is one of the most
charming sights of spring. Let the child who finds such a treasure call the
rest, that they too may enjoy the pretty picture; let the children get down
and put their faces against the flowers if they want to smell them, and then
go away leaving the beauty undisturbed. Their adult comrade at such a time
by exclaiming appreciatively over the sweetness of the little scene, the
bright flowers against the dark tree, the green moss growing over the rock
at one side, can often open young eyes to a harmony of beauty which will
cause the whole composition to be recalled later with pure pleasure; a far
deeper and higher pleasure this little picture lingering in the memory than
any number of flowers torn from their places soon to wilt in the hands of
the vandals whose only thought is how to get the most in the shortest time.
Should children never gather flowers, then? Of course they should. But they
should learn to exercise restraint, and as they grow older, judgment. They

can easily be persuaded to gather only a few flowers. A few are almost
always more beautiful than a great mass, and there is no exception to this
whatever where the delicate spring flowers are concerned. Let the child
carefully gather a few to take home to mother, father, sister, aunt, some dear
one who has not shared the walk. These flowers should not be neglected,
but at once put in water, placed where they can be seen and enjoyed, and the
water should be changed every day as long as they last. In this way the
flower gives real pleasure to a number of people, and the child learns
several lessons valuable to the formation of his character.
As the child grows older, he can be taught not only self-control against
gathering useless quantities of flowers, but also to exercise judgment in
regard to those he does pick. For instance, seeing a flaming bush against a
superb background of green foliage, shall he disturb the poise of the picture
for the sake of taking some of the flowers? Better is it to look about for
similar flowers less beautifully placed. Instead of culling from the little
hepatica company at the tree root, let him search for more hidden or less
beautifully grouped flowers. The isolated flowers will be just as pretty after
they are picked as are those in the fortunately placed groups; for he will
soon learn that with the flower he cannot take its surroundings excepting in
the memory. In this way he will be able to carry away a beautiful mind-
picture such as would not remain if he had destroyed it; he will become
more observant of the flowers as pictures, cultivate his taste, in short, and
also learn to enjoy beauty without destroying it.
Wanton destruction of flowers should never be countenanced, no matter
how abundant the flowers may be. Self-restraint is not inculcated for the
sake of saving the flowers so much as for the influence it will have upon the
development of the child, although there are parts of the country where one
would like to see it exercised for the sake of the flowers themselves. The
child who learns to respect flowers will never be one of that discreditable
company who by sheer vandalism are constantly driving the wild flowers
farther into the back country, finally exterminating whole species. In many
parts of New England, banks which were carpeted with arbutus a generation
ago are now devoid of a single root. Spring may come and Spring may go,
but no may-flowers will ever again shine from those banks to delight the
eye of the woodland wanderer. All the generations to come must be
deprived of the pleasure of these delightful flowers, the earliest visitants of

spring—to what end? Did the pleasure they gave to those who took them
compensate in the least degree for their loss to the world? Truly not.
In all the open places near cities, where flowers would delight the greatest
number of eyes and hearts, there are no flowers, and this because those who
went first had no respect for the flowers themselves or for the rights of
those who came after.
Not only should the child learn to exercise judgment in gathering flowers,
but he should also learn how to gather them properly. If the arbutus had not
been carelessly torn up by the roots and trampled on, it would have yielded
its whole tribute of blossoms year after year without disappearing. If the
arbutus-gatherers, knowing the nature of the treasure they were gathering,
had gone armed with scissors and had clipped the blossoming ends without
other injury to the plant, at the same time taking care not to trample it, the
banks would still have been clad in beauty.

VII
THE FERTILIZATION OF THE FLOWER

As a preparation for this work, let the children notice the flower-dust or
pollen that shakes out of the flowers or is seen clinging to the anthers.
The child presently discovers where the pollen
comes from. It is hidden in the anthers. He
can hunt in all the flowers to find these little
pollen-boxes, some of which, as in the
goldenrods, are so small that he will have hard
work to find them, even though they shed
such clouds of pollen. He can notice the
different kinds of stamens, see how some have
long stems or filaments, others short ones,
others again none at all. The filament is of no
other use than to hold up the anther. The
anther with its pollen is the important thing;
so there may be useful stamens with no Bee—Showing Pollen-
filaments, but never useful stamens with no Basket
anthers.
The amount of pollen in the flowers is always astonishing and interesting.
Why should there be so much?
That the bee gathers honey from the blossoms is one of the earliest things
the child learns. Just whereabouts in the flower-cup, and just how the bee
finds this honey, how it carries it home, where and how and why it stores it
in the hive, is one of the most fascinating of stories, as good as a fairy tale.
In connection with this comes very naturally the story of the bees and the
pollen. The child will be delighted to learn that the bees collect pollen as
well as honey; that the honey bees and bumble-bees have baskets on their
legs on purpose to carry it home; that they knead it up with honey and make
it into what is known as bee-bread.

We seldom see bee-bread these days, as patent hives furnish all the honey
found in city stores and no bee-bread is sold. In remote country places,
however, where the honey is removed en masse from the hive, there will be
plenty of bee-bread to give piquancy to the children's bread and honey.
Moreover, where bees are kept, the bee-keeper can usually be persuaded to
take out a little bee-bread for the children to see and taste; for it is always
present no matter what the kind of hive used, though it is not always easily
obtainable, for where their household arrangements permit, the bees
generally prefer to store it in the lower chambers away from the honey.
Thus the flower supplies large quantities of food for the bees and for us, and
long ago, before America was discovered and before cane-sugar came into
use, the people depended upon honey for their sweetening.
When the children have found how general is the presence of pollen in the
flowers, where it comes from, and how it is gathered by the bees, they can
learn that the pollen is valuable to the plant itself. It is indeed one of the
most necessary parts of the flower, for without it the ovules could not
develop.
The effect of the pollen upon the seeds can be prettily illustrated by a
simple experiment. Take two or three little pots of geraniums whose buds
are just ready to open. Be sure to have single geraniums, and to stand them
where they will not be disturbed and where the wind will not blow upon
them. Shortly after the flower opens, the anthers will be seen crowded in its
throat and covered with pollen. After a few days the pollen will have dried
up, and the style, tipped with a five-rayed star-like stigma, will push up
above the anthers. Mark pot No. 1 as untouched. From pot No. 2 carefully
take a little pollen on the end of a small clean paint-brush or tooth-pick and
touch with it the five-rayed, star-like stigma of the flowers in pot No. 3. Be
careful not to let any of it touch the stigmas of the flowers in pot No. 2, the
pot from whose flowers the pollen is taken.
Leave the flower-pots undisturbed and watch results. When the flowers
finally drop their petals, in pots No. 1 and No. 2 there will be no seed-pods
remaining, everything will drop, including the little flower-stalks and the
main stalk supporting the whole cluster of flowers. In short, no trace of
flowers will be left. So far as seed-forming is concerned, the flowers might
as well never have blossomed. Very different will be the result in the

flowers of pot No. 3. These received the pollen on the stigma, and in some
way this pollen affected the ovules so that they began to develop. We say
the flower was fertilized by the pollen, and "fertilized" is a valuable word to
learn at once. When the petals of the fertilized flowers fall, all does not fall.
There remains the ovary with the long style and the star-like stigma. The
ovary continues to grow, as do the seeds within it. Since the geranium is a
house-plant, raised under unnatural conditions, not all the fertilized flowers
will succeed. Some may fall at once, like the unfertilized ones. But out of
the whole bunch of fertilized flowers some will be almost sure to start the
development enough to show that in some way the fertilized flowers were
able to produce seeds, while the others will in no case make any attempt at
seed-forming. Even though none of the seeds come to perfection, the fact
that they start at all will demonstrate the effect of the pollen. The geranium
is a good plant to use in illustrating this point, because it is so constructed
that it cannot fertilize its own flowers.
What the child thus far learns is simply that the pollen is in some way
necessary to the development of the ovule. If the experiment with the
geraniums is not practicable, the child can be told that the pollen is
necessary to the development of the seed, that it falls upon the stigma and
nourishes the little ovules down in the ovary, and that no seed can form
without the aid of the pollen. All the seeds we plant in the flower gardens or
in the vegetable gardens, and all the grain we sow in the fields, are
produced by the help of pollen. All the peas and beans and other seeds we
eat owe their existence in part to the pollen, and without it they could not
develop.
Some parents teach their children at once that the pistil is the mother-part of
the plant, caring for the young seeds, the stamens the father part, providing
for them, and that the stamens and pistil growing in the same flower are
brothers and sisters. Other parents prefer to use only botanical terms,
leaving the extension of the thought to later consideration or to the child's
own logic, for children often reason out all the facts—in a very general way,
of course—from only this botanical study.
But we are not yet done with the pollen. It not only assists the ovule to
develop, but it impresses upon it its own characteristics. In other words, the
seed inherits from the pollen as well as from the ovule. Inheritance is a very

wonderful thing. It is that power which causes the offspring to resemble its
parents. In some wonderful way the tiny ovule, the tiny pollen grain,
remember everything about the plant they came from and are able to
transmit this memory to the developing offspring, so that it may become
like its parents.
Again, the child under eight can understand the principal facts of
fertilization. The older child can add to his stock of facts, and one of the
things he will be likely to want to know is how the little pollen grain up on
the stigma can influence the ovule down in the ovary.
We know how the ovule is formed. We know that it grows from the inside
of the ovary. If we were able to examine the development of the pollen
grain inside the anther from its very beginning, we should find the same
thing true of it. The anther is a little box like the ovary, and the pollen grain
grows from the inside of it, being at first a part of it and nourished by the
same sap. When it became ripe it fell free into the anther cavity. We then
have a little box full of ripe pollen grains.[1]
The pollen grain is like the ovule in structure, only much smaller. It is so
tiny and the anther so small that we cannot watch its development as we can
that of the ovule. But botanists have taken great pains to examine the pollen
and to watch its development under the microscope, so that from them we
know the truth.
If we examine the young ovule we find it apparently nothing but a little sac
full of a semi-liquid substance. This semi-liquid substance, or at least a part
of it, is alive and is very important. It is protoplasm, which is the only living
substance; all the living parts of plants and animals are made from
protoplasm.
The pollen grain is also a little sac containing protoplasm. Thus we have
these two little sacs of living substance, each growing in a similar manner,
one to the inside of an ovary, the other to the inside of an anther. Naturally,
it is the living substance in these little sacs that is important. It is the living
substance of the ovule that unites with the living substance of the pollen
grain to become a seed; or, to say the same thing another way, it is the
living substance of the pollen grain that unites with that of the ovule to

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

are rather loose, and carrying
with it the only valuable part
of the pollen grain, its living
protoplasm. No ovule can
possibly grow into a grain
without this tiny bit of pollen.
In explaining this union of the
two protoplasms, the child's
Entrance of mind can be turned upon the
Pollen-Tube wonderful mystery—one of
through the the great mysteries of the
Micropyle to the universe—of how this tiny
Ovule atom can influence the whole
future plant. There is ample
opportunity here to elevate his mind and spirit to a
high plane, and, by talking of the wonders of
inheritance, to give many a hint for future reflection.
Without this law of inheritance the world would be
chaos. Imagine the seed of a rose sometimes The Pollen Tube
developing into an oak tree, the egg of a bird into a Passing through
bee or a trout. Imagine eggs developing haphazard the Style to the
into anything. There would be no use in living. Ovary
Nothing could be depended upon. But there is no
danger that any such thing will happen: the law of inheritance is unyielding.
From a rose seed must come a rose bush,—and this is good. But on the
other hand, from the seed of a weak, poor plant will grow another weak,
poor plant. Whatever the parent is, good or bad, that must the offspring be.
But sometimes the offspring inherits only the best in the parents, and so is
better than they.
Thus in gathering his seeds, the child will select only the largest and best
and take them from only the best plants to put in his garden the next year, at
the same time planting beautiful truths in the garden of his soul. Not the
least of these truths is a profound sense of the immutability of law. Through
his nature-work the child can learn as nowhere else the stern, unbreakable
decrees of law, and the respect and reverence due to it from every intelligent
being. Another important and far-reaching fact that the child can learn from

his garden is, that his plants are good or poor according to the care he takes
of them. They must have the right kind of food (soil), the right amount of
water, the right temperature and surroundings,—some loving the open
sunshine, others needing to be partly protected from it. In short, according
as its environment is suited to its needs, and as its inheritance is good or
bad, will the plant be strong and handsome or otherwise.
Another truth to be learned from the flowers is the value of cross-
fertilization. This was demonstrated by the great Darwin, who fertilized a
number of flowers with their own pollen, and an equal number with the
pollen from the blossoms of another plant of the same kind. When the seeds
were ripe he gathered them, carefully keeping those of the self-fertilized
flowers separate from the others. The next season he planted both sets of
seeds under exactly the same conditions, that is, they had the same soil and
moisture, the same sun and air, and the same care. The plants that grew
from these two sets of seeds were very different, those from the self-
fertilized seeds being smaller and weaker in every way than those from the
seeds fertilized with pollen from another plant, or cross-fertilized, as we
say, thus proving that it is not best for the plant to be self-fertilized.
Someway, it needs the stimulus from less closely related pollen in order to
grow vigorously and perfectly.
While the cross-fertilization of the same order of plants is so desirable, it is
not possible for the pollen of one order to fertilize the ovules of another
order. There must be a certain degree of similarity between flowers able to
fertilize each other. The pollen of an apple blossom might, for instance, rest
upon the stigma of a lily, but the pollen could not penetrate to the lily ovule.
It would have no effect upon the lily.
That the seed inherits equally from the ovule and the pollen grain is a truth
that should be impressed in many ways. It is very wonderful that anything
so small as a pollen grain, often as small as the tiniest speck of dust, should
be able to transmit to the young seed the peculiarities of the plant from
which it came. That it does this, the child himself can prove in a most
interesting way. He can plant some white petunia seeds in one side of his
garden, and some red ones in the other. The seeds should come from a
reliable florist's in order to be sure of results. When the petunias ripen their
seeds, those from the white flowers should be gathered and carefully

labelled, and then those of the red flowers, care being taken not to mix the
two colors. The next summer, plant the seeds as before. When the flowers
blossom, those in the white bed will no longer be white,—some may be, but
others will be red, and still others red and white. The same will be true of
the flowers in the red bed. What has happened? The bees going from flower
to flower have carried the pollen from one bed to the other, and some of it,
rubbing off on the stigmas as the bees searched for honey, fertilized the
flowers. Thus some of the ovules of the white flowers received an
impression of red from the pollen of the red flowers, and grew into red
flowering plants. In others where the impression of red was less strong, the
result was the production of red-and-white spotted flowers.
By fertilizing white flowers with pollen from red ones we can almost
always get seeds that will develop into plants bearing flowers that are not
white. What is true of color is true of other characteristics of the plant, such,
for instance, as size and shape of leaves, habit of growth, size, shape, and
quality of fruit, etc. Thus by careful cross-fertilization, we are able to
produce not only beautiful and new blossoms, but also many delicious new
fruits. Most of our cultivated fruits have been produced in this way. For
instance, if two species of wild strawberries were found, one, large and
beautiful but sour or tasteless, the other, small but delicious, the two could
be bred together until finally a perfect berry, large and well-flavored, would
result.

Flowers Needing Cross-Fertilization, Some with Ovary
but no Stamens, Others with Stamens but no Ovary

When the children are interested in their gardens they can try to make a new
flower, using for the first experiments one that comes up from the seed,
blossoms, and matures its seeds the same year, and also readily changes its
color as a result of cross-fertilization. Such are the petunia and the sweet-
pea. The prettiest new flower produced can be marked and its seeds saved
for future use, and the flower can have a name of its own. Florists often
name their choice new flowers from some beautiful woman, and it would be
a pretty tribute on the part of the child to name his favorite new petunia or
sweet-pea after his mother. Of course this work will necessarily be very
crude and the results uncertain, since the successful production of new
plants is a science in itself; but enough can be done to interest the young
experimenter thoroughly and enable him to learn many valuable lessons. In
these early, childish experiments, an interest in gardening may be
awakened, which will last through life, the man, the woman, finding rest,
relaxation, exercise, and pleasure in going from the trying daily work to the
garden a while every day. Even a plot of ground a few feet square can
afford great opportunity for experiment and beauty.
Cross-fertilization among the plants does not, of course, depend upon man
as an agent. Since cross-fertilization is so valuable, it is not surprising to
find many devices in the plant world for securing it. Honey and color,
which attract winged messengers, are among the most universal helps to
cross-fertilization. In many cases, the structure of the flower is such that it
cannot fertilize itself. In the geranium, the stamen and the pistil in the same
flower mature at different times. In some species, as among the lilies, the
style is so long that the pollen could not fall upon it without artificial aid.
Some flowers are so constructed that they can be fertilized by certain kinds
of insects and by no others; among these are the orchids and our clovers and
milk-weeds. Again, some flowers have an ovary but no stamens, while a
neighbor has stamens but no ovary, making self-fertilization absolutely
impossible.
Indeed there is nothing more fascinating in the study of botany than the
methods by which the flowers secure cross-fertilization, nearly all of our
common garden-flowers affording illustrations. Here too, is a field where
the young botanist can do really valuable work, for while much is known
and has been written on the subject, much remains unknown. There are

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

VIII
WHAT CAN BE LEARNED FROM THE LIFE OF THE FISH

Whatever is universal is good.
Whatever is universal is true.
Whatever is universal is beautiful.
Nothing disperses, so to speak, the fogs enveloping the thought of sex like
the realization of its universality. The air clears when we know that every
living thing is bound by the same laws, even the flowers in our gardens.
We have an interesting testimony as to the helpfulness of this thought from
one of the great educators of youth, Fröbel. Speaking of his own childhood
when he became conscious of what his father, who was a minister, was
constantly meeting in his parish work, he says:
"Matrimonial and family relations were often the subject of his
admonitory and corrective conversation and remonstrances. The
way in which my father spoke of this, made me consider the
subject as one of the most pressing and difficult for man, and in
my youth and innocence, I felt deep grief and pain that man
alone among created things should pay the penalty of such a
sexual difference that made it hard for him to do right.... Just
then my oldest brother, who lived away from home, came back
for a time, and when I told him my delight in the purple threads
of the hazel buds, he made me notice a similar sexual difference
among flowers.
"Now my mind was satisfied. I learned that what had troubled
me was a widespread arrangement throughout nature to which
even the quiet, beautiful growths of flowers were subject.
Henceforth human and natural life, soul and flower existence,
were inseparable in my eyes, and my hazel blossoms I see still,

like angels that opened to me the great temple of nature....
Henceforth it seemed as if I had the clue of Ariadne, which
would lead me through all the wrong and devious ways of life;
and a life of more than thirty years with nature, often, it is true,
falling back and clouded for great intervals, has taught me to
know this, especially the plant and tree world, as a mirror—I
might say, an emblem—of man's life in its highest spiritual
relations; so that I look upon it as one of the greatest and deepest
conceptions of human life and spirit when in holy Scripture the
comparison of good and evil is drawn from a tree. Nature, as a
whole,—even the realms of crystals and stones,—teaches us to
discriminate good from evil; but, for me, not so powerfully,
quietly, clearly, and openly as the plant and flower kingdom."
The stronger this feeling of the universality of sex, the more dispersive, as it
were, is the thought of the subject. It would be difficult to connect personal
and impure thoughts or feelings with a star whose distance in space was
realized; and so with all other thoughts, the more they can be elevated into
wide, general regions, the less disturbing they will be likely to become.
All the facts of sex-life can be learned in the flower, and the associations
thus indelibly impressed cannot fail to leave at least a trace of fragrance and
loveliness on even an obtuse nature. No matter what the later experiences or
mistakes may be, the whole conception of this side of life cannot sink so
low as might be the case if there were not this flower-sweet background.
And that is worth something.
It is not difficult to pass at once from the flower life to human life, and there
are cases where this may be advisable. When, however, the beginning-work
has been done with young children, and when we consider all the stress laid
upon nature-work these days in school and out, and all the books written
and all the stories told of living creatures of all kinds, it is helpful and easy
to linger in the delightful and impersonal realm of the lower life yet longer,
with this distinct advantage, that the feeling of universality, which is very
different from the thought of it, will be strengthened.
For several reasons, the step from plant life to animal life can well be taken
by means of the fish, particularly with little children. There is nothing

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

Fishes need very little feeding, particularly if there are water plants in the
tank; they find food from them. The best way is to follow the directions of
the man who sells you the fishes. If too much food is given them it quickly
fouls the aquarium, and then the water must be changed and everything
cleaned up. In changing the water, care should be taken to have that which
is put in about the same temperature as that taken out. A sudden application
of too cold water is not good for the fishes. The children should take care of
their pets themselves and see that they do not suffer.
The motions of the fish are what make it so attractive. How does it swim?
Not with its fins to any extent. The whole back part of the body, including
the tail, is moved from side to side as the fish swims. It moves its tail as a
paddle is used at the stern of a boat, and so the fish paddles himself along.
The fins are used more as balancers. They keep the fish upright in the water.
As soon as it stops using them, it turns over on one side.
The fish opens and shuts its mouth constantly; it appears to be swallowing
water. And so it is, so far as its mouth is concerned, but the water it takes in
does not go down into the stomach. It is not really swallowed, but passes
out at the gills, which are also constantly opening and shutting. The gills are
red inside and are covered with a fine network of blood vessels. The air in
the water moves against these delicate blood vessels, which are able to take
what they need—the oxygen—from it. Thus the fish uses gills instead of
lungs for breathing.
Sometimes, fishes pick up pebbles in their mouths and drop them again.
Some fishes, but not goldfishes, make noises.
The adaptation of the fish to its surroundings is interesting. Not only is its
form the very best for moving quickly through the water, but its covering is
peculiarly appropriate, many fishes having a hard, protecting coat of
shining scales. These scales, besides being beautiful and useful, are
interesting in another way, for we know that they are only modified hairs,
growing from the skin as hairs grow but having their form and size
developed in special ways to serve their purpose. Scales and feathers are
only another form of hairs.
Many interesting stories of fishes can be told or read to the children, and
among other things they can learn about the swim-bladder, the large, strong

air-sac, which can be compressed or distended at pleasure, making the fish
lighter or heavier and enabling it to rise to the surface of the water or sink to
the bottom. In Nova Scotia, where many codfishes are caught, the swim-
bladders are called sounds, and are cooked as a delicacy.
In the spring of the year we eat the roe of fish, which is nothing more nor
less than fish eggs. Wherever shad are used, the children will be familiar
with the shad roe; and in the South mullet roes are universally used. The
people there dry them in the sun, and the children particularly are very fond
of them. The Russian caviare is the eggs of a species of fish, and is
considered a great delicacy by some people.
Where do these eggs come from? The fish market or the kitchen on fish day
will answer the question. The child who is privileged to pass part of the
summer at the seashore where fishermen ply their trade will have ample
opportunity to know, as will the child who goes fishing in any brook or
pond and is allowed (as he always should be) to clean and cook the fish he
has caught. Also the smelts, which are cooked whole, only the intestines
being removed through a hole near the gills, will answer the question.

The Ovary of a Fish
The eggs of the fish are contained in a sort of double pouch or sac, shaped
something like an old-fashioned silk purse. These sacs open into the
intestine near its exit. They are the ovaries of the fish. From the inside of
each ovary the tiny eggs, or ova, grow, just as the ovules grow in the plant
ovary or seed-pod. At first they are a part of the ovary; later they grow
larger and fall loose, until the ovary is filled with them. The ovary is always
inside the fish. It is there when the fish is born, and even then there are the
tiniest hints of ova in it. But the ova do not grow large until the fish is
mature; they wait until the fish has developed its strength, its bone, and
muscle. Then in the springtime they grow rapidly. They grow until they are
ripe, when they lie free in the ovary; and others grow and are freed in the
same way until the ovary, which has also enlarged to accommodate them, is
quite full. The female fish is larger than the male, and looks plump and
rounded at this season. In course of time the eggs thus developed will be
shed—or born—whether they are fertilized or not. But, if they are not
fertilized, no further growth will take place in them, and they will soon
perish.
The child, knowing about the fertilization of flowers, can easily be led to
see that the fish ova, like the flower ovules, cannot develop without pollen.
The anthers containing the pollen are found in the male fish, and look like
the ovaries, only they are not so large and their contents are not so firm.
They seem filled with a formless substance instead of with little globular
eggs. Under the microscope this formless substance is seen to be made of a
semi-fluid material in which are held millions of pollen grains! Only we no
longer call them pollen grains. We may call them fertilizing cells if we

please, though there are several names for them. But they are essentially the
same as pollen. They grow, in the same way, from the inside of the anther
(which may now be called the testicle) and become free when ripe. The
pollen grains cannot move of themselves; the fertilizing cells can. Each
fertilizing cell is like an ovum, excepting that it is not so spherical and is
lengthened into a sort of lash by which it can propel itself through the water.
When the ova are laid by one fish, the other swims over them and the
fertilizing fluid is expelled into the water just as the eggs were. There is no
union whatever between the parents for the purpose of fertilization. As soon
as a fertilizing cell comes in contact with an ovum it seeks to enter into its
substance, and as soon as this has happened, the two cells thus united begin
to develop into a very tiny fish. As soon as the change begins, we have the
embryo of the fish, which thus corresponds to the embryo of the seed.
There is one great difference between the ovary of the plant and that of the
fish. When the plant ovary is ripe, its seeds are shed, and then the ovary
itself falls off. The plant ovary thus bears only one set of seeds. In the fish,
the ovary always remains in the fish, and after the eggs are shed, it shrinks
up to a very small size, and remains so until it again develops and becomes
distended with more eggs the following season. The same is true of the
fish's testicles. When the time comes, the fertilizing material is expelled.
After this the sac shrinks up to small size until the following season.
When the embryo has grown to its perfect form, the egg-shell is broken and
out swims the young fish. When it leaves the shell we say it hatches, just as
we say the plant embryo sprouts when it leaves the egg-shell or seed-shell.
Like the pollen of the flower, the fertilizing cells of the fish cannot act upon
any ova but those of its own species.
The young fish, like the young plant, inherits characteristics from both
parents. From its father it may acquire a certain shape, certain markings, a
certain disposition. Since the father's part in the creation of his offspring is
less obvious and apparently less intimate than that of the mother, the child
can be helped to put a certain value on the thought of fatherhood which
later will strengthen the bond of union between himself and his own father,
deepening his love for his father and his confidence in him. That the boy
love his father is as necessary to his welfare as that he love his mother, and
the mother should, in all the early years in which the sex instruction may

fall most heavily on her, impress upon the young heart the beauty and glory
of paternity. The sacrifice of the father who gives all his strength and time,
scarce allowing himself a moment of relaxation or absence from business
that he may provide for the needs of the family, is as great as the sacrifice of
the mother who devotes her time and strength to caring for the home and
the children. The tendency in teaching young people is to lay all the stress
on motherhood and mother love, which is a manifest injustice to the human
father, who deserves not only the natural love of his children, but the
deeper, more consecrated love which comes from a pure and perfect
knowledge of fatherhood.
Perhaps nothing will help a young man at the most critical age of his life so
much as his love and faith in his father. And perhaps nothing will tend to lift
the whole subject of paternity in the popular mind to the plane where it
belongs, as will this love and knowledge, when it is bred in the child from
his early years. Many difficulties in handling this subject that become
insuperable might never even exist if the knowledge of fatherhood, if love
and respect for it and for the father as the giver of life, were bred into the
boy at an early age. Moreover a certain shyness, which often makes it more
difficult for fathers to talk to their sons on these matters than for the
mothers to do so, would not have existed if they themselves as children and
youth had been educated to a complete knowledge of the sex-life by one or
both parents. The cause of this shyness is in many cases ignorance of how
to present the facts, and a misconception of the difficulties of speaking to a
pure-minded child about them. Nothing surprises the parent more than the
way difficulties vanish when once the course of instruction to the youth has
been entered upon.
In the lower life the father seldom cares for his offspring; and this is true
among the fishes, where neither parent as a rule assumes any other
responsibility than properly disposing of and fertilizing the eggs. Where,
however, any care is taken, it not infrequently devolves upon the father
instead of the mother. This is true of the fresh-water black bass and of the
stickleback, where the father protects the eggs until they are hatched, and
protects and cares for the young fish. In the case of the stickleback, the
father even makes a nest to contain the eggs.

Thus far, the process of the renewal of life is, so to speak, impersonal. The
eggs are laid by one fish and fertilized by the other, this being necessary to
the development of the young. The parents are endowed with an instinct
which informs them when the time is at hand; and the male fish guided by
this instinct applies the fertilizing material where it is needed,—that is, over
the surface of the fresh-laid eggs. The number of eggs laid by fishes should
be noticed, as it is a fact which will be useful later. Several millions of eggs
have been counted in the ovaries of one fish. The number of fertilizing cells
in one testicle would be incalculable. Fish eggs and young fishes are liable
to many fatalities; they are destroyed in immense numbers. Consequently, if
the race is to survive, there must be an almost inexhaustible supply.
Fishes kept in confinement will not as a rule multiply. Nothing is so
sensitive as the reproductive system. Lacking certain stimuli which it finds
in its natural surroundings, it will not become active. The goldfish in the
globe will, if a female, have the ovary containing undeveloped ova, the
male will have the testicles containing the fertilizing cells, but these will not
mature. It is as though the whole system of the fish missed the freedom of
space, the changes of season, the variety of substances at the bottom of the
water,—all that goes to make "home" for it, and so languished in body as
well as spirits.
The child who, in connection with a multitude of other interesting facts
concerning fish life, learns those concerning its multiplication, will look
upon them as perfectly natural and matter-of-fact.
But, some one objects, will not the child at this point guess the whole truth?
Suppose he does? Is not that just what we want him to do? Is it not a sign
that he has a good reasoning mind? He may arrive at the right general
conclusion, but he has a conception that is very general, vague, not at all
personal, and entirely lacking in any material for malodorous thoughts and
feelings. By constantly turning his thoughts to the wonders and truths of
heredity and to the marvel of the development of living things from such
insignificant yet momentous beginnings, and by telling him interesting facts
of animals and plants along these lines, his thought can be kept general and
on a high plane. Where details are demanded, the parent ought to be
thankful that these are presented to him for elucidation instead of to some

incapable outsider, and he can meet the demand according to circumstances,
—all of which will be discussed more fully presently.
If the parent keeps ever in mind the fact that the child must know some
time, and ought to gain a high conception of the subject before being
exposed to degrading influences, if he asks himself in all honesty, "Unless I
answer this, who will? and how?" he will be helped to do what in his own
heart he knows to be his duty.
Moreover, there is a great gain to many a child in learning the main facts at
an age where they do not appeal powerfully to his imagination nor move his
senses. Later, when any reference to the subject may have this effect, and
when there is enough to understand and meet without going back to the
rudiments, it will be much less difficult to give the needed aid with this
background, which causes the child to feel that he has "always known." To
have always known a thing robs it of any great special interest. We pay no
attention to the sun that shines upon us, but if this were a phenomenon of
very rare occurrence we should be thrilled by it and aroused to curiosity and
special observation and interest.
The child's knowledge of the sexuality of nature should be as much a matter
of fact as any other knowledge, and the mystery of it should be presented to
him as a sublime and beautiful mystery, creating an impression he cannot
wholly escape from when he finds himself caught in the vortex of his own
adulthood.

IX
AMPHIBIOUS LIFE

To the parents who desire to lead the child's mind through a long sequence
of thought from the lower to the higher life, the amphibian affords an easy
step in this ascending scale. And among amphibians that familiar and
picturesque harbinger of spring, the frog, and his cousin the friendly toad,
are the best adapted.
Children are always interested in frogs because they jump so well. This
suggests a starting-point for making their closer acquaintance. Why do they
jump so well? It is because of their long hind legs. A little watching of
either frog or toad will show exactly how the legs are used and wherein
they differ from, and also resemble, the child's own legs. The little hands of
the frog and toad, their way of sitting, leaning on their short arms, their
eagerness to snap up a tempting fly, the queer tongue fastened the other way
round from ours, and its lightning-like speed which is a result of this same
position in the mouth,—a hundred interesting things can be learned about
the toads and frogs.
Toads are very easily tamed, and make most amusing as well as useful pets
if there is a garden to be protected from marauding insects. They generally
have a hole or corner to which they come home regularly at night, and with
a little patience can be so tamed that they will take food, of living insect or
even of scraps of meat, from the child's hand. Their power to gormandize
seems unlimited, and the number of insects they can swallow without
protest is almost incredible. They will keep a small garden quite free from
slugs and other pests. They have no bad habits, do not bark at night, or
chase cats, or bite, or steal, or insist upon coming into the house, or scratch
up the flower-beds. Some accuse them of causing warts, but this is not true.
When handled, they sometimes give forth an acrid liquid from the skin,
which stings the mouths of tormenting dogs and smears meddling fingers.
But this, though unpleasant, does no harm. Many people have handled toads

freely and never had a wart; many others who have never touched a toad
have had many warts.
The toad may be ugly to look at, but that is not his fault. To many, he is
more comical than ugly, and no creature has more beautiful eyes than this
same homely toad. He is one of the most useful of animals, and should
never be killed or ill treated.
The frog is less familiar to us than the toad, living as he does in the water or
in wet places. Boys often take delight in killing him, having theories of the
terrible influence he exercises in the affairs of man. He is as harmless as the
toad and of value in keeping down insect pests, since these are also his
food.
In the spring of the year, the frogs and toads will be heard chirping, the frog
in particular sometimes filling the night with his din. The earliest of these
voices comes from the smaller green frogs, or "peepers," as they are often
called because of the peeping noise they make. The deep bass croak comes
from the large bull-frog, so named from his size and not from his sex, for
there are female bull-frogs. When the frogs begin to peep, the children will
enjoy making an excursion in quest of frogs' eggs. These will be found in
any pond where the voice of the frog is heard, and can be taken with a long-
handled dipper or by wading,—the latter practice to be cautiously indulged
in northern latitudes at this time of year, as the water may yet be very cold.
The eggs are gray, spherical, about as large as sweet-pea seeds, and have a
black spot on one side. They are found embedded many together in a
colorless jelly-like substance. The egg-mass should be handled carefully
and put whole into a jar or pail of water and thus carried home. It should not
stand with the sun shining directly on it, and when the water is changed,
every other day, that which is used should be of about the same temperature
as that removed. Water drawn cold from the pipes will sometimes kill the
eggs.
If all goes well, in a few days the eggs will hatch. Out of them will hatch,
not frogs, but tadpoles, or pollywogs, as they are also called. Everyone likes
to watch a tadpole—certainly every child does. As soon as the eggs hatch,
the surrounding jelly substance may be thrown away, merely as a matter of
convenience. Its use is to protect the eggs and to afford the first food for the

tadpole. If left too long in the water, it becomes broken up, discolored and
unpleasant. The tadpoles should have fresh water every day or two, care
again being exercised not to use it too cold, and they must be fed. They will
eat almost anything, crumbs of crackers or bread, and bits of raw meat or
fish being very acceptable. If they are well fed on meat or fish, they will
grow faster and change earlier into frogs. Indeed, by underfeeding tadpoles
a person can keep them a whole year from undergoing the changes they
would have normally undergone in a few weeks. The large bull-frog
tadpoles naturally take two years to develop, though a very nutritious diet
may possibly hasten them.

Tadpoles at Different Stages of Growth
The tadpole has very small eyes, a very small mouth, and tiny gill openings
like a fish. Indeed, so far as its life at this stage is concerned, to all intents
and purposes it is a fish. It cannot live out of the water, it breathes by gills,
it swims by its tail, but it has no fins. It wiggles about the jar or tank in a
very lively way, and ought to have water weeds or stones to hide under, and
pebbles or gravel in the bottom of the receptacle.
The ordinary tadpole, if well fed, astonishes and delights his young keepers
in a few days by putting forth a pair of tiny hind legs, which generally trail
behind him when he swims, though he often kicks with them, perhaps for
exercise. He grows larger and his legs longer, and one day a row of fingers
may be seen peeping out of his gill slit, as though out of an armhole, and

then he will thrust out a forearm, then another from the other gill slit. After
this, changes are rapid, and his keepers should put a stone or some firm
object in the water, reaching above the surface, so that he can climb up into
the air; for now his lungs are rapidly forming, and soon he can no longer
breathe by gills. At this stage, his tail begins to disappear. It does not fall
off, as some think, but its substance is absorbed into his body until no tail is
left. Finally, his head changes its shape, his baby mouth is replaced by a
wide frog mouth, his eyes stand out with projecting lids, his ear-plates
showing back of them, and we have a full-grown frog.
To the child who understands the origin of the fish eggs a few questions
which he can easily answer himself will be enough to call attention to the
important differences, and also to deepen the impression of the unity of life
as expressed in flower, fish, and frog. The ova of the frog develop in an
ovary exactly as do the ova of a fish; they develop in the same way and at
the maturity of the animal. The fertilizing cells develop like those of the
fish. In both cases, the reproductive elements are laid, shed, or born, when
the time comes. Before the eggs of the frogs and toads are laid they have no
albuminous covering. The moisture that envelops them swells up into the
jelly-like mass upon coming in contact with water.
There are important differences between the frog and the fish. The frog is a
more complex animal and, so to speak, more difficult to create, and it lays
fewer eggs. Since there are fewer eggs they must be more carefully
fertilized; that is, the fertilizing material must be sure to come in contact
with all of them. Consequently at the moment when the eggs are finding
their way into the water they are fertilized; not within the female body, but
just as they are leaving it.
The child accustomed to notice what he sees will observe the paired frogs in
the pond. He can be told that they take this position just before the eggs are
laid so that every egg will surely be fertilized. In the amphibious animals
the relation of the two parents is closer than in the fishes, but yet there is no
union between them, that appearing only when it is necessary. The stern law
of necessity governing every step of the reproductive function may be made
very impressive to the young mind; also the reign of law throughout life.

To explain frankly, simply, and scientifically such phenomena as that of the
paired frogs will tend to rob them of dangerous interest. Not to speak of
them will not prevent the child's seeing them, and his imagination may
foster much less wholesome thoughts.
There are frogs and toads that care for their young, but parental affection in
this form of life is rare. The eggs are laid in a favorable spot, and then left.
Toads as well as frogs lay their eggs in the water. The instinct of the toad
leads it to seek the water at the egg-laying season, as its tadpole, like that of
the frog, can live only in the water. At other seasons of the year the toad
does not enter the water.
Frogs' eggs are laid in compact masses, while toads' eggs are laid in strings
or ropes; and in this way they can be recognized, though after they have
once hatched the tadpoles of both are so much alike that they cannot be told
apart. Sometimes the children will be disappointed because the tadpole does
not change into a frog nor yet into a toad. It gets its four legs but does not
lose its tail; it never loses its tail. In short, it is not a frog or a toad, but a
salamander or water-lizard, which lays eggs similar to those of the frog, and
whose young upon first hatching look very much like young tadpoles.
If eggs are found in a pond where frogs are not heard or seen, they will
almost always turn out to be the eggs of a salamander.

X
THE BIRD

From the flower to the bird is a step easily taken if the parent prefers to
omit the intermediate steps, or, after the story of the bird has been told, the
stories of fish and frog can follow as occasion offers, instead of preceding
it. The bird is peculiarly valuable in teaching the origin of life to the child,
since in it we have such highly developed home and family instincts, the
father bearing his share of the burden, illustrations of which are rare in the
lower forms of life. As everywhere else, the best starting-point is with the
life and interests of the bird itself, and for this caged birds are far better than
the free ones, even though they may be only the sparrows and pigeons of
the city streets.
The flight of birds is that which particularly interests children as well as
every one else. Birds will soon learn to come to a place where they are fed
regularly; and the style of flight, depending upon the size and shape of the
wing as well as the shape of the bird's body, is a very interesting study.
Many a country child knows the common birds by their flight even when
the bird is too far away and moving too fast to be distinctly seen. What he
generally does not think of is why the bird has this peculiar flight, and to
have his attention called to it may increase his interest in watching the
living bird.
Whatever increases the boy's interest in the live bird tends to decrease his
desire to make it a dead bird; and the numerous good bird-books, as well as
the substitution in so many cases of the camera for the gun, has tended to
preserve the lives of the birds and to create a sentiment in favor of their
preservation. If the young child is taught to watch the birds and care for
them, he will not often, when older, thirst to take their lives.
While the flight of the bird may engage the first interest of the child, its
manner of eating and drinking is worth attention, and the nature of its food
is of the greatest importance. The shape of the bird's beak will decide, at

least in a general way, the kind of food it eats; and a little study of birds will
convince any one that all birds are useful to the agriculturist, either as
destroyers of noxious insects or of weed seeds. While some birds swallow
the seeds whole and pass them again unharmed, thus spreading the plant,
others crack the seed coat and eat the contents, which of course destroys the
seed. Even where the birds are the means of sowing seeds they do more
good than harm; for the seeds thus sown are not often harmful, and those
same birds destroy a vast number of noxious insects. Even owls and hawks,
by destroying mice in the farmer's fields, do him a service that much more
than compensates for the loss of an occasional chicken.
While the birds are of inestimable value to the farmer and to any one who
has a garden, their influence on our lives in another direction is also very
great, as difficult to estimate perhaps, as that of flowers. Who can doubt that
these little brothers of the air are one of the most civilizing and elevating
factors in man's daily life? Their song, their flight, their thousand and one
charming or entertaining habits, their strong expression of personality, their
poetical and mysterious comings and goings, appeal powerfully to the
higher imagination.
The migration of birds is alone enough to fill the mind with enchanting
dreams. To know that every night in late summer and in autumn there is a
stream of birds moving high in the air along the line of the sea-coast and of
the great valleys is enough to awaken fancy. This winged procession
moving along its aerial highway is made of the small and timid birds that
dare not fly by day for fear of hawks and other enemies; they may be as
high as three miles above the surface of the earth, their height being
estimated by watching them through the telescope as they cross the surface
of the moon. Imagine looking through the telescope at the face of the full
moon some night and seeing an endless procession of little birds speeding
across its shining face!
The amazing power of birds to see and hear, and, most interesting of all,
their nest-building habits are calculated to arouse the wonder and
admiration of every observer. What child would not watch with intense
interest the bringing of the straws or other materials, and the deft weaving
of them into the home which is presently to receive the precious eggs? Even

the city sparrow may here be a boon to the mother. Sufficiently encouraged,
it will accommodatingly build almost anywhere.
The child who knows the story of fish life and frog life will need little
telling here, and that is one argument in favor of taking all the gradual steps
from flower to bird. By this time the main ideas are firmly lodged, the child
will readily draw his own conclusions as to the rest; but there are one or two
facts connected with the origin of the bird which are of great value in fixing
the idea of necessity which is at the foundation of all reproductive
phenomena. Everything is as it is because it is necessary that it should be
so. In the frog the higher development made necessary greater economy in
the production of the egg and the fertilizing cell, and this economy of
material necessitated the more certain fertilization of the egg.
In the bird a great step upwards has been taken. Here we have something
much more complex in every way. The frog was cold-blooded,
comparatively sluggish, and comparatively simple in structure. The bird is
warm-blooded, intensely active, and very much more complex both in
bodily structure and in mind development. Here the reproductive activity is
yet more economically conducted, and instead of thirty or more eggs, the
bird produces often not more than six in a season, and even a smaller
number if it is single-brooded, some eagles, for instance, rearing only two
young in a season. Naturally these few eggs must be very carefully
protected. Since they are not laid in the yielding medium of water, they
cannot have so soft a covering as the eggs of the fish or frog, but are
enclosed in a hard shell. This shell must of course be formed before the egg
is laid, and the egg must be fertilized before the hard shell encloses it and
thus makes forever impossible the entrance of the fertilizing cell.
The ovaries of the bird are in the small of the back close to the backbone,
and there is a tube called the oviduct or egg-duct, leading from the ovary
down to the lower end of the intestine, which it enters. There is no separate
opening for the oviduct into the outer world.
There are two ovaries, with their oviducts, in the young bird, but these are
so small that it is very difficult indeed to find them. As the bird approaches
maturity, one ovary and its oviduct enlarge, and the ova, which develop
from the inside of the ovary just as the ovule develops inside the flower

ovary, also become large. Although the bird is born with two ovaries, but
one, usually, develops, generally the one on the left side.
When the bird comes to maturity, there is born in it a yearning for home and
offspring. As the eggs develop, the bird turns to the nest and to the mate
who is to share with her all this beautiful life. When the mate has been
chosen, both prepare the nest to receive the eggs, which will soon be ready.
It is during this period that the fertilizing fluid is placed in the lower end of
the egg-duct, whence the fertilizing cells, by their power of motion, quickly
make their way to the egg, which has just begun its journey down the
oviduct and is as yet without a shell. The shell-less egg is well known to
most country children, as hens often lay one; and this will always happen
where there is not lime enough in the food of the poultry.
After the egg is fertilized it continues its slow journey down the oviduct,
which enlarges to accommodate it. At first the egg consists of the yolk
alone. This grows to its full size before it leaves the ovary. The yolk in short
is the egg. But there is not enough food material in it for the development of
the bird, so as it passes down the egg-duct it becomes coated by the so-
called "white" of the egg, which is a substance secreted from the lining of
the egg-duct and is not alive, as is a certain part of the yolk. It is merely
stored-up food like that in the morning-glory seed, for this egg is the seed of
the bird. At the lower end of the egg-duct there is secreted a limy liquid
which covers the shell-less egg and hardens, making the shell. So finally the
fertilized egg has its shell and is ready to be laid. When this time comes, the
bird seeks her nest, and the egg is laid or born, and lies warm and living,
like a jewel in the nest.
It is hardly necessary to add that the fertilizing cells in the male bird have
an origin similar to that of the ova. The testicles and their ducts are too
small to be easily seen in the young bird and in the winter-time, but can be
seen during reproductive activity. The male bird can usually be told from
the female by differences in color and plumage, but where this is not the
case the two sexes cannot be told apart without actually killing and
dissecting the birds, so very simple are the generative organs.
The ripening of the reproductive elements in the bird occurs in the spring of
the year, and is always with a few exceptions accompanied by the instinct

of nest-making. The birds instinctively and joyfully prepare the home for
their young at this time, both parents joining to make the pretty structure.
With the child the higher emotions which always accompany reproductive
activity in the bird life should be kept ever prominent,—the affection
between the parents, their care and love for each other, the care and love for
the helpless young, their happiness in this duty as shown in their song and
bright colors. Unlike the fish and the frog, the bird cannot develop unless
the egg is kept warm, and after it hatches the young bird cannot take care of
itself for several weeks. It must be carefully nurtured, and finally even
taught how to fly and find its food.
The maternal hen can be a treasure to the mother seeking to impress the
lesson of love and care; the only defect is the indifference of the father,
which is in marked contrast to the interest shown by other birds, though
there are many proofs that the cock is not without parental love, as where
young chicks have been abandoned he has been known to rear them.
The love of both the birds for their helpless young, and their devotion to
each other, can be impressed on the young mind in many a picture of
beauty. Many birds pair for life, returning to the same nest year after year.
Nor should the instruction fail to impress upon the young mind the advance
of love and tenderness on the parent for the offspring as we ascend the scale
of life. The flowers, the fishes, the frogs, entrust their offspring to the care
of Mother Nature; the birds cannot do this. The mother and the father of the
helpless little creatures take deep joy in sacrificing their own freedom and
strength and time to this loving duty. A bird will even lose its life for its
young, trying to drive off an enemy; and every one knows how dangerous it
is to approach the nest of any large bird, eagles and even cranes sometimes
killing men and boys who try to rob them of their young.
The plumage of birds is a pretty subject of study. The wonderful way in
which feathers are adapted to their use, in keeping the bird warm without
greatly increasing its weight or impeding its flight, may be made very
interesting; also their beauty both of structure and color, and the fact that at
maturity the plumage often undergoes remarkable changes. Young birds are
colored like the mother. The brilliant male of the Baltimore oriole gets his
bright dress at maturity, but until that time he is as soberly clad as his quiet
little mother.

The inheritance of the young bird from its father should be enlarged upon.
At the beginning, though the male birds resemble the mother in appearance,
at maturity they wake up to the characteristics of their father. Then the
brilliant colors begin to play over their feathers—his colors. Then the song
trembles from their throats—his song; and the beautiful creatures might
sing as their wonderful wings flash through the air, "All this loveliness I
owe to my father: it is from him I received this glorious heritage of beauty
and song."
The child can learn the terrible consequences to the birds of their feathers
being taken as ornaments by human beings. The children can be told that
the plumage is most beautiful at the mating and nesting season, and that
thousands of birds, both male and female, are slain then, that the eggs and
young birds consequently die, and that some species have been almost if not
quite exterminated in this cruel way. The Audubon societies are organized
for the purpose of instructing young people about the birds and getting their
coöperation in opposing this needless slaughter. Some of these
organizations are extremely interesting in their field and lecture work on
birds; every neighborhood could have its Audubon society, to the great
pleasure and profit of the members as well as to the profit of the birds.
Where the mother desires to pass directly from the flower to the bird, this
can be well done by comparing the two, so far as their generative processes
are concerned, at every step. She can remind the little one of how the flower
seed is treasured in the ovary until it is able to go out into the big world, and
can then tell him that the wonderful seed of the bird, which we call the egg,
is treasured in the same way; this to be followed by the story of the care
needed by the bird's egg after it is born,—how it cannot be left to shift for
itself, but must be watched over and kept warm by its loving little parents
until it is fit to leave the shell, how it then breaks its prison and comes forth
so weak and helpless to be yet further loved and cared for and taught by its
faithful parents.
The question is often asked, should not the story of motherhood precede
that of fatherhood in all this early teaching? Up to a certain point it may be
well, and the story of the life and development of the egg can be told to
young children, with the father-bird merely an æsthetic factor, so to speak.
His care of the young, and protection of the mother-bird can be dilated upon

without going any farther. This is a course, however, which it will not be
wise to follow too long, particularly with boys, whose interest will be
greater when they know that the father too has a vital interest in the life of
his offspring. Moreover, there is a certain spiritual value in connecting the
equal need and responsibility of both parents in the creation of their
offspring. The child then knows that he has the whole truth, and half truths
are never quite safe.
If the child knows the story of flower, fish, and frog life, he will draw his
own conclusions about the birds, and it will be wiser frankly to tell him this
part of the story. If he knows nothing of the earlier work, and the mother
begins with the young birds in the nest, according to his age and
surroundings he should be told more or less, the mother always
remembering that if she defers too long somebody may anticipate her with
the kind of information she particularly desires to avoid.
Another question often asked concerning the bird is, "Would the egg be laid
if it were not fertilized?" It might be or it might not. In all forms of life the
sensitive reproductive system responds with peculiar readiness to its
environment. In birds if it does not receive the stimulus that comes from
mating, the ova may not develop at all, but remain small and attached to the
ovary. Or, a few may be completed and laid, as is often seen in the case of
caged female canaries. But these eggs of course could never hatch. They are
perfect so far as the ovum is concerned, but lacking fertilization they cannot
continue their development.
Another question often asked, and of peculiar meaning, is, "If the
reproductive system be not exercised, will it not perish for lack of
exercise?" The latest word of science on this subject is that it will not, either
in the bird or elsewhere. In a healthy organism it can safely remain
inoperative with the certainty of becoming active at a later period if then it
receive the normal stimulus.
The lessons to be learned from the birds are many. From them can be
answered all questions, for now we have passed that most difficult of all
points, the relation of father to child in the animal world, and everything
else can be explained through the knowledge already gained. The well-
taught child will recognize the justice and necessity for the existing

processes of life. He will realize their deep meaning, their far-reaching
influence, and their tremendous importance in preserving upon the earth the
multitudes of living forms that inhabit it.
The flower and the bird are the two most important helps in imparting the
facts concerning the renewal of life throughout nature.

XI
THE MAMMAL

The mother who has conducted the child through the various life forms up
to the mammal will not be likely to wish to stop there. Having gone thus
far, it will be easy to continue and reveal to the child the wonderful life that
yet remains.
The question is often asked, whether country children are not much more
likely to learn these truths naturally and without instruction than city
children. The answer is that they are more likely to learn the facts, but
knowing the facts is by no means understanding the subject; and whether
knowledge of the facts is good or bad for the child depends entirely upon
the impression it makes upon him. Undoubtedly the country child is in a
better position to receive instruction, but whether this instruction tends to
refine his feelings and elevate his heart depends altogether upon how it is
given. Probably the average country boy has no more spiritual conception
of the matter than the average city boy, though he may have a more
wholesome and, so to speak, utilitarian thought of it. His interest at least
reaches out to results, for the successful multiplication of the stock on the
farm may be a matter of vital importance to him.
The extension of knowledge from the bird to the mammal may be made
through the medium of the family pets. Fido, puss, the pet rabbits, or
squirrels may serve to elucidate the subject. Indeed, at this stage the well-
instructed child himself will be ready to give all the essential facts, and will
feel free to ask questions concerning the facts he does not understand. If he
has traced the continuity of the egg from the flower to the bird it will not be
difficult for him to realize that even the higher animal has its origin in the
same way. The mother can very reverently explain to him that the cat too
has ovaries; that from these develop ova which are few in number and need
very special care. They cannot be laid in a nest like the bird's egg. They are
very tiny, no larger than the head of a small pin, and they have no hard
shell.

It is their destiny to remain in the oviduct and develop. That is, instead of
being born like the bird's egg and then being hatched, these eggs first
develop and afterwards are born. But if not fertilized they would not
continue to develop. The cat has two ovaries, which develop at maturity and
ripen the ova, and these pass into the oviducts, which are tubes like the
oviducts of the bird. Here the egg remains a certain length of time, and then
if it is not fertilized it is passed away; but if it is fertilized a marvellous
change takes place in this tiny cell: it remains within the oviduct and is
there supplied with nourishment by blood-vessels essentially as the flower
seed is supplied with food from the sap. Generally three or five of these ova
develop at the same time, some in one oviduct, some in the other. When
these tiny eggs have developed into kittens strong enough and perfect
enough to make entrance into the world safe, they are born just as the egg is
born. Unlike the oviduct of the bird, which opens into the intestine, these
ducts unite just before the end, and have separate openings of their own.
As soon as the young are born the mother begins to care for them. For
several weeks they depend upon the milk she secretes for their food, and
upon her constant care and loving watchfulness for their life. The thought of
parental love and care should be much more strongly emphasized at every
step than the mere physical facts, though it is necessary that they too be
clearly comprehended. The sacrifice of the parent for the child is one of the
most universal and unselfish facts of life, and many stories illustrating it can
be collected and told. It is not necessary to tell them as obviously pointing a
moral, yet they should be told as dramatically and interestingly as possible,
that the child may get a strong impression of this great force. Among
mammals it is true, (but this need not be dwelt upon with the child,) that
many males pay no attention to their offspring; though some, as the cattle,
defend the females and young if a herd is attacked by savage animals, by
putting them in the centre and themselves forming a circle about them. It is
the mother love and care, however, which are here most prominent; but the
child who knows the facts concerning paternity should not be allowed to
forget the great factor of inheritance, and that the offspring gets its
characteristics from the father as well as from the mother.
There is only one more step to be taken in the modus operandi of
reproduction, and that is in the higher mammal, where the ovum passes
down through a slender oviduct into an enlarged chamber or womb, where

it remains a certain length of time, finally if unfertilized, to pass away
unnoticed; if fertilized, to develop into a young animal which in time will
be born helpless and dependent upon the love and care of the mother. In
some of the higher mammals, as the sheep and the goat, there are generally
two ova developed in the womb at the same time; that is, twins are born. In
the larger ones, as the horse and the cow, but one ovum generally develops,
though the development of two is not uncommon.
As a result of these teachings, which are not formal like school work, but
given as opportunity offers and in as interesting and outreaching a way as
possible, the child learns that all life develops in the same way. That all life,
even human, starts as a tiny ovum. That these tiny ova are produced in
every female by a special tissue called the ovary, which develops at
maturity when the eggs begin to ripen; that if the ova are not fertilized they
do not develop; if they are fertilized they develop into an individual like the
parent, though having personal peculiarities of its own. The fertilizing cells
are produced in every male from a special tissue, which greatly develops at
maturity when the fertilizing cells are matured and are capable of uniting
with the ovum to produce the new being.
Along with these necessarily material facts the youth is firmly impressed
with the high office of this great function, his thoughts concerning it are
honest and clear, and he understands in a natural way the necessity for
respecting it and guarding it for the good of those who are to follow. The
essential facts the child can well learn before his own maturity. They seem
to him matter-of-fact, like any other phenomena of life. He does not need to
brood over an incomprehensible and veiled mystery, and the whole subject
cannot fail to have a broader significance, a deeper, wider meaning, a purer
influence than it could have if only the physiological facts relating to his
own life came to his knowledge.
But should one wait for all these intermediate steps before telling the facts
of human life?
That perhaps depends upon the temperament and circumstances of the
parent and the needs of the child. It does not matter much whether the steps
are taken consecutively or not, so long as the child gets a clear idea of the
main facts and connects them in his mind with similar phenomena in all

forms of life. Nor is a great store of knowledge on the part of the parent
necessary. Each will tell in his own way such facts as he knows, keeping
only in mind that he is to impress the child with the wonder and beauty of
reproduction as a means to an end, and as a universal law working
essentially alike in every living thing.
There is something deeper than mere knowing, which the parent wishes to
kindle, like a sacred fire which can never be extinguished, in the soul of his
child. That is, a high reverence for the noble mystery of human life in its
inception, and a deep love for his parents and a profound faith in them, such
a love and reverence that any impulse to subvert the forces of his own life
may be met with successful resistance.
The boy who hears from his mother's lips his first knowledge of his own
origin, who learns from her the full meaning of maternity, its sacrifices and
suffering and the great love that gladly endures all, suffers all, for the sake
of the precious child who is to come to her arms,—for the young life, his
life, that she is to guide and cherish,—can never enshrine a debased image
of womanhood in his heart of hearts. With some children—and some
mothers—this might well be the child's first introduction to the subject.
Afterwards he could be shown the flower and its seeds, the fish and its
eggs, the egg of the bird, and somewhat later introduced to the pollen of the
flower as necessary to the completing of the wonderful transformation.
Nor will it be difficult in these growing years to instil into the boy the best
elements of chivalry which shall make him a champion for his mother's sex.
He ought to be trained to a certain respect and courtesy toward girls and
women as he grows older, by many devices in the home life which will
suggest themselves to any mother. A feeling of protection for motherhood
can be fostered in the boy through his relations with the lower animals;
many a one has had the truth impressed upon him by his mother's
admonition not to handle kitty roughly or chase her about too much, as she
is carrying under her heart the burden of new life. Keeping and caring for
pets may be a great education to the growing boy. It interests him in animal
life, gives him occupation at home; and in breeding his pigeons, rabbits, or
squirrels his interest in obtaining good specimens may be an open door to
instruction of inestimable value far beyond pigeons and rabbits.

Again, the boy's pet may by some mothers be found an easy introduction to
the story of the development of the new life, the main stress being laid upon
the care of the little mother, who must be treated with special kindness and
consideration, and must be well fed. Some mothers encourage the children
to save a little of their own milk and cream for pussy at this time, thus
conveying the impression that some sacrifice of their own comfort is due to
the mother who is bearing this extra burden of life. If the child is curious,
the mother can tell him so sacredly the principal physiological facts that he
will go from her feeling as little inclination to speak carelessly of what he
has heard as he would feel like shouting his prayers aloud in the street.
It will naturally occur to the mother to connect this whole subject closely
with the religious thought of the child; and where this is done simply and
without theology, but as an expression of the great divine love and foresight
that passes like a golden thread through every form of living creature, it
may be exceedingly beautiful and exceedingly helpful.
It is now time to answer the question, "What is to be done with the older
child who has received little or no preliminary instruction?"
From eleven to fourteen the boy can be told the facts he needs to know with
as much preparatory flower and animal studies as can be made interesting
to him. Everything will depend upon his temperament and the kind of
information he may have already received. He may be interested; the
chances are he will not be, or at least will pretend he is not. In such a case
he must be made to listen, and some such preliminary as the following will
generally attain the required result.
"There are some things that every man must understand rightly. I want to be
sure you understand them, so that you may know the true from the false, the
right from the wrong, and will not show yourself ignorant before the
world."
Generally to be seriously called a man at this age, or invited to enter the
domain of the man, will conquer, and he will listen even though he may
pretend not to. It often happens that the boy entering the "contrary age"
wants above all things to know, and yet is ashamed to listen. It is generally
safer to talk to the boy at this time than to rely wholly upon books to be
read by him. Give him the books by all means but talk them over with him,

supplementing them in any way that seems best. It may be better for the
father to talk to the hitherto uninstructed lad at this age, but where this is
not possible then the mother should see that the boy has the information he
needs, in the most outreaching form she can bestow it, trying to make him
realize the universality of the truth, the fact that every living thing is subject
to essentially the same sex laws. It is best for him to feel that both parents
understand and are interested in this side of his development, and the
mother, even though the father gives the instruction, may be able to show
her son that she too knows and cares. It will be much less difficult as a rule
for the mother to talk to the girl at this age, and of course there will be
many children, both boys and girls, with whom no difficulty will be
encountered.
With older children, those perhaps from fourteen to eighteen, yet other
methods may need to be pursued. Many youths can be approached without
difficulty, and what they need to know can be explained directly to them.
Whether this is so or not often depends quite as much on the parent as on
the child. Where the mother feels that a direct appeal to the youth would be
injudicious she can sometimes gain his interest by indirect methods. If there
are younger children she can introduce the subject by saying that she is
anxious to have the children instructed properly in this subject, and that she
relies upon him to assist her in various ways, and particularly by always
understanding what she is doing, and adding the weight of his influence as
an older brother. She can then consult him as to the best way of going to
work, explaining about the botany work and what she hopes to gain by
using it, all the time taking for granted that he knows everything. If he is
interested, she can explain all to him in this way, opening the door to certain
other information she must be sure that he has. Of course she may be able
to relegate all this instruction to the child's father, but if for any reason this
is not possible, the boy must get his help either directly or indirectly from
her; and in any case if it is possible to associate him with her in the task of
enlightening and helping his younger brothers it may give a certain
definiteness of thought on the subject, and, what is of more importance, a
sense of responsibility in regard to it. It will also help him to a realization of
the universal nature of the manifestation of this side of life. By occasional
appeals to his sympathy and help as time goes on and getting him to read
certain books in order to help her to decide whether they would help the

others, she may be able to do him an incalculable benefit. Even though he
may argue against instruction, that will give an opportunity to put in his
way sources of knowledge, and if he does not feel inclined to read the
books recommended they can be left in his way where he can read them
without being detected, which he will be apt to do. Generally young people
are eager for instruction, though where they have been neglected and have
formed false ideas and ideals they sometimes become perverse, particularly
toward members of their own family. This may often be due to fear in one
form or another, and the wise parent will leave no means untried to give the
youth somehow the help he needs. Many parents feel it wise to give the
youth some good book on the subject suited to his age, a book of his own
which he can keep in his room to consult whenever he is puzzled or
doubtful about his rule of conduct.

XII
VIGILANCE

That the facts concerning the normal reproductive life throughout nature
can be presented in such a way as to create a worthy image in the mind of
the learner there can be no doubt.
The question naturally arises, "Is this enough to insure morality and
personal purity in the youth?" Few knowing the tendency of the age would
hesitate to say most emphatically that it is not enough.
The end in view being to prepare the young soul for the great battle of life,
to put upon it the armor of a knight which shall be borne untarnished, the
first instruction concerning the facts of the reproductive life may well be
impersonal, poetical, beautiful, filling the mind with sentiment,—not
sentimentality,—so that the mental vision of this side of life shall be one
worthy of the glorious mind of man. To keep the mind of the child wisely
impressed with the beauty, the achievements, of the great reproductive force
in nature, which is directly responsible for every living thing on the earth, is
to help immeasurably toward branding a high instead of a low ideal on his
soul,—an ideal which he cannot lose when he reaches the great climax that
transforms him into an adult capable of reproducing his kind, and when
whatever most powerfully influences him will become a determining factor
in the administration of his whole after life.
Side by side, however, with this illumination of nature's methods should go
the most careful training and watchfulness in the care of the child's own
person,—not that he need connect the two in the least. Later, of course, he
will, and should as time goes on, have the most careful instruction
concerning his own body and its functions. There are a few simple
observances that every human being should learn from childhood, and learn
so thoroughly and so fix as a matter of habit, that he can never break away
from them.

At first the parent attends to the child's wants, later the child must care for
himself; and while he ought not to be burdened with too much thought of
his body, yet there are a few simple rules of hygiene which he should follow
as a matter of habit, and there is one subject upon which he should be most
carefully instructed,—that is, maintaining the sexual purity of his body. He
should be taught from the beginning to think of his body as the sacred
temple of his soul, which it is a sin against nature and against God to defile.
That the child's body be kept uncontaminated is one of the most priceless
gifts his parents can bestow upon him; the value of this was so keenly felt in
antiquity that at a certain period of Greek supremacy the laws were most
stringent concerning it, a youth sinning against himself being put to death.
There seems to be a growing need of watchfulness over children in this
respect; few who have not looked especially into the matter have any idea
of the prevalence of harmful habits. Sex abuse has been called "the disease
of civilization"; and where it takes firm root, it is exceedingly disastrous to
the life of a nation, not only destroying, directly or indirectly, individuals,
but so weakening the stock that the whole nation degenerates.
The root of the difficulty perhaps lies in the low ideal of this age on that
subject. Where the ideal is low there can be no hope of a high result. That
the current theories which control the lives of the many in this direction are
false is the conclusion of the best scientific work of the present times.
Where these theories, however, have been bred into youth for generations,
they may to an extent be true simply as a result of this breeding. Darwin in
his "Descent of Man" says: "It is worthy of remark that a belief constantly
inculcated during the early years of life, whilst the brain is impressible,
appears to acquire almost the nature of an instinct; and the very essence of
an instinct is that it is followed independently of reason."
For the parent, then, to inculcate this quasi instinct against sex abuse in any
form is to give the child the best armor he could possibly have; and if this
could be done for generations, the instinct would not need such careful
fostering, as it would be born more or less developed with the child.
Every parent of a purely reared child is putting a stone in the foundation of
prosperity for this wonderful new civilization, which will go on evolving, or
die of decrepitude, just as its central dynamic force, the sex life of the

people, finally decides. Sex immorality is, as every one knows, one of the
signs of the approaching death of a nation.
Few young mothers realize the great need of watchfulness against the
formation of bad habits in even young children. And many make the
mistake of supposing that with children instruction can take the place of
watchfulness. During the early years of a child's life careful watching as
well as careful teaching, is necessary. Nor does the social grade of the child
bring immunity or the reverse. The mother who says to herself, "Oh, my
child would not," does not understand the nature of the problem. Anybody's
child may innocently fall into this error, and every mother should equip
herself with all the information necessary to guard against this most
insidious of all foes and to meet it if it appears, realizing that watchfulness
is necessary almost from the hour of birth,—even children in the cradle
frequently needing attention in this respect. Every young mother should
know that among a certain class of people, from whom her nurse will likely
be drawn, there are many who have theories most pernicious to the welfare
of the child, the nurse herself not infrequently, through ignorance perhaps,
being guilty of initiating the babe into a course from which it will be most
difficult for him ever to depart. It is not safe to take for granted that any
child does not need a certain amount of watchfulness. The most highly
organized, most "high strung" sensitive natures are among those most in
danger, not only from forming unfortunate habits, but from their results.
Watchfulness during the early years of the child's life, instruction in caring
for himself, plenty of outdoor exercise, unstimulating food, sufficient sleep,
the cold bath, agreeable occupation, abundant material for wholesome
thought and imagination, will in most cases bring the child safely to the first
great milestone in his life journey, the period of adolescence.
As the child grows older he should be warned against certain dangers which
may beset him from other vicious or ignorant children; and of course the
child's temperament, his heredity, the weakness or strength of his desires in
the direction of sense pleasures, and the amount of will-power he possesses
will guide the parent in the nature and amount of such instruction. Some
mothers whose children have strong animal instincts are afraid to instruct
them on that account. Such children are in peculiar need of watchfulness
and knowledge, and the right kind of instruction does not tend to waken the

senses. Of course no child should be sent away to school without an
impressive warning against certain habits all too prevalent among boys in
boarding schools. Here it may be wise to let him know something of what
he will be sure to see or hear, that he may not be taken unawares, puzzled
and tempted by things which to him will seem not to have come within the
experience of his parents if they said nothing to him about them. The boy
warned by his parents of the falsity of the strange doctrines he may hear
preached by these unguided youths will not readily be deluded. The pure
but ignorant boy going for the first time into the new life of the school,
looking up to the older boys with that peculiar veneration the younger boy
almost always feels for the older, moved in his senses by what he hears and
sees, may speedily forget such home warnings as seem vague and pointless,
and he may yield himself to a course most disastrous to his future.
How can it fail to be the duty of every parent to protect the child against the
chance of making these fatal mistakes through ignorance? Young people
cannot be kept wholly out of reach of temptation, nor would it be best for
them if they could be. Far better is it so to strengthen the moral fibre that
they can resist.
From time to time there appears in our best publications an appeal from
some noted educator for the better instruction of youth at home, and their
almost universal plea is that the youth be told by the mother the facts
needed to give him a reverence for womanhood.

XIII
THE TRANSFORMATION

The most difficult problems of the educator are found in connection with
changes which take place in the child at the age of adolescence or puberty.
This age has never been so carefully and systematically studied as at the
present time, and it is proving an unsuspected key for solving many
puzzling problems of racial evolution as well as of individual development.
Personally it is a time of tremendous stress,—physical, mental, and moral;
the young person who escapes turmoil being the exception, not the rule.
Certain of the physical changes which occur are familiar to all, but the deep
meaning of these changes is less generally understood. The parent who has
wisely guided the child to this critical period has done much, but it would
be a mistake to suppose that all has now been done that can be done.
The habits of self-reliance, self-control, and right thinking formed through
the years of childhood will indeed help now. But there awakens for the first
time a new force: the child is, in a literal as well as figurative sense, being
born anew. At this new birth, which is sometimes very difficult, he enters
into a hitherto unknown world of interests and feelings. While the change
from child to adult may proceed as a gradual and placid unfolding in some
individuals, in the great majority it advances with irregular and disturbing
demonstrations. This great change takes place in girls generally at from
thirteen to fifteen, and in boys a year or two later, though it is not completed
for a period of five or six years. During this time the most profound
alterations take place in nearly all parts of the body; the mind undergoes a
similar metamorphosis, so that often the child so carefully watched from
babyhood seems entirely superseded by a new being.
This is preëminently the age of romance. It is the borderland where is
fought the battle of individuality, and it is probable that at this time is
decided in a very deep way what is to be the trend of the whole after life.
There is at this period such susceptibility to impressions that there may be

indelibly stamped mental images that are the exact opposite of those of
childhood, the childish memory remaining as a thing apart and by itself,—a
curious separation and continuation of two lines of ideas, which every one
has perhaps experienced to some extent and on some subject.
It is probable that impressions received now are of more importance in
determining conduct than at any other period, or at least in determining it
for a long period of years, the period when the individual makes his
strongest impression upon the world. Reversion to the faith or the ideals of
childhood, which so often occurs in old age, is of slight importance to
society as compared to the influence of the individual when at the zenith of
his powers. Consequently, it is of the utmost importance that the right
thought and the high ideal be firmly implanted at this new birth.
Undoubtedly the habits of childhood make impressions in the same
direction more easily received, and where self-indulgence and gratification
of the senses have been prominent, they will be sure to exert a tremendous
power now, and vice versa. Thus a clear understanding of this period is of
the utmost importance to whoever undertakes the guidance of youth.
The central point about which everything now revolves is the coming to
maturity of the sexual system. It is as absurd as it is harmful to ignore the
fact that this is primarily what the change means, and that with the physical
power to become a parent there normally appears, either initially or with
greatly increased force, the sex appetite. This is normally true of both boys
and girls, though the forces that have gone to make our present civilization
have, at least in many cases, made the physiological sense cry subordinate
in the girl, and occasionally this is also true of the boy.
There is no period in the life of the human being when he so needs help in
certain ways as now, and no time when it is so difficult to help him, as
every youth now more than ever before affords an individual problem. One
of the difficulties attending this period is the tendency to unsymmetrical
growth. Oftentimes the body shoots up with amazing rapidity, this quick
growth of bone and muscle drawing heavily on the whole system; parents
recognize the condition by saying the child has outgrown his strength. He
has often outgrown much more than this, for his intellect may not have been
able to keep pace, and we not infrequently have the anomaly of an adult
body with the mind of a child. No one is more conscious of this incongruity

than the subject himself, whose anatomy seems to have run away with him.
This rapid growth is generally marked by excessive development of some
parts over others, so that the child becomes clumsy and awkward. If the
subject is a boy, the sudden change in the size of his vocal chords often
causes a distressing "breaking" of the voice which adds materially to the
general sense of disharmony.
Those who have not experienced this sudden and unsymmetrical
development can have little idea of the trials of the young soul going
through it, a suffering so great that suicide is often seriously contemplated
as the only solution. And all this turmoil is kept within the heart of the
sufferer. To the outsider the boy, the girl, is merely "cranky" or "contrary."
If not constantly nagged at and reproved for his awkwardness at home, he is
sure to have it ridiculed by his schoolmates, particularly by those of the
opposite sex. He cannot help being round-shouldered and loose-jointed,
with protruding shoulder-blades and awkward motions; and the pathos of it
is, he thinks he must always remain so, an ugly failure and a laughing-stock
to the community. The effect this has upon him will depend upon his
temperament. Very sensitive and fine natures often instinctively seek to
cover the real trouble by exaggerating the defects in every way possible,—
making believe they do it all on purpose, and acting the clown and the
ruffian, giving way to the irritability natural to the condition with a sort of
reckless despair which is sure to be misunderstood and censured by those
he loves best. When this stage is reached, it is easy for him to imagine
himself a social outcast, a useless encumbrance that nobody loves, a clumsy
dolt that nobody likes to have about. Again he may become sullen, morose,
resentful, and suspicious toward all about him. Or, a timid nature may
become more timid, shrinking, weak of will, and despondent concerning
life in general; or the subject may show an exaggerated egotism which
seeks by sheer intrusion of self to force everything else aside.
In the course of a few years he grows out of these difficulties, but the
suffering he underwent may have made such an impression upon his
excessively sensitive nerve centres that he never entirely recovers from it,
and may be controlled by it in ways he does not suspect all the rest of his
life.

It is needless to say that a large part of this suffering could be averted by
knowledge on the part of the parents and of other adults with whom the
youth comes in contact, as well as on the part of the youth himself. What he
most needs in his "awkward age" is sympathy, patience, firmness, and
instruction, and his physical defects should never be ridiculed. Perhaps
nothing is more helpful to youth at this stage than to have its vagaries
treated seriously. Wonderful dreams of future glory and accomplishment,
remarkable theories of the universe, astounding schemes for impossible
inventions, new Utopias, wild adventures, and at times even questionable
escapades are the natural and luxurious growth of the newly stimulated
imagination. They do no harm, and are a safety valve which should be
understood. Honest sympathy, where sympathy is merited, will give weight
to warning and disapproval, which would have no weight at all if the whole
fabric of the imagination, which is so real and so precious to the imaginer,
were condemned without discrimination. These dreams of youth are often
the real stuff out of which the fabric of life is later to be woven, taking new
forms it may be, but getting their inception there. Some one has said that if
the facts could be known, the thought germs whence finally came the steam
engine and the electric telegraph were probably conceived in the brain of an
adolescent; and we know that poets are born at that age.
Many of the dreams of the youth may seem fantastic and ridiculous, but if
the adult can only remember that they are not so to the dreamer and that this
is a phase through which he is passing,—a phase which in most cases will
pass entirely, leaving only, so to speak, a glow behind,—he will be more
sympathetic and thus more helpful. If he can also realize that these dreams
of the youth are an expression on the highest plane of the creative instinct
which is in a sense controlling his body, mind, and soul, these vagaries, far
from being ridiculous, will be recognized as worthy of the deepest respect.
Now, too, the parent who has won the full confidence of the child through
confidential talks on sex matters can without difficulty instruct him in the
meaning and control of the new forces that are at work upon him.
The whole subject now changes. It becomes personal, and his thoughts are
clouded by new problems and by the imperious demands of the body.
According to the nature, inheritance, and previous habits of the youth these
demands assert themselves. And now is the time of greatest danger from
ignorance. Even though the boy has been well taught up to this age, if he is

cast adrift now on the turbulent sea of desire and allowed to gather
information from the sources all too available, there may occur a split
between the thought of his childhood on this subject and the thought of his
adulthood. If he is not allowed to drift, however, but given a chart and
compass, the knowledge he has already of how to sail his ship will enable
him to make straight for the right port, which he will have a good chance of
reaching, no matter how stormy the seas he may have to traverse. With the
right knowledge now, the idea and the ideal of his childhood may become
the idea and the ideal of his manhood. If the child's thought of the subject
has been unworthy, the danger of forever enshrining a wrong image in the
soul of the adult is greater, and the difficulty of placing there the right one is
enhanced.
The outward signs of the girl's development are usually explained
beforehand sufficiently to enable her properly to care for herself. It is
unnecessary to add that this should always be done, as nothing is more
unjust than to leave her in a state of ignorance where the natural expression
of her maturity may fill her mind with fears which may affect her nervous
system ever after, even if they do not lead her to do acts which may
permanently impair her reproductive vitality, and injure her health in other
ways. All that she needs to know about the proper care of her person should
be told her in the most considerate yet explicit manner, as should whatever
is told her upon any part of the subject. It is a mistake to be vague now.
Whatever is told concerning the reproductive processes should be said with
the greatest clearness, leaving no room for brooding and imagination. And
here, too, the wise parent will take into account the phenomenon of desire,
which, so far from being abnormal in the girl, is normal in the truest sense.
It may not play an important part in her life at this time, and often it does
not, but again it may. Nor is the girl of whom this latter is true in any sense
less fine or less worthy; perhaps on the contrary she is the best product of
her race. Nor should she be afraid or ashamed of her nature, but only helped
to understand and take care of herself and of her powers.
With the youth at this period the changes that fit him for his new place in
the world are generally ignored. He does not know what is normal and what
abnormal in his physiological development, and is often the victim of
groundless fears that use up his strength or send him in despair to seek
assistance from the most easily available sources of information, those

baleful writings and despicable quack practitioners everywhere soliciting
and alarming youth, and whose career forms one of the saddest
commentaries on the state of our civilization.
The young man should know the truth about himself. He should understand
the vast range of the change that is taking place in him, and that no two
individuals necessarily develop just alike, either physically or mentally; and
he should understand what are its normal phenomena, and how without fear
to recognize and control deviations from them. Many parents direct the boy
to go at once to the family physician if he is troubled or puzzled in any way.
A few moments' talk with a wise doctor may save much useless worry. The
more nervous and sensitive the boy at this time the more likely he will be to
suffer from imagined troubles, and the greater his danger of falling into real
ones.
While the youth must know the physiological and anatomical facts and
must know in a general way the consequences of vice, he will seldom be
restrained or helped by the methods of the alarmist. It is far better that his
mind at this time dwell upon the normal and noble side of sex life than on
its abnormal and ignoble side. The value of diet, cold water, exercise, and
occupation should be understood by the young people themselves, and also
the tremendous value of thought in helping or hindering. Faith in one's
power to win is the first requisite in any contest, and fortunately science to-
day is saying what the inner heart of man must always have told him was
true, that a chaste life is both possible and safe. Indeed the scientists of to-
day declare it to be advantageous, heightening the power of the individual
in all directions, and particularly at the growing age.
Every parent has an ideal as to how he wishes his daughter to be treated by
young men, and how he wishes her to conduct herself toward them. That
this ideal be reached in the case of the daughter, it is necessary that the son
be trained to a chivalry and respect for all women, which will make it
impossible for him to take liberties with any woman. A right knowledge of
the real meaning and the responsibilities and duties of their lives at this time
would be a better safeguard for most young people than any amount of
chaperonage. Nor will such training in any way lessen the joy of life, or the
charms of courtship, but on the contrary, will enhance all that is most
precious.

When the youth goes finally into the real battle of life, into the world of
business, of competition, and temptation, he will need all his fortitude and
all his knowledge to guide him aright in his personal life. And then it is that
he will begin to realize what his parents have really done for him, and to
appreciate their forethought and care. Then, too, he not infrequently
expresses in the strongest terms his gratitude to the mother, the father, who
have guided his course safely over the dangerous shoals.
The life battle of the youth who has been carefully instructed and preserved
clean in mind and body is very different from that of him who has been
weakened in will and perverted in mind from lack of such preservation; he
knows that purity is both possible and good, and desires it above all things
for his sons, both for their happiness and for their material success in life.
Habits of thought and action have an incalculable influence upon the body
as well as upon the mind; and here as everywhere else, the ideal, whether it
be high or low, will control the destiny of the man.

LIST OF BOOKS HELPFUL IN STUDYING
PLANT AND ANIMAL LIFE

BIBLIOGRAPHY

I
BOOKS HELPFUL IN STUDYING PLANT LIFE

Andrews, Jane:
Stories Mother Nature Told Her Children $0.50
Bailey, L. H.:
Plant Breeding 0.75
Bass, Florence:
Plant Life. Nature Stories for Young Readers 0.25
Dana, Mrs. William Starr (Frances T. Parsons):
How to Know the Wild Flowers 2.00
Going, Maud:
Field, Forest, and Wayside Flowers. Untechnical
Studies for Unlearned Lovers of Nature 1.50
With the Wild Flowers, from Pussy Willow to
Thistledown 1.00
With the Trees 1.00
Gray, Asa:
School and Field Book of Botany 1.80
Huntington, Annie Oakes:
Studies of Trees in Winter 2.50
Keeler, Harriet L.:
Our Native Trees and How to Identify them 2.00
Laing, Mary E.:
The Life of a Bean. For little children 0.15
Lounsberry, Alice:
A Guide to the Trees 1.75
Lubbock, Sir John:
Flowers, Fruits, and Leaves. Treats of fertilization
of flowers, seed dispersal, leaves, stinging
hairs, etc. 0.75

Morley, Margaret W.:
Seed Babies. For young children, showing how
plants come from seeds 0.25
Little Wanderers. For children, on the methods
of seed dispersal 0.30
Flowers and Their Friends. Stories of plants and
how they do their work of living 0.50
A Few Familiar Flowers. A book of methods for
teaching beginning botany 0.75
Newell, Jane H.:
Reader in Botany.
Part I. From Seed to Leaf 0.60
Part II. From Flower to Fruit 0.60
Parsons, Frances Theodora (Mrs. W. S. Dana):
According to Season. Talks about the flowers in
the order of their appearance in the woods and
fields 1.75
Rogers, Julia Ellen:
The Tree Book. North American trees, uses, and
culture 3.00
Roth, Filibert:
First Book of Forestry 1.25
Spear, Mary A.:
Leaves and Flowers. Botany for young learners,
giving the principal botanical terms 0.25
Weed, Clarence M.:
Seed Travellers. On seed dispersal; for older
children 0.25

II
BOOKS HELPFUL IN STUDYING ANIMAL LIFE

American Humane Education Society:
Publications, and "Our Dumb Animals," a magazine
Per year $0.50
Bass, Florence:
Animal Life. Nature Stories for Young Readers 0.35
Bateman, Rev. Gregory C.:
Fresh Water Aquaria 1.40
Burroughs, John:
Locusts and Wild Honey 1.25
Signs and Seasons 1.25
Wake Robin 1.25
Ways of Nature 1.50
Chapman, Frank M.:
Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America 3.00
Comstock, Anna Botsford:
Ways of the Six-Footed. Stories of Insect Life 0.40
Comstock, John Henry:
Insect Life 1.75
Dixon, Charles:
Birds' Nests 1.20
Eddy, Sarah J.:
Friends and Helpers 0.60
Howard, Leland O.:
The Insect Book 3.00
Hulbert, W. D.:
Forest Neighbors. Life Stories of Wild Animals 1.50
Jackson, Gabrielle E.:
The Adventures of Tommy Postoffice. The True

Story of a Cat 0.75
Jackson, Helen Hunt:
Cat Stories 2.00
Job, Herbert K.:
Wild Wings. Adventures of a Camera Hunter
among the larger Wild Birds of North America
over Sea and Land 3.00
Jordan, David Starr (Editor):
True Tales of Birds and Beasts 0.40
Keyser, Leander S.:
Birds of the Rockies 1.50
Long, William J.:
Ways of the Wood Folk 0.50
Wilderness Ways 0.45
Secrets of the Woods 0.50
Wood Folk at School 0.50
A Little Brother to the Bear, and Other Animal
Stories 1.50
Mathews, F. Schuyler:
Field Book of Wild Birds and Their Music 2.00
Familiar Life in Field and Forest. The Animals,
Birds, Frogs, and Salamanders 1.75
Miller, Mary Rogers:
The Brook Book 1.35
Morley, Margaret W.:
Butterflies and Bees 0.60
The Insect Folk 0.45
A Song of Life 1.25
Life and Love 1.25
The Bee People 1.25
The Honey-Makers 1.25
Little Mitchell. The Story of a Squirrel 1.25
Our Four-Footed Friends. A Monthly Magazine.
Per year 0.50

Patterson, Alice Jean:
The Spinner Family. About Spiders 1.00
Repplier, Agnes:
The Fireside Sphinx. A Book about Cats for Older
Readers 2.00
Seton, Ernest Thompson:
Animal Heroes 2.00
The Biography of a Grizzly 1.50
Lives of the Hunted 1.75
The Trail of the Sandhill Stag 1.50
Wild Animals I Have Known 2.00
Weed, Clarence M.:
Stories of Insect Life
Spring and Summer. First Series 0.25
Autumn. Second Series 0.30
Wheelock, Irene Grosvenor:
Nestlings of Forest and Marsh 1.00
Winslow, Helen M.:
Concerning Cats. Stories of Historical and Other
Cats 1.50
Wood, Rev. Theodore:
A Natural History of Birds, Fishes, etc. 1.25
Wright, Julia McNair:
Seaside and Wayside. School reading books. 4 vols.
Vol. I. 0.25
Vol. II. 0.35
Vol. III. 0.45
Vol. IV. 0.60

III
MISCELLANEOUS

Ellis, Havelock:
Man and Woman. For those interested in the philosophical
and scientific side of the subject. In
the Contemporary Science Series $1.50
Geddes and Thompson:
The Evolution of Sex. Contemporary Science
Series 1.50
Hall, G. Stanley:
Adolescence. Two volumes 7.50
Layard, Rev. E. B.:
Religion in Boyhood. Chapter on How to Form
Character. This book has an Introduction
by the Rev. Endicott Peabody, head master of
Groton School, Groton, Mass. 0.75
Lyttleton, Rev. the Hon. E.:
Mothers and Sons 1.00
Training of the Young in Laws of Sex 1.00
Stall, Sylvanus, D.D.:
What a Young Boy Ought to Know 1.00
What a Young Man Ought to Know 1.00
What a Young Husband Ought to Know 1.00
What a Man of Forty-five Ought to Know 1.00
Wood-Allen, Dr. Mary:
What a Young Girl Ought to Know 1.00
What a Young Woman Ought to Know 1.00
What a Young Wife Ought to Know 1.00
Almost a Man 0.50

Almost a Woman 0.50

BY MISS MORLEY
The Bee People

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR

Price $1.25
It is the story, told in most fascinating style, of the honey bee, how it is
born, how it lives, how it gathers honey, and all about it, not omitting its
sting. The bee is credited with powers of reasoning, and the troubles of the
queen bee in retaining her throne are set forth in a delightfully fairy-story-
like way which will win every child that reads it.—The Times,
Philadelphia.
Probably no branch of natural history is more interesting than the bee
people, and when told by an appreciative student is doubly so. Miss Morley
carries out the human idea suggested in the title; and the worker, the drone,
the queen, and all the inmates of a hive are given a life-like personality.
Many illustrations aid in telling the story, and many wonderful things
concerning the habits of these little people are constantly revealed.—The
Detroit News Tribune.

The Honey Makers

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR

Price $1.25
Unlike Miss Morley's other works, this book is intended for older readers.
The first part of the book is devoted to the scientific exposition of the bee's
structure, habits, etc., and it is surprising how much interest and humor the

author has managed to infuse into the subject. The second part performs an
original and valuable service to literature. To the bees more than to any
other portion of the animal kingdom has attention been devoted by poets
and thinkers seeking inspiration, and from this wealth of allusion and
anecdote Miss Morley has culled the choicest and most striking parts.

A Song of Life

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR AND ROBERT FORSYTH

Price $1.25
With simple, beautiful phrases, with pure and admiring words to describe
the process of life, and with scores of gracefully outlined forms of plant and
bird and beast by a helpful artist, has this song of life been sung and
illustrated to delight and instruct in the happiest way many a wondering
child concerning the mystery of life.—The Churchman, New York.
The plan of the work is novel, and the narrative is accurate and interesting
to an unusual degree. Few writers on life's history give so much of it in a
space so limited.—The Nation, New York.

Life and Love

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR

Price $1.25
Margaret Warner Morley has written in "Life and Love" a book which
should be placed in the hands of every young man and woman. It is a
fearless yet clean-minded study of the development of life and the relations
thereof from the protoplasm to mankind. The work is logical, instructive,

impressive. It should result in the innocence of knowledge, which is better
than the innocence of ignorance. It is a pleasure to see a woman handling so
delicate a topic so well. Miss Morley deserves thanks for doing it so
impeccably. Even a prude can find nothing to carp at in the valuable little
volume.—Boston Journal.
It is an agreeable and useful little volume, explanatory of the mysteries of
plant and animal life,—such a book as parents will do well to place in the
hands of thoughtful, or, better still, of thoughtless children.—Philadelphia
Press.

Little Mitchell

THE STORY OF A MOUNTAIN SQUIRREL

ILLUSTRATED BY BRUCE HORSFALL

Price $1.25
Miss Morley's own words give the best idea of this most engaging little
book:
"Baby Mitchell was an August squirrel. That is, he was born in
the month of August. His pretty gray mother found a nice hole,
high up in the crotch of a tall chestnut tree, for her babies' nest;
and I know that she lined it with soft fur plucked from her own
loving little breast,—for that is the way the squirrel mothers do.
"This chestnut tree grew on the side of a steep mountain,—none
other than Mount Mitchell, the highest mountain peak in all the
eastern half of the United States. It is in North Carolina, where
there are a great many beautiful mountains, but none of them
more beautiful than Mount Mitchell, with the great forest trees
on its slopes."

A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers

FOOTNOTES:
[1] A great deal of confusion exists in many minds as to the origin of pollen and
ovule. There seems to be a general and almost ineradicable impression that
fertilization has something to do in creating the ovule. This is not so. The ovule
is a part of every ovary just as the pollen is a part of every anther. Each will be
produced whether they ever come together or not; only if they do not come
together, both perish, while if they do, development of the ovule continues.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RENEWAL
OF LIFE; HOW AND WHEN TO TELL THE STORY TO THE YOUNG
***

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